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AUBURN UNIVERSITY LIBRARIES Spec PR 5232 .R155 M3 i860 Digitized by the Internet Arcinive in 2010 with funding from Lyrasis IVIembers and Sloan Foundation http://www.archive.org/details/medemoisellemoriOOrobe MADEMOISELLE MOEI A TALE OF MODERN ROME. •^ MADEMOISELLE MOPJ: A TALE OF MODERN ROME. ' D-abord je suis/e?n?ne, avec les devoirs, les affections, les sentiments d'une femme; et puis je suis artiste,^ Madame Vurdot Garcia. ' Come, make a circle round me, and mark my tale with care, A tale of what Rome once hath borne, of what Rome yet may bear.' Macaulay. BOSTON: TICKNOR AND FIELDS. M DCCC LX. author's edition. RIVERSIDE, Cambridge: PRINTED BT H. 0. HOUGHTON AND COMPANY. %j>et ^R 5^32 ^{m m llloO •w I -so BGC PEEFACE The words of an accomplished singer, ' D'abord je suis femme^ avec les devoirs, les affections, les sentiments d'une femme ; et puis je suis artiste^^ may be taken as the text on which the following tale has been composed. Irene Mori is an ideal who arose before the mind of the writer among fair scenes and on classic ground, at a time when recent events in the history of Rome had a vivid interest for the spectator. The beauty and interest of Ancient Rome have been long the theme of travellers, poets, and historians, and it is an interest that can never be forgotten ; but now a new one is springing up there. Besides the dead Past, there is a living Present, and the aim of the following pages is to give some description of the thoughts and feehngs that stir Modern Rome ; and some picture of that every-day life in the Eter-nal City, which would not be more wonderful, more beauti-ful, or more interesting than every-day hfe elsewhere, if it were not that it has been of late years marked by some touch of heroism, and that it may ere long be so distinguished again. It is matter of history, that when once a race has fallen below a certain point it can rise no more. Whether the Italian people have sunk to this point is a question that, in VI PREFACE. the course of a few years, must have its answer. A new spirit has gradually risen among them ; they have dared and suffered, and they are ready to dare and suffer again, if so they may purchase hberty. They are not like the Spaniards, willing to acquiesce in insignificance, and content to have no place among the nations. They are gaspmg and struggling for life. We, in our island home, are, as a people, brought little in contact with other nations. We have a strong, busy, national life, which fills our heads and hearts, and gives full scope to our activities. Our sympathies are apt to be nar-rowed to the measure of our own concerns, and it has been truly said of the Enghshman that ' foreign affairs, in his normal state, he views with indifference.' Now and then this indifference is thawed, and our sympathies are roused by the course of events to take a wider range. The Italian revolution of 1848-9 awakened an interest amongst us that has not died away, and drew our earnest attention to Italian politics. The best historical account of those revolutions, Farini's Stato Romano, has been translated into our lan-guage, by the accomplished pen of an Enghsh statesman ; and time has enabled us to appreciate the truthfulness of a work which we were at first inclined to call in question. At the present epoch, the scenes in which the following tale is laid may give it a peculiar interest. It was written among those who had taken an active share in them. Some of the incidents described in it will be recognised as real occur-rences, such as the murder of the two supposed spies by the populace ; the attendance of the Roman ladies at the hospi-tals during the siege ; the existence of the child regiment called la Speranza, the flight and pursuit of the traitor, and PREFACE. VU his rescue by the eloquence of a priest. But the writer is far from presenting this shght work of fiction as a picture of all that Rome did and suffered in 1849. It is but a sketch of the way in which private lives are affected by convulsions in the whole body politic, and private hopes made shipwreck in the tempests that shake the State. If the fortunes of the dramatis personce of this story should awaken some feelings of pity for those who have been much oppressed, some admiration for those who have fallen in a good cause, and some sympathy for the future fortunes of the Roman people, the writer's end will have been accom-pHshed. May, 1859. JVIADEMOISELLE MORI. CHAPTER I. Thou art in Eome ! the city that so long Eeigned absolute, the mistress of the world. EOGERS. One Sunday evening in October, the English congregation were pouring out of the room which served them as a church, oj-itside the Porta del Popolo. The English season at Rome had just begun. A long file of carriages was waiting, and they suc-cessively came up to the door, and drove off, either to various residences, or to the Pincian Hill. The walkers turned into the gardens of Villa Borghese, the gates of which stood invitingly open close at hand ; or crossed the Piazza, and fell into the crowd in the three streets branching from it. Some ascended the Pincian Hill, which the Italians, ever dreading the unhealthy hour of sunset, were already leaving ; so that there was a double stream of vehicles and foot-passengers, one descending and the other ascending, the winding way. Ample as the road was, it hardly contained the crowds tempted out by the fine afternoon to this charming place, once the Collis Hortulorum, and still a re-gion of gardens,* as much as in the days of Sallust and Lucretius. If the piazzas and streets below had not been equally crowded, all Rome might have been supposed on the Pincio. Languages from all parts of the world were heard there ; foreigners and natives were blended together. Here, a magnificent Armenian prelate walked, with stately aii- and flowing beard, beside a white-robed Dominican. There, a group of Americans, of Eng-lish, of Germans, passed by. Here, again, a Frenchman ex- 10 MADEMOISELLE MORI. changed no very friendly glances with a slender, dark Italian. Now, all the crowd pressed hastily together into the angles of the road, as a carriage, containing two Italian ladies reclin-ing luxuriously in it, dashed along. Nurses, distinguished by their crowns of bright ribbon and long silver pins ; priests in their various habits, were conspicuous and abundant ; but in the whole throng there was hardly a Roman from the country ; all on the Pincio were inhabitants of the city, and no particular festa had called the dwellers in the Campagna into Rome. It was only such a crowd and such a scene as may be witnessed on the Pincian Hill on any fine Sunday in autumn. Amongst those of the English congregation who made it their way home from church were a young brother and sister, fol-lowed by a spaniel, which had been waiting for them at the door. As they mingled with • the crowd, their appearance was so for-eign and their Italian so pure, that no one would have supposed them to be English, though the boy's tall, slender figure and bright complexion were unlike those of a Roman. They paused for a few moments in an angle of the wall, looking down into the gardens below, whence the warm, perfumed breath of the China roses came up in gusts, and where lizards and butterflies coquetted together. A carriage passed, and a lady in it remarked them, and asked her companion who they were, saying, ' If I had not seen them in our church, I should have taken them for Italians.' ' So they are, in fact. I do not know much about them, but I believe the father was a young English artist, who married a Neapolitan girl. I suppose he met with her in some expedition into il Regno, as they call Naples. I remember seeing a portrait of her once when we went to his studio, and a beautiful crea-ture she must have been — with one of those pf!ire Greek faces which you- see at Sora or Capri. She died, and left him this girl and boy ; and some one said the other day that he was dead too.' ' How do they live ? ' ' I do not know ; on the boy's earnings, probably. Oh, you do not know how little people can live on here, or you would not look incredulous. Yet I sometimes think that poverty is worse here than in England ; there are so many families who once were MADEMOISELLE MORL 11 better off, and are going steadily down hill. And it is so hope-less. What can one do ? ' ' Ah, the priests dislike the English helping or visiting their people ? ' ' Oh, some do, and some do not. Some are glad to let their people get part of the alms at the English church ; others would not hear of it.' ' Do you see anything of the poor here ? ' ' I did, when I jQrst came here, with my English notions but it is so disheartening, the cases are so endless and so hopeless. And it is a most unfortunate thing to get the name of being charitable, one has no peace — and then one gets so shock-ingly imposed upon. I do assure you, Mrs. Dalzell, you would not believe me, if I told you the frauds that people, as well off as you or I, will practise to get a few pauls. I am quite in earnest ; the spirit of independence, or honesty either, is entirely wanting here. And then I know that the people take what one gives, and hate one all the time as something worse than a pa^n They call converts from our Church to theirs Nuovi Cristiani, New Christians. Religion is, of course, a forbidden subject, and I have lost all heart, and feel sure I am being taken in when an Italian talks me into being charitable. I have learnt to resist their pathetic entreaties at last. Ah, you look dissatisfied; but if ever you live here, you will find philanthropy to be all very well in theory but mightily disagreeable in practice at Rome.' Mrs. Dalzell made no reply, and bent forward to look at the road, some turns of which now lay below •them. She distin- .guished the brother and sister again, slowly ascending in the throng, and asked if they had been brought up as Protest-ants. ' I suppose so. Yes, they must be Protestants, for Italian Ro-manists are strictly prohibited from setting foot within our church. The boy is a handsome fellow, is he not ? I should like to know if they have any friends here. Well, we must drive down, or you will miss the tahle d'hote. I wonder why Italian women will wear white bonnets ! Did you see that one ? Frightful, is it not ? Have you decided on goino- into lodg-ings ? ' ' My old friend, Madame Marriotti, recommends me to do so.' 12 MADEMOISELLE MORI. Meanwhile, the boy and girl had reached the door of the French Academy, and instead of following the stream of prome-naders to the gardens above, they went in, and asked the porter for the key of the Bosco, which was given, and they entered a grove of ilexes, whose gloomy shade effectually shut out the radiant sunshine that still illuminated the western sky. ' Now the bread, Vincenzo,' said the girl, in Italian ; ' see, see, there he is,' and she held out her hands caressingly to a white o-oat, which was browsing amid the rank herbage, and feigning to take no notice of them. ' Come ! vien, vien. qua ! Oh, see the creature ! ' as the spaniel, which had been racing in another part of the wood, came into sight, and the goat, startled out of coquettish indifference, gave an extraordinary caper, and rushed upon him. Vincenzo and his sister were too much overcome with laughter to interfere in the duel, which ended with the dog's taking refuge between his owners, while the goat pirouetted in-dignantly at a little distance. ' Come, if we are to see the sunset we must make haste, Irene,' said Vincenzo ; ' Nanna will certainly think we are lost, and eat the ricotta all herself. What are we going to have for supper ? Come, tell me ! ' ' You greedy boy ! Don't suppose I shall tell you. Nanna would never forgive me if I spoiled her treat in that way.' ' How she must rack her good old head eyeryfesta to get the something to make us a surprise,' said Vincenzo, as they ad-vanced towards a long and exceedingly steep flight of steps, lead-ing up a high moulid clothed with ilexes. 'I believe it is what she thinks of from one holiday to another.' ' And I think of what you are doing in the studio. Ah, Vin-cenzino, when you are a great sculptor ! ' • 'Ah, when!' repeated her brother. 'Do you remember the sculptor who sold nothing for fourteen years ? Fourteen years of working and waiting, and hoping and despairing, Irene ! ' ' And we can work, and wait, and hope too, but not despair,' said Irene, eagerly. ' Fortune came at last to him, and so it will to us—and any way, you must be a sculptor.' ' Ay,' said Vincenzo, looking out on the magnificent view which now. lay before them as they attained the miniature temple on MADEMOISELLE MORI. 18 the top of the mound and above the wood, ' it is not for the fame or the fortune ; it is for itself, Irene ! ' Both stood still, side by side, gazing silently on the city, where dome and bell-tower stood out against a sky of gold ; the desolate Monte Mario and its stone pines rising dark to the right. Be-hind, close at hand, were sombre ilex woods, amid which rose here and there the spire of a cypress or a ruined arch, and on the highest point, the white Villa Ludovisi ; beyond, stretched the Campagna, girdled by hills melting into light under the even-ing sky. ' It is something to be a Roman,' said Vincenzo, at last. * And a Roman sculptor,' added his sister. ' You must come to the studio some day, Irene ; I want to show you my copy of the Flora. I can tell you, it was a great honor to be chosen to make it. Alberti had no time, or else I don't suppose Signor Trajano would have chosen me. Ah ! the light is going.' ''Ave Maria when you hear, look you that your house be near,* said Irene, quoting a familiar Roman proverb ; ' but before we go, can you get me that bit of smilace ? See,' she added, point-ing to a graceful plant wreathed round a neighboring ilex. ' There, see that bough ; it will look beautiful round Santa Lucia, and you could copy it for a frame.' * I see ; stand out of the way,' said Vincenzo, advancing to the side of the flight of steps which was undefended by railing or balustrade. He leant lightly forward, stretching his lithe figure as far as he could, and reaching after the plant, while Irene ran down the steps so rapidly, that she came headlong into the arms of a stranger, as he turned a corner of the mound, and was about to ascend. Her exclamation made Vincenzo start upright to see what had occurred. He set his foot on a pebble which chanced to be on the step, slipped, lost his balance, strove in vain to recover himself, and fell down the whole flight of steps with frightful violence. He lay as if dead for some minutes, and when Irene wildly implored him to speak—to look at her — and the stranger, who had innocently caused the disaster, raised him, he only answered by faint moans of pain. Presently he recognised his sister, uttered her name, and tried to rise with 14 MADEMOISELLE MORI. the help of the stranger ; but the suffering caused by the move-ment showed that serious injury had occurred. The stranger asked, first in French and then in tolerable Italian, where he felt hurt. ' My back,' he answered in a faint whisper ; then, perceiving Irene's terror, ' Don't be frightened, only I cannot walk home yet.' Nor could he endure to be carried when they tried to lift him. ' You are Italian ! Where do you live ? Let me get a car-riage for you ; I fear you must wait here awhile, but I will make all possible speed. My name is De Crillon, Colonel de Cril-lon,' said the stranger, laying the poor boy's head tenderly upon Irene's lap. She thanked him by a look. He hastened away, and she sat waiting while the weary time passed on. The gloom of the ilexes deepened ; the sun had set, and the rapid Italian night was come. The bell of the neighboring convent rang for the Ave Maria, but still no one came to the help of the two poor children. Vincenzo was too much exhausted by pain to continue the comforting words which he had at first tried to speak ; his breath came feeble and fluttering ; Irene was dumb with fear and grief, and sat with tears rolling down her cheeks, and one arm passed closely round the neck of her dog, as if even his presence was a comfort, and the other hand on Vincenzo's damp forehead. A rustle gave her hope, but no one came ; it was but the white goat come to peer inquisitively at them. It seemed as if hours had passed ; all was still again— surely all the world had forgotten them ; yet it was not so very long in reality before voices and steps came near, and Colonel de Crillon hur-ried up. ' My poor friend ! Have you been in much pain ? Every car-riage was engaged ; I could not find one. Here is something, at last, and these good men will carry you very carefully. Here, my men, lift him gently, gently—that's it,' as by his gesture rather than by his foreign Italian they comprehended, and laid the boy in a sheet which they had brought with them. But no tenderness could save Vincenzo from anguish which wrung irrepressible moans from him even while he gasped out, ' It's nothing ; don't MADEMOISELLE MORI. 15 mind, Irene,' and the transit over the rough pavements was a trial that ended in actual fainting. Colonel de Crillon accompanied them to their dwelling, and bade Irene hasten up-stairs to warn her friends and prepare a bed to receive Vincenzo at once. There was no one to warn ex-cept the old servant who had nursed them, and who, as Irene ran up to the rooms they occupied on a third floor, came to the top of the staircase, with indignant voice uplifted to a shrill shriek— ' Oh ! terrible children ! Do you wish to kill me with sorrow ? Is this an hour ? Child ! what has happened ? ' suddenly per-ceiving Irene's frightened aspect. ' Oh ! Vincenzo has fallen down the steps of the Bosco,' an-swered Irene, amid choking tears ; ' they are carrying him up-stairs now.' Quite overpowered, she hid her face and gave way to her sobs, while old Nanna hastened down scolding and lamenting. The sight of Vincenzo, carried up senseless, called forth a new out-burst, as she stood on the stairs, with vehement gestures and tones, preventing any one from passing, and quite unconscious of being in the way. The men who carried him did not know what had caused the accident. Colonel de Crillon could not muster Italian enough to explain, nor could he comprehend the local Italian spoken by Nanna. ' My good woman,' he exclaimed, at last, ' you really must let us pass by. Where is the boy's father or mother ? ' * Father or mother, did the Signor say ? They have none but me ; orphans are they, the blessed children ! ' Without further ceremony he pushed by her and ran up-stairs till he reached an open door, where sounds of sobbing directed him to Irene. He was getting thoroughly annoyed, and spoke sharply— ' Signorina, are you aware that we are losing a great deal of time ? Be so kind as to speak to your servant, and request her not to stand wailing over your brother as if she were a weeping willow, but to fetch a doctor.' Irene stood up, looking so scared and wretched that his heart smote him as if he had been cruel to a child. ' Pardon, if I speak like a savage, but indeed it is most im- 16 MADEMOISELLE MOKI. portant to waste no more time. Our first thought must be how-to relieve him.' ' Yes,' she answered, collecting herself with effort, and still shaken by repressed sobs. ' I am sorry. Papa used to be angry when I cried. What ought I to do?' ' Ah ! she has let him pass,' muttered Colonel de Crillon. 'Now we must have him put to bed directly, and then — here, lay him down softly. I'll fetch a doctor myself. The old hag ! can't she keep herself quiet ? ' ' He opens his eyes ! —he knows us ! ' exclaimed Irene, spring-ing towards him, but stopped by Colonel de Crillon. ' I will not talk ; I will do just what you tell me. Vincenzo — oh, dear Vincenzo ! Nanna, let me see his face. This good gentleman says he will go for a doctor.' M. de Crillon, however, thought that the boy would never be safely laid in bed without his superintendence, though Irene now showed more self-control and helpfulness than he had imagined she could possess. He gave the men something and got rid of them, and returned to help in undressing Vincenzo, growing meanwhile more exasperated every moment by Nanna's incessant chattering. Vincenzo had revived to entire consciousness, and when M. de Crillon had laid him tenderly in bed, the boy clasped his hand and feebly murmured thanks, and Irene's liquid eyes were even more eloquent. ' It is nothing ; let me seek a doctor,' said he, with a smile ; and Nanna, looking from the window, saw him the next minute hurrying down the street with what she, from their rapidity, called, inappropriately enough, jpassi Inglesi. He returned with the French doctor whose name he had the most often heard since he had been in Rome, consequently the one most fashionable and busy. An Italian household of the middle class was new to the foreign physician, and when, after his examination of Vincenzo, Colonel de Crillon privately asked him if he supposed they were badly off, he knew as little of the matter as the inquirer. They looked round, and judged that that there was no poverty here, deceived by the picturesque air of everything ; the frilled sheets, the damask couch, the silver cups for holy water hung over the bed, the paintings in carved frames, and the gay painted ceiling. A native would have per- MADEMOISELLE MORL 17 ceived directly that the rooms bore traces of past competency and present poverty; but the two foreigners understood none of these indications, and did not even think that the bare brick floors looked uncomfortable. M. de Crillon was not rich, but he paid the doctor's fee, told him to let him know if the children wanted anything, and gave him his address at Naples, whither he was obliged to go the next day. ' Is it possible they have no one to look after them but that old witch ? ' said he, looking to a little outer room, where the wrinkled face of old Nanna, her head covered by nothing but rough and scanty grey hair, was bending over a pot set on a morsel of glowing charcoal, which she was exciting by means of a large ventolaio, or feather fan, while she murmured to herself somethino; about havino- foreseen misfortune since she had dreamed of water the night before. ' No one else ? Impossible ! Such nice-looking children ! ' The doctor shrugged his shoulders. ' What do you really think of the boy ? ' ' I shall be better able to tell to-morrow. My impression is t"hat the spine is injured, and that it is a surgical case.' M. de Crillon returned fo the bedside to bid Vincenzo fare-well. The boy was lying with closed eyes and brow knit with pain ; the face, so blooming and full of life a few hours before, now wan as if with long illness. He opened his eyes as M. de Crillon took his hand and looked compassionately at him, seemed to recall what had happened, and thanked him, looking round for Irene as if to bid her join him. She came to his side, and looked earnestly at the stranger, almost as if asking for pardon. ' Farewell, my dear boy ; Dr. will let me know how you go on,' said he, with more cheerfulness than he felt. ' Signorina, I have alarmed you twice to-day ; what will jonv recollections of me be?' Irene colored with a pretty look of consciousness, held out her hand, and whispered — ' Addio, signor r The physician made his appearance again next day, and found Vincenzo in less pain, and in a feverish state of excitement about his work at the studio, though unable to sit up. When 2 18 MADEMOISELLE MORI. assured that absolute rest was imperative, he answered bj an impatient gesture, and beckoning Irene to approach, whispered— ' Make Nanna get the truth from him ; I must know.' Accordingly, when the doctor had written his prescription, and was retiring, the old woman followed him, and asked myste-riously what he thought was amiss with Vincenzo. He seemed slightly reluctant to answer, but at last said — ' I may as well tell you the truth ; I can do very little for him, and he had better be under a surgeon. I shall not come again unless you send for me. His back is injured.' ' Santa Vergine I and when will he be able to work again ? ' ' I cannot say. If these children are poor, why not let him go to Santo Spirito ? ' ' The hospital ! Better die ! The hospital ! Let him die of hunger here rather than there ! The signor knows nothing of these things. I am Romana ; I had a relation once in Santo Spirito, and I know what it is. I will starve, I will beg sooner than the boy shall go to the hospital ! ' The, fashionable physician had little knowledge of Roman charities, and was inclined to believe the popular prejudic'e against Santo Spirito to be unfounded. He was provoked, and said, drily — ' Do as you please ; but I warn you, the boy is very likely to be a cripple for life.' Thereupon Nanna burst into a perfect howl of grief, mingled with uproarious exclamations and adjurations, which entirely drowned the doctor's emphatic remonstrance. Every word reached Irene and .Vincenzo in the inner room, including her last— ' Then may Madonna take us to Paradise, for we shall starve before the week's e^d ! ' ' You hear, Irene ? ' said Vincenzo. ' It is not true,' was her instinctive reply. He made no answer, but drew the bedclothes over his face, lying thus for a long while, to the extreme terror of Irene, whose own truly southern nature always sought relief in unrestrained and visible emotion. At last he put out his hand, and drew her wet cheek close to his. MADEMOISELLE MORI. 19 'Don't cry so, my own dearest—I can't bear that. Irene, darling, do you remember our father's last words ? ' ' God hath never failed them that seek Him,' answered Irene in English. The words came again and again to her mind as she sat by her brother, while Nanna was gone to the druggist's with the prescription. She thought over her past life, for the most part too happy to be easily recalled, but one event stood out promi-nently— her mother's death. That one long past sorrow was dearer than all the peaceful pleasant days before and after. Then came recollections of her father's teaching ; walks with him on fesfe, when he would describe his own childhood in that Eng-land of which his children had so little idea— then she recalled his pride in his handsome and talented boy—then a dark vision of the sudden fever that had snatched him away, leaving them little but his memory as a legacy. The brother and sister were then eighteen and sixteen. A few months had passed since they had been left orphans, and all they had to depend on was Vin-cenzo's earnings, which, for his age, were very considerable. Friends they had none, except his master, the sculptor Trajano, who had treated him with great kindness and liberality. Vin-cenzo had acquaintances and companions of his own age and position, but no one to whom he could look in time of trouble. They had been but a short time in their present abode ; and the children of a Protestant were necessarily singularly isolated in Rome. Their creed must have been a very undefined one, for Nanna and their mother were devout Roman Catholics, but their father had always taken them with him to the English Church, where, unlike too many of the English artists in Rome, he never failed to attend once at least on a Sunday. It was dear to them for his sake, and all old Nanna's horror of the Protestants could not induce them to discontinue the habit of going there. They felt as if they found their father again there more than in the gorgeous worship of the Church of the mother who had been dead so long that their affection for her was vague and dreamy, while the memory of the dear father just lost was fresh as the flowers they strewed on his grave in the lonely burial ground where he was laid. The English Protestant might not lie by 20 MADEMOISELLE MORI. his Roman Catholic wife. Had both lived, the different religions must have caused disunion or confusion : it was well that their children had only peace and love to remember. The girl's meditations were interrupted. ' Irene ! how are we to live ? ' asked Vincenzo, abruptly. ' You know no more than I do. Well, Nanna must go to tell Signor Trajano not to expect me at present.' ' Yes,' she answered, in a tone of foi'ced cheerfulness, like her brother's. He lay still again for a while, and she began considering if there were anything she could do to gain money. She did not know much ; had she been of a far higher rank she would have known little more. A little arithmetic, reading, writing— let us not forget embroidery and the manufacture of paper flowers — such was the sum of her accomplishments. She had, too, the versatile and ready wit of her countrywomen, and all an Italian's talent for music, but it had never been cultivated ; it would bring in no money ! Embroidery ? Yes, she might sell it ; but she knew already several girls who tried to make a few pauls by it, and how sadly few they were. Still, the idea of being able to earn anything at all was cheering, and she awaited Nanna's re-turn with impatience, that she might send her to a workshop. The possibility of going out alone herself never even crossed her mind ; independent of the difficulty of leaving Vincenzo by him-self, she had never ventured into the street, unaccompanied, in her life ; the mere idea would have shocked her. But when Nanna returned, stiff and weary, she could not ask the old woman to go out again. She must wait. The next day brought Signor Trajano to see Vincenzo, hope-ful that his pupil would soon come back ; but it was too evident that this was out of the question. He assured him, however, that, come when he might, he should be welcome, and offered for the present to continue his wages. To this Vincenzo could not agree ; it was not just ; he might never recover. ' At all events, I may pay you for what you have done to the Flora,' said Trajano, laying down several sciidi, as he went away? to the delight of old Nanna, who bustled out to buy provisions ; but Irene saw Vincenzo's hands clasped hard over his face, while MADEMOISELLE MOM. 21 he murmured, *Mj Flora ! the last statue I shall ever touch ! ' Time passed very slowly over the sick boy, whose mind was ever at work, torturing him by visions of a dread future, or plan-ning what his hand could no more execute. His spirits flagged more and more as daily his strength lessened, and he was aware of the straits to which the little household was reduced. He had supported it ; he who was now forced to lie helpless, while starvation advanced slowly, relentlessly upon them. When he saw Irene and Nanna whispering together, he knew, with fevered anxiety, that the last paul was gone, and they were consulting how to find another. The attempt to procure embroidery had failed. There remained the great pawnbroking establishment of the Monte di Pieta. "What could they pledge there ? ' The acquasantiere^ suggested the old woman, looking towards the cups for holy water, which hung from a wreath of silver lilies above the bed of Vincenzo. 'Or the conca deWacqua' Irene added, more ready to part with the large brazen vessel used to fetch water in, than with the pretty cups ; ' I don't know how we could spare it though, and we should get so little for it. The best thing we have is mamma's vezzoJ She opened a drawer, and took from it the row of gold beads and the boat-shaped ear-rings which had been all the fortune of her Neapolitan mother. ' Figlia mia ! thy dowry ! ' ' We need not think about that, Nanna ! ' ' Lucia was a mother before your age, child. Sell the corona 1 ' exclaimed the old woman, passing the necklace through her wrinkled brown fingers. ' It was as dew on parched ground to see her when she wore her own dress, her Sora dress ; the white panno on her head, and these pendenti in her ears, and her beads round her neck. You will never be as handsome as she was, child—never, never ; you have nothing of your mother, but her voice.' ' And that is of no use, since we cannot sell it,' said Irene. Brought back to the present by this remark, Nanna recollected that they owed money to the butcher, the baker, and the pizzica-rolo or greengrocer, and the rent-day was approaching ; but as 22 MADEMOISELLE MORI. for parting with the vezzo, she would not hear of it. She sought her own coral ornaments, and the silver dagger, known as the spadino, worn in the hair, all inherited by her as eldest daughter in her family, and which, as she had never married, and had no child to whom to give them, remained in her own possession. Dire indeed must have been the pressure of necessity which induced her to give up the treasured vezzo ! She wrapped it in a pocket handkerchief, and departed for the Monte. Vincenzo watched the proceedings in silence, presently desiring Irene to give him his tools, and a half-finished frame, which he had been carving into the elegant festoons and berries of the sarsaparilla, the plant that had been the partial cause of his accident. The attempt to carve showed him how much he was hurt, and the pain it caused him was betrayed by his knit brow and compressed lips ; but he defied it for a time, and toiled on, though in his recumbent position he got on very slowly. Irene sat by his bed, knitting ; the sounds of singing came faintly up to them from a fountain below, where women were washing clothes, and half unconsciously Irene began, in a low, but exquisitely sweet voice, a verse of a Neapolitan fisherman's song. ' You sing as well as Madame St. Simon/ said Vincenzo, nam-ing the prima donna at one of the theatres. ' Ah ! how I should like to hear her again ! Now, I will tell you what I should like better than anything, Vincenzino ; to be a prima donna myself, and then w^e should be rich. When we used to see them act at the Valle, I could hardly help standing up and calling to the actors—" No, this is the way ! " For I am certain that often even Madame St. Simon only thought of the audience, and forgot that she was Lucia or Amina. If I were only one of the chorus, I would make myself a part, and not stand like a great dry reed.' ' Yes, a reed without even a withered leaf on it, only fit to light a fire ! ' ' And,' continued Irene, glad to see him smile, ' when I was prima donna assoluta I would have a beautiful name. Every prima donna must have a fine name. I would be the Signo-rina ' * No ; Mademoiselle ' MADEMOISELLE MORI. 23 ' I am Italian ! It is only the foreigners who are mademoi-selles.' • ' You may depend upon it they would make you into a for-eigner. It is so much grander to have singers from abroad.' ^ ' Well,' said Irene, reluctantly. ' I think it a ridiculous thing, however. What should I be ? I suppose I might keep our own name ? ' ' Yes. Mademoiselle Moore — More — Mori.' ' But that is really Italian, Vincenzo.' ' Never mind ; it could not sound better. Mademoiselle Mori —that is it.' Old Nanna had gone as fast as age and rheumatism would let her to the Monte di Pieta, that resource of those who are in immediate need of money. Anything may be pledged there, from a valuable picture to a pair of shoes ; part of the value is given to the owner, and a ticket, by means of which it may after-wards be redeemed ; but a small rate of interest must be paid for it monthly, and it must be recovered at the end of a certain time, or it will be sold in one of the auctions that take place from time to time. Nanna mingled with the stream of people that flowed under the great archway leading into the quadrangle, on each side of which are the vast magazines where all the goods are arranged —a stream consisting of old and young, men, maidens, and ma-trons, chiefly of a low rank, and all brought thither reluctantly by the same need of money. Nearly all the faces, of whatever age or sex, were worn and anxious, except some few who came not on their own account, but commissioned by others too busy or of too high a rank to choose to appear in person. There was a list of articles to be sold in a few days hung up beside the doorway, and amongst them were some far too valuable to have been pledged by the poor—a ruby necklace, a silver cup, a lace veil. Doubtless there was a history attached to each, a sad one enough, usually. Fresh faces continually passed in and out, showing how greatly this institution was taken advantage of by the needy ; for far from this being the only place in Rome where they could go, the Monte had succursali, branches, in each rione or district of Rome. A small number of those who entered, 24 MADEMOISELLE MORI. parted from the crowd and took a different direction, with looks so elated, and steps so quick, that it was easy to see that they were of the happy few whom some good fortune enabled to ipecover their possessions. Presently a burst of passionate grief was heard, and a woman came back, sobbing aloud. A mur-mur of compassion went through the crowd —^Poverina! her things have been sold ! Ah, shame ! ah, the Pagans ! '—all sympathizing in a calamity which might befall any one of them-selves, if they failed to pay the interest on what they had bor-rowed. ' What did they give you ? how much have you got back?' ' A nothing ! a folly ! a scandal ! ' she answered, tossing out her hand, in which were a few pauls—part of what her house-hold gods had fetched. 'Ah,' responded the others, with indescribable, though sup-pressed scorn and anger ; ' see the beautiful charity ! ' She went out, passing by a party of English, who were asking the Swiss porter if they might visit the establishment, without perhaps very well knowing what they were to see. The Italians immediately detected the foreign dress and accent, and not very complimentary remarks passed between them, as they came and went, on the English heretics who had come to spy out their poverty. Unheeding or unhearing remarks made in the local dialect, almost incomprehensible to any but a native, and differ-ing even in different parts of Rome, the foreigners disappeared into the room, where the porter told them that the pictures were kept, probably imagining that they should see a Borghese or Spada gallery instead of such originals and copies as had been pawned. Time is apparently an article valued by none but foreigners in Rome, and so much was consumed before it came to Nanna's turn to be attended to, that she found the shortening November day had nearly closed when she left the Monte. A sirocco was blowing, the streets were wet as if with rain, and nearly empty, and of the few passengers, some had umbrellas up, others held them furled, as if there were a diversity of opinion as to whether it rained or not, but every Italian had his cloak flung across his mouth, and hurried on his way, anxious to escape from the chill- MADEMOISELLE MORI. 25 ing atmosphere. The air was heavy; darkness had come on before its time ; there was a gloomy, disconsolate look every-where. Old Nanna muttered in disgust as the damp, cold wind made her shiver, and quickened her pace, but coming to the. Church of Sant' Agostino, she stopped, pushed aside the heavy mat which hung at the doorway, and entered, signing herself rapidly with holy water, and devoutly kneeling down among the congregation— a remarkably numerous one, considering that the hour was late, and there was no service going on. The scene was one peculiarly Roman. Darkness prevailed in the build-ing, though before each altar in the side aisles burned a small lamp suspended from the roof, and two more shone out with a clear, steady brilHancy, like that of stars, at the further end ; but all around was gloom, and the bottom of the church seemed a cavern into which the eye was unable to pierce or follow the figures that now and then passed into it. But at the lower end was a marble statue of the Virgin holding the Infant Saviour, and above, and around it, were a wreath of lamps whose light illumined it and flashed on the silver hearts, crucifixes, and other countless offerings which incrusted the pillars and the walls— tokens of gratitude from those who believed that their prayers at this shrine had been granted. From some curious effect of light, the form of the Infant Christ could hardly be distinguished, and the illumination brought out the figure of the Virgin alone, and into strong, startling relief. Two tapers, in massive bronze candlesticks, rpse at least fourteen feet from the ground, at some distance from the altar. A large congregation of men and women knelt around in profound silence ; sometimes a new wor-shipper came in, or another softly rose, went up to the statue, and kissed or held a child to kiss its feet, before leaving the church. Nanna was one of the last to go ; had her prayer been audible, it would have been found to end thus :—'Listen to me, Madomna mia ; you will not let us starve, for you are our Mother, full of grace, and goodness, and mercy. What mother will let her children starve ? Queen of Heaven and Earth, listen to me. Queen of Angels, now you know everything—I have told you all. I am going^away, and you must really and truly make the boy well. Adm^, dear Madonna.' 26 MADEMOISELLE MORI. Putting her rosary into her pocket, she went up the low steps leading to the altar, kissed earnestly the Virgin's feet, and dip-ping a bit of cotton wool into the oil of a small lamp burning close at hand, left the church,, happy in the belief that Vincenzo would soon be well, since she had vowed to offer her ear-rings to the Virgin of Sant' Agostino should he again go to his work, and had moreover obtained a charm, which must avail, if used with faith. Nanna was not the only one who carried home that even-ing a similar bit of cotton or tow dipped in the holy oil, nor would persons of a much higher rank and education have doubted, for a moment, that its application to an ailing part would have miraculous results. Probably this custom dates from the middle ages, when on certain days the clergy and people went in pro-cession to particular churches, and mass having been sung, an acolyte dipped a piece of tow in the oil of the lamp which burnt before the shrine of the saint whose day they had been celebrat-ing, and bore it to the Pope, saying, ' To-day the station took place in such a church, and the saint salutes you.' A solemn message ! i^The locks of tow were carefully kept to form a pillow, on which the Pontiff's head might rest in his grave. No such antiquarian speculations troubled old Nanna as she went homewards, her heart much the lighter for the pauls in her pocket, and the entire and childlike confidence that her prayer must be granted, and Vincenzo's recovery be secured. As her knock came to the door which shut in their rooms, Irene was lighting a small lamp, and with true Roman caution she ex-claimed, 'Who is it?' and came to reconnoitre before she would open. The time had seemed long to her during the old woman's absence : Vincenzo had fallen asleep, and, afraid to rouse him, she had been sitting in the dark with the spaniel's cold nose in her hand. He showed his astonishment at his young master's inactivity as plainly as a human being could have done ; and when he stood by the bed, wagging his tail or giving a short bark, while he fixed his intelligent eyes on the boy, tears filled Irene's eyes, and Vincenzo had some difficulty in concealing his own. ' Oh, Nanna ! how long you have been ! Down, Tevere, be quiet!' ^ • . MADEMOISELLE MORI. 27 * Eh ! eh ! daughter, go yourself next time. Keep tranquil, evil clog ! you would see what is in ray apron, eh ? Little enough I got for all I took, but we can live for a while, and then Madonna help us ! How is my boy ? see what I have brought home, sun of my soul ! Here is a fine supper for us all,' said the old woman, as gay as a child, now that want was staved off for a time, and producing her handkerchief, full of yellow-brown shells, tellijie, as she, unlearned in conchology, would have called them, but more properly donaces, a favorite dish, cooked or uncooked, in Rome. ' Sccmsarti ! begone, dog ! And here is something besides, something to make my darling boy well ; and I have promised Madonna that he will never go to the English Church again, now that he has felt her displeasure attends it.' Irene looked grave, and wondered that Vincenzo made no protest, unless a hasty movement might be so called. A moment afterwards it came upon her, with a sort of stab of pain, that he had not spirits to combat Nanna's prejudices, or to laugh at them as usual, because he believed that never again should he have the power of walking to the English Church. 28 MADEMOISELLE MORI. CHAPTER 11. I have been told the virtuous must be happy, And have believed it true: tell me, my friei>d, What shall disturb the virtuous ? Poverty ! Southet. One thing after another was sold ; even Irene's vezzo and the guitar on which she used to play with untaught skill, down to their little lamp, and many other things which it was hard to spare, and which fetched so little at the Monte that Nanua did not scruple to say it was ' an infamy, an iniquity ; ' and in truth the institution is not at the present day exactly what was con-templated by the founder, St. Bernardino of Siena. Nanna urged the advisability of taking the vezzo to some one who might be mduced to advance a more equitable sum on it, with the promise that it should speedily be redeemed ; and she was dis-concerted by Irene's objecting that this was dishonorable, since they had no chance of recovering it. Such a pitch of morality was beyond the old woman, who, though thoroughly faithful to the orphans, had littj^ notion of truth and honesty towards others, and was only a degree above those of her compatriots who pick their neighbor's pockets while reciting their prayers devoutly in a church. One thing went, then another ; the picture of Santa Lucia, their mother's patron saint ; sketches by their father, in the beautiful carved frames which Vincenzo had delighted to make for them ; at last even the portrait of their mother, their dearest possession ; and as they could not pay the trifling interest due to the Monte for the money lent on these things, they knew that all jsvould speedily be sold in the auction room in the Piazza dei Pellegrini, where so many hoi^hold treasures are examined MADEMOISELLE MORI. 29 by careless hands, and sold for prices far below their real value. Each day something went, till at last there was nothing more to sell. Nothing ! and Yincenzo grew no better. He could now sit up a little and use his hands, but that was all, and hunger was close at hand, and an execution for rent impending. Hun-ger— actual hunger—not a morsel of bread in the cupboard; not one handful more maize to make another dish of polenta. Daily, Irene had grown whiter and thinner as food became scarcer, and what were her brother's feelings, as from his sick bed he saw it, and knew that nothing stood between them and starvation. At any time, a boy must have felt as a trial almost unbearable this sudden change from buoyant health and constant occupation, which made a leisure hour or an occasional festa so delightful, to ceaseless pain and forced idleness. Yincenzo had no books, and, moreover, had not been brought up to care for reading ; the future had been his constant dream, and he had no store of recollections to fall back upon ; all day long he lay in his bed with nothing to think of but their desperate condition. The boy had a gallant spirit, and from the day that Irene had been trusted to his care by their dying father, to his elastic youth he had added a man's earnestness. How happy and pro'ud he had bepn in the knowledge that he supported the whole house-hold ! And now it was all over. At least he would not com-plain, and as long as any one saw him, he maintained some cheerfulness, and if Irene had not one night fancied that she heard a sound in his room and crept to the door to listen, with-out waking Nanna, she would never have known how dire was the struggle to keep up that composure by day. She stood for a little while unperceived, watching his face, so white in the moon-light ; she heard broken, despairing, imploring prayers, till her heart was ready to break ; and if she had followed her impulse she would have rushed to his bedside and sobbed away her wretchedness there ; but Irene was no longer the mere child she had been but a few weeks before ; she, too, had been taking les-sons in self-control. Many times already she had forced out a cheerful answer, and tried to forget that she was hungry, and now she knew that this anguish was meant for no mortal eye. 30 MADEMOISELLE MORL and would not betray that she had seen it. In the morning she asked Vincenzo rather timidly how he was. He answered, ' I'll tell you how many noises I counted last night :— First, at mid-night, some one was wanted on the sixth story of the house over the way, so there were six knocks. Tliey must sleep soundly up there, for they did not wake till the third summons, that made eighteen thumps. Then came a party very jolly indeed, with a mandolin, all singing ; some one opened a window to listen, so, of course, they began to bark. I never can understand why they do that.' ' Modesty ! I suppose they mean to say that they are not worth listening to—mere dogs. However, they howled rather nicely, so I was sorry when they turned the corner. Then the bells of Sta. Maria Santissima rang for the midnight funzione ; then S. Nicolo struck up just as I was going to sleep ; and then came day-light ; and the soldiers and their drums ; before that, I ought to have counted the firing from S. Angelo for the festa, and the man who cries chicory ; and so I did not get much sleep to be sure.' Not a word of any other reason, and Irene asked no more. It being afesta, Nanna, of course, went to mass, and returned so radiant with delight that Irene eagerly asked what had hap-pened. Nanna mysteriously produced something which .she had held in her hand, under her apron, and Irene beheld a bracelet, formed of bosses of garnets, which, from its workmanship, she had no difficulty as recognising as Florentine. In answer to her eager questions, Nanna said that she had picked it up in a church —without, however, mentioning that she had seen it fall from the arm of an English lady. She was going to take it to the Ghetto, and see what the Jews would give for it. ' But,' said Irene, doubtfully, 'it — it is not ours ; it will be advertised.' ' Let them advertise, if they like, and let us live, silly child ! ' ' What is it?' asked Vincenzo. Irene explained, though Nanna made a sign to her not to do so. ' Of course it is not ours ; go to the libraries in theT*iazza di Spagna and say you have found a bracelet ; don't keep it here MADEMOISELLE MORI. 31 to tempt us,' said Vincenzo, more sharply than they had ever known him speak before. Nanna grumblingly obeyed, comforted a little by the hope of a reward, and on reaching the library, she found the ladies whom she had seen in the church, talking to the bookseller about their loss. He advised an advertisement, but gave them small hopes of recovering it. One of the party said she believed she had heard it drop ; she looked, but there was nothing to be seen, and, if she were right, an old woman, "who was kneeling near, must Just at this point Nanna ap-peared ; the sight of her caused a sensation, but the bracelet was speedily restored to its owner, who was too w^ell satisfied to ask any questions, and Xanna had no cause to be dissatisfied with English liberality. Signor Trajano came again and left money, wdiich made Irene and' Nanna so happy for several days that they wondered at Vincenzo's increased depression, for they did not see that he felt how they were living on alms ; and, besides, anything that re-minded him of the studio was acutely painful. But, in a short time, these chance supplies were exhausted, and they literally did not know whither to turn for a meal. They rose up hungry in the morning, and went to bed at night almost without having bi'oken their fast, to wake to the same state of things. All their neighbors were very poor ; of the seven or eight families living in the same house with them, most lived from hand to mouth, sleeping on straw, and crowded into one or two rooms.' None had the power, if they had the will, to help them. Neither of the three complained nor spoke of wdiat was to be done. Old Nanna had tried every resource, even to begging, and all in vain. They and starvation kept house together. One afternoon Irene went down to the fountain to fetch some water •and cry unseen ; returning with her noiseless step, she saw old Nanna crouched in a corner, her distaff, with no flax on it, lying on the ground beside her; Vincenzo lying idle, the clay that he had begged Signor Trajano to send^ him, left untouched beside him ; it was a picture of blank hopelessness. Just then the spaniel, which had followed Irene down, pattered back into the room, looked into his empty food-dish, went up to his master's bedside, and wagged his tail. Nothing could have spoken plainer. 32 MADEMOISELLE MORI. ' Poor fellow ! ' said Vincenzo, in English, that ISTanna might not understand, 'are you hungry? So am I.' The dog whined, and put his fore paws on the bed, trying to lick his face. Nanna never looked up, she was sunk into apathetic despair ; but Irene heard only too plainly, and in a passion of anguish she drew her shawl over her head, and ran down-stairs out into the street, all her fears and prejudices forgotten in the kind of despairing hope that she might find some help. Nanna had failed at the workshop, but perhaps they might have pity on a girl who said she was starving. She hurried on, hardly feeling or seeing the passengers whom she ran against or who pushed her off the crowded side paths, till she came to the workshop, where there were more customers than the owners could easily attend to. No one had a minute to spare for her—her entreaties were hardly listened to ; repulsed, she found herself outside the shop again, her last hope gone. She leaned against the wall, too faint and heart sick to move a step further, and, half unconsciously, watched the passers by, who brushed impatiently against the object in their way, without stopping to regard it. An old crone with- the never-failing scaldino (or basket of charcoal to keep the hands warm) stood near ; Irene heard her mutter, ' Fifteen pauls ; only fifteen pauls to-day ! ' then, in a prolonged whine, ' Give me some little alms, that the Madonna may give you health ! Do not abandon me, signer— madama ! I am so hungry ! Oh ! hard hearts ! ' with a snarl, as they passed on, unheeding. A gentleman gave her some small coin, and Irene involuntarily held out her hand too. He hurried on, saying to his companion, ' These beggars are the pest of the place ; all the same ! I wonder how many scudi I should have spent if I had given a bajocco to every one who has begged since I came out!' Tlie lady on his arm laughed, and they disappeared in the never-ending stream of promenaders, chiefly gay sight-seers, rejoicing in the sunshine. No one had a glanoe for the desolate girl, who stood just where she had leant when first sent out of the shop. A child was the only one to have compassion—a little fellow of perhaps four years old, who came running out of the confectioner's shop next door, preceding his mother, a bun MADEMOISELLE MORI. 33 in his fat hand. He was a perfect picture of a rosy, well-dressed English child, in his black velvet pelisse, and a little pink handkerchief round his throat. He was chattering with all his might, till he looked up and met the wistful black eyes of Irene. She did not beg this time ; she only looked at the bun as if famished, and the little one suddenly put it into her hand and scrambled into a carriage after his mother. Irene saw his rosy laughing face pressed against the glass to watch her as they drove away. She had clutched the bun fast— what a mouthful it was to a girl who had eaten nothing that day ! but she had scarcely devoured it, when the thought of Nanna and Vincenzo at home flashed upon her. She had for-gotten them ! Poor child, her hungry impulse seemed actual sin ; she had eaten the bun while her sick brother was starving at home ! Miserable as she felt, she had recovered a little ener-gy — she turned homewards, but had to go back with no com-fort for those she should find there ! And yet she had trusted— she had believed long, for time in some circumstances cannot be counted by days and hours ; she had believed so firmly that help would be sent them ! had that promise indeed failed ? and if so, where was she to turn for help ? Three o'clock was past and the churches were again open : she entered the first she came to, and hiding her face in her hands, wept so passionately that she did not perceive that one of a party of English, who were exam-ining the pictures and statues, had approached her, and laying a hand on her shoulder, asked gently what had happened. Startled by the touch, Irene hastily lifted a face so white and so thin that the lady started, looked doubtful, and said, ' Have I not seen you in the English Church ? ' « ' I go there.' ' Then what right have you here, ray child ? ' ' It is God's house ; I have the right of every one who is un-happy,' Irene answered. ' And why are you unhappy ? Have you been ill ? * In reply Irene told her story, ending with, ' Oh, signora, it was so wicked of me to eat that bun ! I forgot Vincenzo ! I did in-deed ! ' ' Will you take me to see Vincenzo ? ' 84 MADEMOISELLE MORI. A sudden flash of delight from Irene's black eyes was the an-swer, and her companion returned to her party and spoke a few words, which were received with smiling incredulity. No one objected, however, and she accompanied Irene, stopping at the first breadshop they came to that Irene might have something more substantial than a bun, and convey a supply to her home. In all the ecstasy of renewed hope, she hurried her new friend along, through streets quite unknown to the latter, till they reached their destination, a square, which, to judge by the num-ber of old palaces, must once have been a favorite quarter of the nobility, but now each floor was divided into many apart-ments and let to the poor ; rags hung to dry from many win-dows, and hides, scenting the whole air, were suspended before one stately mansion ; there was a general look of poverty and dirt everywhere. Into one of these palaces, Irene introduced her companion, running lightly before her up flight after flight of stairs. Nanna came slowly to the door in answer to her im-patient knock ; she had not even perceived her absence, Nanna who usually watched over her like a dragon ! ' Oh, Nanna ! ' began Irene, breathlessly, ' this lady has come to see us, and she has brought us all this ! She carried it all down the Corso, and did not mind ! and I must give Vincenzo some dinner immediately — see ! ' * Per Bacco ! ' exclaimed Nanna, taking possession of the vis-itor's hand and kissing it, as she conducted her into the next room, where Irene was explaining eagerly to Yincenzo. The lady advanced and took the hand, thin and fair as an invalid girl's, which he held out to her, examining her face attentively, then smiling and saying, ' Mrs. Dalzell.' * How do you know my name ? ' she asked, much surprised. ' I worked in Signor Trajano's studio, and he had just begun to model j^our bust before my accident.' ' I knew I had seen you somewhere before. I noticed you in the English Church,' she answered; 'I have long wished to meet with you ; fortune favored me to-day.' While Irene insisted on Vincenzo's eating immediately, Mrs. Dalzell looked round and asked questions, and felt very sure that here at least she was safe from the imposition which her friends i MADEMOISELLE MORI. 35 had predicted. If M. de Crillon had seen the room now, he would have had no doubt as to the poverty of its owners, and when Mrs. Dalzell looked at the faces of the brother and sister, she felt that she had come but just in time. Old Nanna saw her compassionate look and exclaimed, ' If the signora had but seen the boj before he fell ill ! he was an Adonis, an Apollo ! ah ! ' (shaking her hand at him) ' and a demon too, a tempest, wicked boy! He would rush up-stairs shaking the whole house ! Santa Vergine ! ' as she caught a clearer view of Mrs. Dalzell than she had yet done, and she summoned Irene aside. The girl speedily returned, saying with animation, ' Nanna says you were with the lady whose bracelet she found ! ' Mrs. Dalzell's sensation was far from pleasant, as she recalled her conviction that the bracelet had rather been stolen than found, but she was convinced that the orphans were unconnected with the affair. However, she was glad when Irene added, ' We were so poor that day that Nanna wanted to sell it, but Vincenzo would not let her.' ' I am glad of it ; I know that my friend values it particularly. Have you really no one to take care of you but this old woman ? What hands for a girl to be in ! ' she added, mentally. ' No, no one else. Tevere, do you really want some more ! Oh fie ! No one else, signora, but she is so kind and true to us. She is a pearl, an oriental pearl of probity,' said Irene, whose English, though fluent, was apt to be a translation from the more poetical Italian. The figure of speech, especially so applied, made Mrs. Dalzell smile, and she thought that the truth and probity probably began and ended at home. 'I never knew the value of my dinner so well before, signora,' said Vincenzo, sinking comfortably back on the pillows, which Irene had re-arranged for him. ' We had almost forgotten what dinner was,' she added. ' Is it possible you could find no assistance ? ' asked Mrs. Dal-zell ; ' I thought the Roman charities were magnificent.' ' They are not for such as we ; they are to keep quiet the hassa gente—the populace,' replied Irene, with grave simplicity. ' And nqt for Protestants,' added Vincenzo. ' Ah, no. And you have no friends, though you have lived here so Ions .'' ' 86 MADEMOISELLE MORI. * None who can help us. My father had few ; he lived for his art.' ' I should like to be considered as your friend then,' said Mrs. Dalzell, rising to take leave. ' Signor Trajano and I must have a little talk together. Give me your doctor's address again, and don't forget mine. I shall come to pay you another visit in a day or two.' She took Vincenzo's hand in hers, as she spoke and looked kindly at his face, so much altered from what she re-membered it, that it was hard to believe he was the fine hand-some boy she had admired on the Pincian Hill. ' I would thank you if I could, signora,' he answered, in hur-ried, faltering tones. ' Oh, signora, we were starving —she was starving '—looking at Irene ; ' that was worst ; I was beginning to wish I were dead, sooner than see it.' ' Oh, Yincenzo ! ' said Irene, with a crimson blush. ' I shall leave you to make your confessions to him,' said Mrs. Dalzell : ' but, meanwhile, will you come here and say something for me to Nanna ? ' She gave Nanna what she judged would be sufficient for their present wants, and departed before the old woman had half ex-pressed her voluble gratitude. MADEMOISELLE MORI. 37 CHAPTER III. What sorrow was, thou bad'st her know, ^ And from her own, she learnt to melt at others' woe. Gray. Mrs. Dalzell was a widow, still young, and rich. She had come to Rome for the first time in her life, and friends, who had known her in former days, expected her to be enthusiastically delighted with its wonders ; but, hitherto, she had gone through the routine of sight-seeing with a somewhat forced interest, and the first thing that really roused her was the history of the or-phans. Her friends were too glad to see her begin to shake off the depression, caused by heavy trials, to wish to interfere, though they took it for granted that she would be imposed on. She set about her task in a very business-like manner ; she saw the physician who had first attended Vincenzo, and sent a good surgeon to see him ; and she had a great deal of conversation with Signor Trajano about him ; but she found it so difficult to devise any schemes for the permanent benefit of the orphans, that she returned to their house to see whether they had any ideas on the subject themselves. Cheerfulness and comfort had revisited the rooms, and Irene and Vincenzo met her greeting with bright looks. She had calculated her gift on an English scale, ignorant of how far Italians can make a little money go, and she assuredly had not expected that almost the first use of her bounty would be the recovery of Irene's gold ear-rings. Irene exhibited them to her with delight, relating how they had been first pledged, and then sold ; -but how Nanna had discovered who had bought them and got them back. Unaware of the ex-treme value attached to the vezzo, Mrs. Dalzell was inclined to regard this as mere foreign love of finery, and determined, for the future, not to trust Nanna with more money than necessary. 38 MADEMOISELLE MORI. She sat down by Vincenzo, who was cheered by having been allowed to leave his bed and be carried to a sofa. He was carv-ing a bunch of cyclamen leaves and flowers with a delicacy and grace that surprised her, and Irene told of the beautiful frames that he had made for their father's pictures — all sold now. She stopped, seeing the flush that rose to her brother's face at the recollection of those lost treasures, so inestimable to the orphans. Mrs. Dalzell described to him a room which she had once seen decorated by a celebrated carver with groups, of birds, musical instruments, and flowers, in exactly the same style as Vincenzo's, and asked him if he did not think he might gain a livelihood in this way. ' Oh, signora I To get my own living again ! not to live on charity — to be even thus much of an artist ! You little know what happiness you have given me ! ' ' I think I know several people who would employ you,' she replied, amused at the un-English vehemence of his gratitude ; the invalid's face seemed suddenly to have recovered its bloom ; the dark eyes sparkled ; Vincenzo looked for a time transformed into his old self. ' Finish what you are about and then let me have it. And what can Irene do ? ' ' Irene wishes to be a prima donna,' answered Vincenzo, smil-ing. ' A prima donna ! ' 'I could act, I think,' said Irene herself; and Mrs. Dalzell, watching her expressive and graceful movements and looks, felt that she was right. ' And she can sing,' added Vincenzo. ' Ah ! she must let me hear her.' ' Sing something, carina,' said Vincenzo ; ' what a pity your chitarra is gone ! ' ' What is that ? I thought the mandolin was the Roman in-strument.' ' That is a man's instrument. Oh, signora, at Easter you should go to the Villa Borghese, on the river side, to see the people dancing the salterello and playing with castanets and the mandolin — it is beautiful ! ' ' But now I want to hear you.' MADEMOISELLE MORI. 39 With a glance towards Vincenzo, Irene began a popular can-zone, acting the expression just enough to show how much dra-matic power she possessed, and soon, so entirely forgetting all but her song, that her tones, at first faltering, became steady and full, and proved how fine the voice would some day be. Vin-cenzo watched the face of Mrs. Dalzell anxiously, and thought he read surprise and admiration. He Avas much disappointed when, as the song ceased, she quietly remarked, ' You have a very nice voice, but I should be sorry you should turn it to account on the stage. You can have no idea of the temptations and trials of such a life, or of its hard work either.' Irene made no answer. Mrs. Dalzell sat thinking, and Vin-cenzo said, ' She very nearly went to Madame St. Simon the other day to beg her to teach her, only her courage failed.' * It will not do so again, Vincenzo.' *You wish it so much?' said Mrs. Dalzell; 'what do you know about it ? ' Irene looked at her brother, who replied for her, 'I do not know whether she be quite in earnest, and I believe it is not acting that she cares so much for ; she would like to be a prima donna at the opera.' ' But I am in earnest, Vincenzo,' said Irene, emphatically. It was not the life that Mrs. Dalzell would have chosen for her protegee. She avoided a definite answer, and left them, glad that Vincenzo's plans were more sober, and recommendino- him to finish his carving as soon as he could. He, delighted to be employed again, and employed, too, on a kind of sculpture where his imagination had play, was happier than he had been since his accident, and seemed insensible to the fatigue which even this slight labor caused him. Irene, on the contrary, was moody, and said, after a long silence, ' I believe I could be a great canta-trice ; I do not see what right this English lady has to interfere.' ' Interfere ! ' said Vincenzo, looking up in surprise. ' Yes, interfere. I shall ask Madame St. Simon to help me, not this Signora Dalzell ; and if I succeed I can repay her ; many learn on that condition.' 'Child! child!' broke in Nanna, 'are you crazy? what are you saying ? This rich English lady can make us live in Asiatic 40 MADEMOISELLE MORI. luxury ; her purse drops gold, and you had not the sense to tell her to-day that we have not got the corona back ; did you not hear what I said to you ? ' ' She has done too much already,' said Vincenzo ; ' help of this kind I can take,' pointing to his carvings 'but we are not beggars.' ' No, and because I do not wish to live on her money or on any one else's, I want to learn singing,' said Irene, with cheeks so flushed and eyes so tearful, that Vincenzo found the matter was more serious than he had imagined, and asked gravely how long she had had this fancy. ' You might remember that I always wished it, Vincenzo, long before— before our troubles, but I never thought it was possible till that day when you said I sang as well as Madame St. Simon.' ' It was an unlucky day when I said it. Think how actresses are regarded.' * If I were prima donna, my profession should be esteemed for my sake ; I would make it the most honorable in Rome. Vin-cenzo, cannot you understand that as you —as men I mean — wish for fame, so women may ! I think, if one has the power to do anything, one must and one ought to do it,' said Irene, who seemed in the last few weeks to have grown from a child into a woman ; the ambition that had lain dormant in her heart was awake, and no spell known to prudent brother or friend could lull it to sleep again. The bird had found out the use of its wings ; its nest would soon seem only a prison. Vincenzo had had visions of his own, he comprehended. * I understand, Irene,' he said, unconsciously speaking very mournfully ; ' I know that when one has a vocation and cannot follow it, one must feel like a swallow which cannot migrate ; but how is it that you care so suddenly and so much about this ? ' ' Because till lately I had — I had —I cannot tell you.' ' Perhaps till lately you thought so much of fame for me that you did not want it for yourself ! ' Irene turned away hastily ; she could not bear to realize what nevertheless she knew full well, that Vincenzo's chance of fame w^as gone forever. She came back caressingly to his side, almost as if asking pardon. ' I could not help thinking about it ; I was MADEMOISELLE MORI. 41 SO glad of any pleasant fancies, and I thought so often to myself what Madame St. Simon would say, and what I would sing to prove to her that I had a voice, that at last I almost believed it had all come to pass ; but the last few days, when we were so hungry, I had not courage ; I did not seem to care for anything.' ' Poor little one,' said Vincenzo, affectionately. And she, tak-ing courage, nestled close to him, whispering, ' But don't say you will never be well again ; you are better already, and if, as the doctor says, you could go into the country and have baths — ' ' Don't talk about it, Irene,' said Yincenzo, unaware that he was speaking sharply; 'I would rather think about you and your singing.' ' I care more for you than even for that,' she answered. Vincenzo had a Roman's love of music and a Roman's delight in the theatre, and the idea of letting Irene follow her wishes grew less unwelcome as he considered them. After all, he was but a boy, and the dream of renown for her, if not for himself, was very pleasant. He pictured to himself her success, and mentally compared her voice with those of the few public singers of note whom he had heard, and it did not suffer by comparison. She had almost won him over to her side before night, and Nanna was vehemently in her favor. Vincenzo had heard enoush of theatres to make him hesitate a little, but even this anxiety was a relief to his mind, wearied with dwelling on one subject. His dreams were an odd mixture of cyclamens, musical instruments, hisses and applause, and even the famous Book of Visions could hardly have explained one wherein he beheld Irene playing on the tool which Italian sculptors call a violin, in the Teatro Regio. Mrs. Dalzell was much worried by the turn affairs had taken. She had intended to help the orphans in some sober unobtrusive way, and had little expected to find a musical genius upon her bands. She knew too well how much enter-tained most of her English friends would be, to feel inclined to confide her perplexities to them ; in their stead, she sought an old acquaintance whom she had known slightly years before in London, and had found again living in Rome, a Madame Marri-otti, by birth a Sp'aniard, once the idol of the musical world, and 42 MADEMOISELLE MORI. who still in advanced age preserved her love of music, with the execution and taste, and even something of the voice, that had made her pre-eminent among the professional musicians of her day. Mrs. Dalzell wanted to find her alone and disengaged, and therefore sent a note, announcing that she was coming to spend the evening with her whenever she had no reception. She walked alone to Madame Marriotti's abode, her own being close by, and her habits very independent. She had yet to learn Italian ways, and was greatly surprised, on reaching the archway leading into the house, to find herself in total darkness, and hear a trampling as if oxen or horses were close by. Remembering that the staircase faced a stable, she hastily retreated into the street, where at least there was such light as could be obtained from one dim oil-lamp at the far end of it, and another burning under a picture of the Virgin, fastened on the wall. When all was quiet, she ventured in again, and, with some trepidation, felt her way up two steep flights of stairs, happily, at last, chancing to lay her hand on a string, which caused a bell somewhere to ring. A voice, up aloft, exclaimed, ' Chi e ? ' and the heavy door at the head of the stairs was opened a little way. Mrs. Dalzell profited by the ray of light that shone through the crack, and soon made her way to Madame Marriotti's rooms. A quick, clear voice from within, answered, ' Passi 1 ' to her knock, and entering, she found Madame Marriotti rummaging papers in a cabinet, with a fur cloak wrapped round her, and a little x^^faz-zoletto on her head. She turned round to look at her visitor, exhibiting a small dark face, with vivid black eyes and jet-black crisped hair, scarcely streaked with grey ; a face which she her-self always considered ugly, but which was capable of such varying and brilliant expression, that it was worth all imaginable beauty of coloring. Her figure was of fairy proportions, and still as light and active as a girl's, though little could be seen of it in her manifold wraps, and neither it nor her countenance owed anything to her costume, which, to say the least, was singular ; and altogether a more original little creature than the celebrated cantatrice would have been hard to find. She ceased hunting through her papers for a moment, to shake hands with Mrs. Dal- J MADEMOISELLE MORI. 43 zell, and stir the Avood fire, where an earthen pot was boiling, set on an iron tripod, contrasting oddly with the size and hand-some furniture of the apartment. ' Ah, so you have come,' said she, absently, as if she had not well mastered the idea that Mrs. Dalzell was present. ' I was thinking of you this—ah, by the bye, you sent me a note. I cannot think where this letter is,' she said, returning to the cab-inet, and soliloquizing in short sentences while she rustled the papers. Mrs. Dalzell waited with exemplary patience till the missing one was found, and Madame Marriott! came voluntarily to sit beside her and talk. Then she began telling her business, grow-ing more eager as she proceeded, and looking at Madame Mar-riotti as she ended, to see what effect she had produced. ' Ah—yes —' was the reply, in a preoccupied manner ; ' it is a curious story. I dare say you are right.' * My dear madame, have you heard a word of what I said ? ' ' Oh yes, I heard it,' was the answer, in exactly the same dreamy tone ; then all at once wakening up to present things, she asked very sharply, ' What did you say ? ' In short, her mind had been absent, and Mrs. Dalzell's story had reached her ear, but not her brain, and had to be told all over again. She listened this time with increasing surprise and disdain. ' A cantatrice ! you are dreaming ! I dare say the girl has a pretty voice ; every Roman can sing ; they are all musical ; if you passed any cafe to-night where there was music, you might have seen a crowd outside the door listening, and every one of that crowd could have joined in the airs played ; that is a very different thing from having a talent for the stage. Make a Maestra Pia of the girl, if you don't know what to do with her ; but don't turn her head with talking of the theatre.' ' I am sure I am most guiltless of wishing her to be an actress,' said Mrs. Dalzell, half laughing ; ' and I have not an idea what a Maestra Pia is.' ' Don't you know ? The Maestre Pie have three great houses of education here for the middle class, and besides some of them hold free schools in every parish in the Papal States ; they don't 44 MADEMOISELLE MORI. go very deep, you know, so nobody is afraid of them ; but we don't love education overraucli here. They take no perpetual vows, but there is some ceremony when they are admitted.' Mrs. Dalzell laughed outright this time. ' I don't think that would do at all, and besides, Irene cannot leave her brother. I assure you her voice is not a common one, and if you had seen her graceful gestures as she told me her story — ' ' All that may be very true, especially if she has Neapolitan blood in her —have you been at Naples ? No ?— well, they converse there more by looks and gestures than by words —it is not proved that she has the slightest talent for the stage.' ' Her wish is so strong, however, that she was near applying to Madame St. Simon.' ' That settles it at once. That woman ! I do assure you, my dear—' Madame Marriotti started up in her energy—' I do assure you it makes me perfectly ill to hear her. A vain, heart-less coquette, without a grain of sentiment—nothing but a flexible voice with which she can do wonderful things, I dare say ; I hear every one say so except the Abate G-rossi, the only man who knows what music is—real old music; he keeps, up the traditions of the old ways, and hates this new school of macaws, just as I do. No. If this girl admires Madame St. Simon, that is enough.' * I wish you would hear her, at all events.' ' Where do they live ? ' ' It is near. You know the church of St. Andrea della Valle — the famous church which every one goes to see.' * No.' * Not, my dear madame ? impossible ! ' ' No,' repeated the old lady, very incredulous of its existence. ' Well,' said Mrs. Dalzell, resignedly, knowing that Madame Marriotti might have seen it fifty times without being conscious of its existence, unless something particular brought the fact home to her mind, ' it does not matter much ; I could not ask you to go there, but should you object to my bringing her here, without, of course, pledging you in any way ? I really should be thankful to put this fancy out of her head, and from your de-cision there could be no appeal.' MADEMOISELLE MORI. 45 ' You may bring her here if you like, but I cannot promise to admire her singing, out of politeness. I know exactly the kind of thing it will be.' ' Very well, only be so kind as to hear her sing once ; then we can settle about it,' said Mrs. Dalzell ; and Madame Marriotti began to talk of some matter uppermost in her mind, and entirely forgot the first part of the conversation. Mrs. Dalzell found that friends had arranged plans for her and themselves, which occupied the whole of the next day ; and pic-tures, churches, ruins and views, left no room in her mind for her proteges. Returning to her lodgings at night, weary, ex-cited, and feeling that she had seen an immense variety of things, which she could not clearly recall, a more living interest was brought back by the s^ght of Vincenzo's carving, which had arrived in her absence. Minute inspection only made her better pleased with it, and she placed it in her drawing-room, intending to become its purchaser ; but a friend called the next day, and at once declared it must be his —it would exactly suit a paintino- . which he had bought— where had she met with it ? She told its history, and gave Vincenzo's address, with strong hopes that other orders would follow, and she could not resist taking him the good news at once. Irene met her with such cheerful looks that she smiled, and asked if she had forgiven her for opposing her wishes. Irene blushed and looked at Vincenzo, who an-swered, smiling, ' She expects that you have brought her good news.' ' How could she guess anything about it ? ' ' Oh, you have, signora ! ' cried Irene, with great animation ; * I knew you would, for I had a good dream last night ! ' ' It may be only my frame ; I think that is enough good luck for to-day ! ' said Vincenzo. ' A dream, my dear child ? What did you dream about ? ' saifl Mrs. Dalzell. ' I dreamed of farina,' replied Irene, seriously ; but, perceiv-ing that her visitor did not comprehend, she added, ' You know, that always means good fortune. I did not know what it would be ; but as soon as I saw you from the window, I was sure that you were bringing me good news about my singing.' 46 MADEMOISELLE MORI. * Farina ? ' repeated Mrs. Dalzell. * What bread is made of, signora. ' Do you not call it thus ? ' ' Flour,' added Vincenzo. 'My dear, do you really mean that you believe in dreams ?' ' Oh, yes, every one does. Nanna can tell what nearly every dream means. Before Vincenzo's accident she dreamed of water — that means tears ; and she was so unhappy all that Sunday, knowing that some misfortune would happen, and, you know, it did ; and afterwards, she and I both dreamed we were in the street in our night-dresses, and that means poverty. You see that, certainly, was true, for we were almost starving when you came.' ^ And do you believe in dreams too ? ' asked Mrs. Dalzell of Vincenzo. 'No, not I; but we are obliged to believe more wonderful things still in this place,' he answered, with a smile of contempt. Irene interrupted hastily—'Now, don't laugh, Vincenzo; it will bring ill luck. Do they not believe in dreams in England, signora ? ' ' How much did papa believe in them ? ' inquired Vincenzo. 'Oh, but papa was— was — was — perhaps Protestants do not believe in such things ? ' ' Well-educated people,' began Mrs. Dalzell, stopping, be-cause, as the hour of noon was announced by the churches, Irene stood up, Nanna crossed herself, and Vincenzo, too, as-sumed a serious attitude. After a few moments Nanna took up her knitting again ; Irene sat down ; and Vincenzo, seeing their visitor's look of perplexity, said, ' The Angelus ; at noon 'every one repeats it. Did you never notice men taking off their hats in the street when it is noon ? ' ' But I thought you were Protestants.' 'We are, but mamma taught us to say the Angelus; she thought one thing right, and papa another. I believe as he did, but Nanna has taught Irene all sorts of nonsense.' ' Oh, Vincenzo ! ' ' W^ell, really, I cannot accept the history of Sta. Filomena on the same ground as I do St. Paul's; and Nanna knows much more about that Sta. Filomena than she does of the Apostles. MADEMOISELLE MOM. 47 Really one is told to believe so much that one is ready to believe nothing.' Mrs. Dalzell found that from being children of a Protestant, the brother and sister had never had the advantage of such edu-cation as otherwise would have come within their reach in Rome ; they had not attended any of the classes or catechizings to which Roman Catholic children are summoned. They had never been to any kind of school, and Irene had been almost entirely left to Nanna's care. English both she and Vincenzo spoke easily, but read with difficulty. Mrs. Dalzell offered books to the latter, and would not seem to see that he received the proposal o-rate-fully, but not eagerly. She took Irene away with her, without fully informing her how important was the impending interview with Madame Marriotti, but telling her enough of the cantatrice to inspire a respect for her judgment. Irene had never heard of her. Madame Marriotti's public days were past before Irene ever saw the inside of a theatre, but when she heard that the lady had been a prima donna in London, her awe and respect were boundless. Her own wildest dreams had never reached such a height ; she believed that nothing but diamonds and ru-bies were showered on public singers in that capital of golden streets ! Madame Marriotti had never thought again of the affair, and was in a not infrequent mood of nervous irritability, which augured ill for a candid judgment. Mrs. Dalzell regretted that she had brought Irene, and was growing very nervous herself. To cut matters short she took up a heap of popular songs and asked Irene if she knew any of them. The girl withdrew her earnest glance from Madame Marriotti for the first time since she entered, and pointed out a favorite popular air. '"Well, let us hear whether you can sing it,' said Madame Marriotti reluctantly, but going to her piano and striking the first notes. Irene came to her side and obeyed. Mrs. Dalzell watched, with a half smile, her friend's start of surprise and the deep attention with which she listened. ' Can you sing this ? ' she asked, without any comment, as Irene paused. ' You don't know it ? Oh, yes, you do ; listen. La, la, la, la,'—humming the first bars. Finding that her young 48 MADEMOISELLE MORL visitor really did not know it, she made an impatient gesture and sang it herself, playing the accompaniment, looking from time to time at Irene, who listened entranced, and exclaimed in English to Mrs. Dalzell, ' But it is a marvel ! I never heard any singing hke that ! ' ' Not Madame St. Simon's ?' ' Oh, no, no, no, this is quite different ; this is beautiful—most beautiful ! ' Now Madame Marriotti, though she professed not to under-stand English, had lived quite long enough in London to compre-hend every word, and the young girl's admiration pleased her, though she had had the homages of illustrious audiences laid at her feet till she was weary of them. ' Well,' said Mrs. Dalzell. ' Well, she will do, I think. I must consider. Here, my dear,; you want to be a cantatrice, they tell me ; I was one myself, and I know the life ; now listen to me.' Thereupon followed a very unflattered picture of the trials of a celebrated singer, at the end of which she waited to hear what Irene had to say. ' But, if the signora had foreseen all this, she would still have been a cantatrice.' ' Not for fame or fortune, though. I found both pleasant enough-; but if that had been all, half the heart-aches would have far outweighed them.' ' I think the music would make amends for all the rest/ said Irene. ' . ' If you feel that, you are good for something. There, we have talked enough about it ; what are you going to do with the child now, Mrs. Dalzell ? I want you to sit a little longer ; can't she go home now ? ' ' If she knows her way.' ' Yes, yes, but whom has she to go with ? You are not going alone, my dear ? ' 'Oh, no,' answered Irene, shrinking. ' I had not thought of that,' began Mrs. Dalzell. ' But you should think about it, my dear. Italian girls can't go scampering about the streets like your English ones ; we don't consider it respectable. Can't your servant escort her ? ' MADEMOISELLE MOEI. 49 ' Yes, but you must let me go to look for some books for Vin-cenzo.' When she returned she found Madame Marriott! still at the piano, playing a few bars now and then and meditating. She looked up and said abruptly, ' It would be a thousand pities not to cultivate such a voice as that.' ' So I think, but the life • ' * Oh, the life, the life ; I know many public singers whose names stand as high as any lady's name in England. I myself can witness that it is a life which can be made an honor ; if it have great temptations, it has great rewards for those who are real votaries, who look upon it as an art—not a trade. If this child were well trained, brought up properly, if she had some good quiet friends to look after her, she might do admirably ; and with the talent she has, she will be a cantatrice whether you like it or not. ' It would be a sin to let the St. Simon demoralize her voice.' ' If she had but some better teaching than the old nurse's— that woman has a covetous, cunning look which quite frightens me, and I am sure she is not honest ; and then the confusion of rehgious ideas in these children's minds is so painful.' ' The girl believing everything, and the boy nothing, I suppose — a common case here.' ' No ; Yincenzo has more ideas on the subject than I should have expected ; but Irene actually professed entire faith in dreams this morning.' She was interrupted by a burst of laughter from Madame Marriotti. ' Dreams, my dear ? There is not a household which does not possess the Libro del Sogni. What ! is it possible you don't know what that is ? Not know what that is ! ' She rang her bell, and, when the maid entered, asked, changing from French into Italian, ' Zenaide, I want the dream book.' In two minutes, a w^orn copy was produced, which Madame Marriotti put into Mrs. Dalzell's hands. Opening it at the first page, she found an aphabetical list of words, each with numbers attached. * An index ? ' she said, inquiringly. ' No, not at all. These numbers relate to the lottery. You, probably, don't know the enormous importance of the lottery 50 MADEMOISELLE MOKI. here ; there is hardly a house in Rome, I'll answer for it, without this book. You don't understand yet ? Now, for instance, J dream I walked into the Via Margutta, and a dog came out of a house and bit my hand. On waking, I look for dog, house, or hand, or all three, and take one or more of the numbers belong-ing to these words, in the lottery. It need not, necessarily, be a dream ; for example, in one Carnival there was a frightful acci-dent— some children killed by the mossa, the charge of the dragoons, to clear the Corso. "Well, there was a perfect run up-on the lottery after that ; they took Carnival—horse—child— che so 10— yes, and misfortune and accident too ; for, now I come to think about it, misfortune was the only one that drew a prize ; No. 32, is it not ? ' ' But, surely, this is one of the books that would be pro-hibited?' ' My dear, if you look, you will see on the* contrary it is pubHshed with the Censor's approval ; we must have some amusement, and, besides, it is profitable to Government— II gioco in complesso E un vizio bestiale, Ma il lotto in se stesso Ha non che di morale ! I wonder who the clever rogue is who writes these things ; I had those verses on the lottery sent me in manuscript, under the rose, and my friend only got them in the same way ; yet one hears them whispered everywhere. But about this girl— I have a great mind to teach her myself ; I want something to do sometimes, and I should rather like another pupil.' ' She could not have a better teacher ! ' 'But, then, she knows nothing— she has everything to learn. I should never have patience, and, besides, it is an immense re-sponsibility to be any way answerable for a girl ; I would not ask a mother to trust her daughter with me for an hour ; she would be having billets doux—falling in love! ' ' My idea was,' said Mrs. Dalzell, without attempting to per-suade her, ' to take them away from their present lodgings, and establish them in some that my landlady had not let.' ' Who is your Padrona di Casa ? Cecchi ? I had forgotten — MADEMOISELLE MORI. . 51 did not I recommend her to you ? I forget so many things now. Then you could keep your 9je on this girh' ' She and her brother interest me more than I can tell you, and I might do something for Irene, if I had her constantly with me till June.' ' What will your friends say to your spending your time in this way? ' ' You know I came to Rome for mental change ; it does not matter how I get it, and I don't mean to neglect the sight-see-ing ; I am only afraid of thinking of nothing else.' ' So you stay here till June ? ' said Madame Marriotti, regard-ing with affection the face of her friend, which had become sad-dened as she spoke of mental change. ' Till June. I suppose the heat will drive me out then.' ' Oh, I suppose so ; as for me, as often as not I stay here all the year round, instead of going to my villa at Florence. I did spend one summer up in the hills, but we got nothing to eat. Well, I shall consider about this child— what is her name ? ' ' Irene Moore.' ' Mura ?—what is it ? Irene— Irene Mori.' 52 MADEMOISELLE MORI. CHAPTER IV. Whither are you bound? To the palace, an it like your "worship. Winte7''s Tale. • The lodgings that Mrs. Dalzell had taken M^ere on the second floor in an old palace near the Tiber. One common staircase led to corridors with open arcades, looking into a great quad-rangle; each story had its corridor, or loggia, to use the Italian word, except the highest, which was tenanted by very poor fam-ilies, or by artists, to whom abundance of light was essential. About eighteen doors on each floor opened into the corridor, and ascend or descend when you would, a face you had never noticed before was sure to be seen. The palace resembled a large hive of bees, with storehouses underground or in the lowest floor, where no one lived, and magazines of wine and wood were kept ; and, as in other hives, there were working bees and drones. On the first floor dwelt rich and^ titled families, on the mezzanini professors and teachers ; a staircase higher came un-titled people ; and higher still the artists and the poor, amongst whom might perhaps be counted a poet, who seemed of a joyous temperament, and, whenever he could aflPord it, gave a supper to his friends ; and rumors of a reunion of nineteen other poets, whose songs and shouts were heard late into the night, more than once afforded matter for speculation and amusement to the other inhabitants of the palace. It belonged to a noble and very poor family, who, reserving two floors for themselves in a smaller in-ner quadrangle, let all the rest, and contrived to live on the small •portion of rent which was not swallowed up by mortgages and debts. Mrs. Dalzell had found her way into this un-English MADEMOISELLE MORT. 53 quarter under the guidance of Madame Marriotti, and she had far more enjoyment in the. novelty, and even the occasional dis-comforts, than she could have derived from the luxuries of the hotels or lodgings in the streets frequented by her compatriots, where often more English than Italian is to be heard, and all is adapted to English tastes. The palace looked stately by day, but its aspect gained inde-scribably by night, when the moon gleamed on the white fronts of the arcades and threw the corridors within into profound shade, in which mysterious staircases yawned blacker still, lead-ing up and down into unknown regions, and lights glimmered here and there from windows grated like those of a prison. As soon as the reign of night began, ghostly noises too were heard — sounds, like heavy blows or distant cannonading, re-echoed through the quadrangle, and the fountain lifted up a voice nearly inaudible by day, and murmured plaintively, doubtless telling of the Anio, from whence its waters came, and of the ancient aque-duct along which they had travelled many a mile. By daylight all the awe and mystery disappeared, and the palace, though always stately, looked cheerful, like a place inhabited by modern, e very-day people—a place, moreover, where they might desire to live, when it was seen flooded by sunshine, with white-winged terns wheeling in the blue air above the quadrangle. Mrs. Dalzell had come abroad with maid and courier; but before she had been a week at Rome, her maid had become so disconsolate in this land, where she could neither understand nor make herself understood, that her mistress was glad to send her home and manage without her. The landlady, Signora, or, as foreigners usually called her, Madama, Cecchi, spoke enough French to make it a medium of conversation ; and when Mrs. Dalzell returned to her lodgings she was admitted by her in per-son, the padrona having ascertained from a little grated window that it was her lodger who rang. It would not have been easy to find a handsomer specimen of a Roman of the middle class than was this Madama Cecchi, who looked as stately as any duchess as she stood at the door, her black silk dress draping her full and rounded form, her hair rolled back from her brow, and partly shaded by a black lace lappet fastened with gold pins ; 54 MADEMOISELLE MORI. little enamel and pearl ear-rings in her ears and a mosaic brooch to fasten her lace collar. This was her every-day dress ; had she been in full costume, she would probably have worn white, or pale colors, and a gown of some thin material, far less becom-ing to her, for Roman beauty requires the deep lines and abun-dant drapery which, happily, the common people, at least, delight in. Few high-born dames in England could have equalled the natural and stately grace with which she received her lodger, whom she had not seen before that day, and the readiness to hear the something, which Mrs. Dalzell announced she had to say, was expressed in courteous phrases untranslatable, because in any language but their own they would- have sounded un-natural. She preceded Mrs. Dalzell into the anteroom, which had a brick floor and a pile of firewood in one corner ; the apartment was by no means splendid, but when, lifting the curtain that hung over the door, they entered the salotto or sitting-room, the sunshine which literally bathed the whole room and called out all the colors on the arched and. painted ceiling, sufficiently indi-cated why Madame Marriotti had recommended it. Sunshine is one of the luxuries for which people come to Rome, and though the winter had been a cold one, Mrs. Dalzell had never yet found it necessary to have a fire in the little open stove until evening. A nosegay of camellias, fringed with the maidenhair fern that grows on every fountain, stood on a round table ; an-other table with a marble top stood in a window which admitted the morning sunshine ; a third, also bearing a heavy slab of marble, and too high to be used except as a sideboard, was placed between the two other windows looking towards the west ; besides books, it bore two vases of artificial flowers, with a stuffed canary bird and several beetles among them to add to their vraisemUanc'e ; a heavy clock, highly gilt, was placed in the centre. It being winter, the floor was covered with coarse green and black drugget, or else it, like that of the anteroom, would have been seen to be of brick. This was the sole sign of winter, for there were only thin muslin curtains to the windows ; and the green persiani outside showed that more precautions against heat than cold were necessary. MADEMOISELLE MORI. 55 Mrs. Dalzell sat down, and told the history of her proteges, ending with a proposal to visit the rooms in which she desired to settle them. The prospect of letting them for an indefinite time was welcome to the Roman landlady, who usually could only dispose of them for the season, and she instantly led the way, remarking, however, that she must consult her husband, to the amusement of Mrs. Dalzell, who was aware that the said hus-band was a very nominal authority: Madama Cecchi was a perfectly despotic, though very good-humored potentate ; and ' Nino,' as she called him, submitted unmurmuringly to her de-crees. The three rooms proved in every way desirable, except that to reach them from her own apartments, Mrs. Dalzell was obliged either to go out into the corridor, or to pass through the kitchen ; but as Madama Cecchi thought this unimportant, Mrs. Dalzell said no more about it. It so happened that she had never been in the little back kitchen before, and she paused to sui'vey the vessels, scanty in number, and of unknown shapes and uses, which stood on the shelves. She smiled and wondered what an English servant would think of the disorder and want of accommodation. All cooking was done at square holes in a kind of brick counter, into which a handful of charcoal was put when wanted ; the consequence of which was, that whenever so much as an extra jug of hot water was required, the charcoal had to be lit, water fetched from the fountain, and much time spent before the demand could be supplied, for charcoal was too dear to be freely used. Among the various utensils Mrs. Dal-zell spied out a little lamp, and she said, ' I like these so much that I bought one yesterday, but it would not burn last night, and I forgot to tell my courier to examine it.' ' Where is it ? let us make my husband look at it — he is capace di tutto,' said Madama Cecchi ; ' Nino ! Ni ! come here.' Nino, or rather Giovanbattista, appeared from another room, bowed to his lodger, and asked what was the matter. He was, like most of the Roman men, a great contrast to the female part of the population, being slender, middle-sized, with taper hands, and not a trace of the muscle and strength which characterize northern nations. Black-haired and black-bearded, he had dark soft eyes, which were at once sad, and arch and subtle, as only 66 MADEMOISELLE MORI. Italian eyes can be, and a pleasant tenor voice, mucli more agreeable than his wife's ; but the sound so exactly like most of those which Mrs. Dalzell heard in the streets, that she was apt constantly to look round, fancying that her landlord was beside her. He turned the lamp upside down, examined it, and in-quired if the signora had blown into it when she bought it. On hearing that this precaution had not occurred to her, he shook his head, and evidently thought its defects were no more than she deserved, but at once gave his most serious attention to remedying them. Just then a crash as of falling plates was heard somewhere near: Madama Cecchi hurried off with ex-clamations of despair, and directly afterwards, her voice and the maid's were heard uplifted to a most amazing pitch ; then a sound was heard, as if the girl had received a box on the ear, after which Madama Cecchi returned, cheerful and smiling as before, and not in the least ruffled by what had occurred. Mrs. Dalzell made some remark on the cause of the clatter, and the padrona replied, ' Oh dear, dear, dear, dear ! it is this henedetta figliuola, Filomena, who makes me desperate ; ' but the despair did not seem to go very deep, nor the offending Filomena to be very repentant, for immediately after, she came by, looking just as rosy and merry as usual. The prospect of a new habitation was very welcome to the three whom it chiefly concerned, especially to Vincenzo, who in spite of his carving was fast again becoming a prey to melan-choly and languor. He had no friends to enliven him with visits ; Nanna was more of a torment than anything else ; and dearly as he loved Irene, a girl's society could not make up to him for what he had lost. Any change was welcome to him ; the new project was thorough refreshment ; the preparations for departure positively delightful ; he did not even shrink from the notion of being conveyed over the rough streets, which the others dreaded much for him, and only considered possible, when fully sanctioned by his surgeon. The transit proved less painful than they had expected ; but all were thankful when he had been safely conveyed up the long staircases, carried by Cecchi and Mrs. Dalzell's courier, and laid on the sofa in the sunny sitting-room, which was now to be his own. Irene was almost too MADEMOISELLE MORI. 57 happj, between hearing that she was to be Madame Marriotti's pupil, and finding herself mistress of a little room which seemed palatial luxury to her. Her felicity was beyond expression, when she found that a piano had been hired for her, and was placed in the sitting-room ; and she flew about, showing every-thing to Nanna, darting back to Vincenzo for additional sympa-thy, springing to the side of Mrs. Dalzell with a new burst of gratitude, and making acquaintance with the padroua, whose heart was speedily won by her frank delight, and all whose sym-pathies were enlisted for the invalid boy, as he lay with smiling, grateful looks, too weary to answer his sister's transports, and only wishing to lie still and watch the various arrangements which kept all the others fully employed. They had brought a few articles of furniture with theni to add to that already in the rooms, where there was not much space to spare ; and Nino, his wife, Nanna, Mrs. Dalzell, and Irene, were still in full conclave when the clock announced, in that Italian fashion so mysterious to foreigners, that the hour of five had come. At the same time, the bell rang, Filoraena opened the door and admitted a boy, with two tin chests on his head, each containing a pan of charcoal and a dinner. This broke off all discussion. Mrs. Dalzell left Nanna to see about one, and retired to her own sit-ting- room to eat the other, not without a compliment from both landlord and landlady on her looking so well that afternoon. It was deserved ; Mrs. Dalzell felt more occupied, more happy,* than she had done for many months. Till this time, do what she would, all the beauty, all the associations of Italy, had, at the most, only filled her mind ; while at heart there was always the aching of a grief for which she found no cure. Strange ! this one little good deed had done what neither Art nor Nature could effect ; it had lulled the pain to rest, for a time, at all events ; and as she sat alone that evening, willing to let Vincenzo rest, after a day very exciting and fatiguing to him ; although her book remained unread, and her work lay idly upon her lap, it was not now because her thoughts had wandered and her eyes were dim with tears. She thought anxiously, yet hopefully, of Irene, and with a still tenderer feeling of the invalid Vincenzo, whose grateful and cheerful looks that day had keenly reminded 58 MADEMOISELLE MORI. her of another invalid, very dear to her, whom she had once tended and watched over as only a mother can watch over her sole treasure. More than once she had found the name of Ar-thur rising to her lips instead of that of Vincenzo, who, hence-forward, must be dear to her, for the sake of that dead son, as well as for his own. It was much to have rescued this brother and sister from destitution ; it was like an answer to the question that had often forced itself upon her — TVhat the future could have for her to do ? Through these orphans it might yet have an interest. She thought of what it might bring them, far more anxiously than they did—one dreaming on her pillow, with lips parted into a smile, and a rosy flush on her cheek — the other, awake, and taking courage from the thought, that though his own faith had failed, the promise their dying father had trusted in had stood firm, bidding himself remember that on the ruin of his own hopes had risen new ones for Irene, and thinking, with deep gratitude, of her who had rescued them from actual starva-tion. Surely, with these two near her, Mrs. Dalzell could not help feeling satisfied and cheered. Thus it gradually came to pass that, while she visited the sights of Rome, entered occasionally into society, and was always ready to take part in any scheme proposed by her friends, these two orphans became Mrs. Dalzell's chief thought. They inter-ested her not only for their own sakes, but as specimens of Ital-ians — a race unknown to her ; and Italians, rather than English, they certainly were, though Vincenzo betrayed the English part of his parentage at times, by a certain reserve and steadfast-ness, joined, however, to much Italian enthusiasm : but Irene, with the soft and brilliant dark eyes of her Sora mother, had in-herited a southern grace, an instinctive courtesy, a fire and im-petuosity, that never came from England. Pretty she was not ; she had inherited none of the beauty for which the women of Sora are celebrated, and with which her mother had been pre-eminently endowed ; yet her slight figure, and the open brow whence dark shining hair was braided back, the marked and ex-pressive eyebrows, and the lovely eyes, made hers a poetical face ; and the instant changes at word or look, from the serious and pensive expression usual to it when at rest, to archness and MADEMOISELLE MOKL 59 mirth, had a charm so bewitching that many beautiful women would have been far less attractive than Irene. In her, there was none of the abrupt English honesty, so repulsive to Italians. To be charmingly courteous was her nature, but she was no less true than Vincenzo ; as Mrs. Dalzell, in time, discovered, after being a little mistrustful of what she had heard her countrymen assert in other cases to be insincerity —sometimes justly, some-times much otherwise ; but Italian faults and virtues are almost equally perplexing to English people, and so are those of the English to Italians. Mrs. Dalzell had expected to find Irene the best possible guide to Eome, especially as both brother and sister were proud of their birthplace, and spoke of ' Roma mia ' and ' i miei Ho-manV with pride worthy of an ancient senator ; but, to her sur-prise, Irene knew nothing about it. Vincenzo too read a book about Rome Pagan and Rome Christian, and their historical as-sociations, with the delight of a blind man when enabled to see. It was the first book that awoke any lively interest in him ; he seemed to have found a glorious new w^orld, and Mrs. Dalzell often could not resist a smile as she heard him telling Irene, with the utmost enthusiasm, of some fact trite to all the rest of the world. On questioning Irene, it appeared that she • had seen hardly any of the great sights which attract travellers from every land. She had, now and then, gone to the Colosseum, with her mother or Nanna, to pray at the stations ; she had been some-times at the Vatican, because every one goes there on the public day at Easter, and Vincenzo was fond of visiting it ; and that seemed to be the extent of her acquaintance with the ruins and galleries. Mrs. Dalzell could hardly believe that she heard aright, and asked if Roman girls never went to see sights. Irene said they hardly ever did ; they sometimes went to shops, or on the Pincio, or in the Corso, with their mothers, or paid a morning visit, but not often to see sights ; and she could not un-derstand the notion of walking for exercise sake, when asked if she were not accustomed to do so. ' Papa liked walking ; but then he was English. When he was alive, he often took her and Vincenzo to the Villa Pamphili Doria, or the Villa Bor-ghese, on festas.' 60 MADEMOISELLE MORI. ' Have you never seen any of the ceremonies in St. Peter's ? Never been there at Easter ? ' ' Oh ! no. Romans hardly ever do go ; there is such a crowd— people behave so ill, and push so. The foreigners say, "We must see these things, because we have come from the ends of the earth to do so, and you Romans can see them when you Avill;" but then they come and come every year, and do not cease, and thus we see nothing.' ' Besides, as for Easter day, every Romanist is obliged to hear mass in his parish church, unless the priest gives him express leave to go somewhere else,' added Yincenzo. ' The rules are very strict ; you receive a certificate to show that you were there, and some days after the priest comes to each house for it, and you would get into terrible disgrace if you could not produce it ; your name publicly posted up in the church, and a great up-roar made, and it would be remembered against you to a cer-tainty if you wanted anything done for you. All power here is in the priests' hands.' ' I always fancy there is a strange contempt, mixed with fear, in Signor Cecchi's manner, when the priests are alluded to,' said Mrs. Dalzell ; ' and his wife once privately begged me never to name politics before him, it excited him so.' ' She is imprudent enough herself; but she knows she is safe^ with us. If half what I have heard her say were repeated, she*" would see the inside of a prison speedily.' ' Not really, Vincenzo ? ' ' Really, Mrs. Dalzell ; a careless word is enough to send a man to Spoleto for life.' The English lady thought this must be strange exaggeration ; but Vincenzo did not seem at all inclined to pursue the subject, so she turned to another. ' There is one ceremony that I mean to see and take Irene to this year ; she ought to hear Guglielmi's Pastorale ; what do you say, Vincenzo ? ' ' I would go if I could,' he answered, 'just to see St. Peter's by night ; but as for the music I don't care for that kind. I de-clare '—and herein he spoke the feelings of many of his fellow- MADEMOISELLE MOM. 61 citizens— ' when I hear it I am ready to stop my ears and run out of the church.' ' I hope Madame Marriotti will teach Irene better/ said Mrs. Dalzell, smiling. ' How did the lesson go to-day ? ' ' Oh, pretty well,' said Irene, with a blush ; ' I am afraid we both got out of patience ; but at last she said I was improving.' Indeed, teacher and pupil had both such impatient tempers, that Mrs. Dalzell had feared the alliance would speedily break up ; but Madamo Marriotti in her heart was very glad of this new interest, and fast becoming extremely proud of her pupil. She required entire devotion to music, with the most watchful and exciting jealousy, and Irene was ready to give it. Love for her art gave her fervor which took the place of persever-ance, and she became so absorbed in it, that Vincenzo silently, felt, or more truly, fancied, that he had grown a secondary object with her. Mrs. Dalzell's society, visits from such of her friends as desired to purchase his carvings, and the new delight of read-ing, kept, however, this feeling in the background ; and Irene, radiant with hope and energy, looked scarcely happier than did Vincenzo, lying on his couch, with a table drawn up to it, with books and a handful of wild flowers upon it, or a basket of fruit, destined to be copied in lime or pear wood. Mrs. Dalzell some-times wondered whether he had quite realized that his destiny was to be an invalid for life. Nothing could change that fiat ; they must never hope to see him walk again, except with crutches. 62 MADEMOISELLE MORI. CHAPTER V. Quera vidistis, pastores, dicite; annunciate nobis, in terris quis apparuit; Natum vidimus, et choros angelorum coUaudantes Dominum. Office of the Pastorale. The idea of going to hear the Pastorale did not fall to the ground ; it was one of the few ceremonies which Mrs. Dalzell could witness, without failing to attend the services of her own church, and she had particularly wished to see it. To go with a large party was the last thing she desired, and she named her intentions to none but Madame Marriotti, who had first inspired her with the wish, and now, much to Mrs. Dalzell's surprise, immediately declared that she should like, of all things, to go too. An expedition at three o'clock, a. m., w^as such a singular freak for so frail a creature, that Mrs. Dalzell would hardly consent, though she acknowledged that her pleasure in music was always doubled when Madame Marriotti was by to comment on it ; and the little old lady was as wilful as any spoiled child, and got her way. Accordingly, on Christmas eve, instead of going to bed, Irene came to Mrs. Dalzell's sitting-room, where she found her friend, lying on the sofa, resting till the hour to set out should arrive. Resisting an invitation to share the couch, Irene, with her dog, which, as usual, had followed her, sat down on the floor before an open stove, where a wood fire burned brightly. Irene occupied herself with reading the music which was to be her next lesson, and Mrs. Dalzell, between sleep and waking, opened her eyes sometimes, and looked at the slight figure and bending profile of the young girl, on which the fire-light gleamed. She was absorbed in her task ; one hand, unconsciously, beat time on the back of her dog ; her brow was sometimes knit, as she looked MADEMOISELLE MORI. 63 with austerity at some difficult passage, and then expanded as she mastered it, and smiled and lifted her eyes, as if to those of some imaginary auditor. Now and then, still murmuring half inaudible notes, she added a piece of wood from the tall basket which stood by the stove, or moved the coffee-pot on its iron tripod into a hotter position ; while the dog looked on with great interest, or directed an intelligent glance towards the cups and saucers on the table, as much as to say that if they really in-tended to have a meal at this extraordinary hour, it was advis-able to lose no more time. A ring at the outer door announced Madame Marriott! ; Irene sprang up, and went to let her in, disencumbering her of a multitude of wraps ; while the old lady diminishing momentarily in size, as she was released first from one, then another, was at last reduced to dimensions fit for a fairy godmother, for which she might very well have passed. She was in a fidget about this unusual expedition, and at first rejected vehemently the coffee which Irene poured out for her ; but ended by drinking it, in an absent, unconscious way, while Mrs. Dalzell sought her bonnet and cloak. Irene looked very mirthful and mischievous, and moved so noiselessly, and spoke so low, that Madame Marriotti's nerves were speedily irritated by this mysterious conduct, and she demanded, sharply, what was the matter with her. ' Only I feel as if we were plotting something very wonderful and secret. We are the only people awake in the palace ; we are going out directly without their knowing it ; it is a secret expedition, and we are conspirators.' ' Nonsense, child ; don't talk of conspirators, I beg ; we had enough of that in '31 ; how can you be so silly ? ' asked Madame Marriotti, uneasily. ' Oh, I think a conspiracy must be so interesting ! ' answered Irene, gaily, too young to remember much about the troubles that had hailed the election of the reigning Pope, Gregory XVI. ' Heaven help the child ! she may live to know more about it,' muttered the old lady, who, though she chose to lead a somewhat secluded life, knew most things, public or secret, that went on in Rome, and was well aware of the storms that were gathering there. ' Mrs. Dalzell, are you ready ? Do let us go, if we are 64 MADEMOISELLE MORI. going, and have done with it. Where are you running off to now, child ? ' ' Only to take Tevere back, and see if Yincenzo is asleep,' answered Irene, running away, with a little lamp in her hand, through the empty kitchen. The Cecchi had gone to the fun-zione at San Luigi, and had not yet returned ; the rooms were still as death, and she speedily re-appeared, a little excited and awed by the silence and darkness. Madame Marriotti, still looking ruffled, was wrapping herself slowly up again, an opera-tion suddenly delayed by the loss of a glove. Irene and Mrs. Dalzell looked for it in vain ; Madame Marriotti fumed and fidgeted. At last, Irene emerged from under a table, holding up something dark, a single kid finger. ' I am afraid,' said she, half stifled by suppressed laughter, ' that Tevere must have eaten the rest ! ' ' Tevere ! ' exclaimed Madame Marriotti, nearly speechless ; ' my glove ! ' ' Poor dog, he will certainly be ill,' said Mrs. Dalzell, anx-iously. ' How did he seem, Irene ? ' ' I don't think it has disagreed with him, though I am sadly afraid he ate the button too,' replied Irene, half suffocated with amusement at the catastrophe, and the indignation of her be-reaved friend. ' I hope it will, I hope it will. The ill-mannered, inconsid-erate beast,' exclaimed Madame Marriotti. ' Of course I shall catch cold, I must make up my mind to that ; so we had better go at once. Such nonsense as it all is ! ' She hurried towards the door, nearly falling over Mrs. Dalzell's courier, who was coming to announce the carriage. Both Irene and Mrs. Dalzell were quite aware that this irritation only meant, that the un-wonted expedition had strung their friend's excitable nerves a little too highly ; so they were not in the least disturbed by it, but settled themselves speedily in their corners of the carriage, which had thundered into the quadrangle, and now thundered out again in a way likely to discompose all the sleepers in the palace, and auguring ill for the secresy of Irene's expedition. Till within an hour or two there had been an incessant hum of voices and roll of carriages in the streets : all Rome was abroad, MADEMOISELLE MORI. 65 hastening to and from the midnight mass at various churches ; but now all was still ; only a few men or women Avere seen in the dark deserted streets : and the occasional rinorino: of bells from some church was almost the only sound. The Tiber glided below the bridge, swift, silent, and tawny in the moonlight ; not a living creature was visible about St. Angelo, "which rose mas-sive and desolate, as if once more a tomb ; and the Archano-el on its summit looked like some indistinct and threatenins: form descended from the gloomy sky above. The piazza of St. Peter stretched out in an extent of space which the eye could hardly compass, and the large semicircular colonnades appeared to ex-pand themselves, as though to embrace a world. Lamps were hung here and there against their columns, marking out their circuit in the darkness ; lights shone in the belfry, where a deep-toned bell was ringing ; the fountains lifted up their silver jets, and in front rose the basilica, dark, enormous, and appearing to retreat before the advancing visitor. Mrs, Dalzell and Irene united their strength to lift the ponder-ous curtain, or rather mat, which hung befforethe door by which they entered ; Madame Marriotti slipped in, they followed, and at once found themselves in a world of shadow so vast, so strange, that they stood still involuntarily to gaze. Between every arch stood one tall lighted taper, and under the cupola, the crowd of ever-burning lamps around the tomb of St. Peter shone out, clear and pale, like a garland of stars. Not a flame but burned up motionless in the still, perfumed atmosphere, but on all sides was gloom and silence, and the cupola seemed to rise up and vanish, as if it contained a whole sky filled with soft darkness, like that of a moonless night in summer. Few were present at this hour of the night, and in the area which no man has ever beheld full, even when the jubilee attracts multitudes from every land, the units present on this Christmas eve were scarcely per-ceptible. Now and then some one crossed the nave ; three or four knelt amid the circle of hght at the Apostle's tomb ; and a woman was bowed before his statue, immovable as the bronze figure above her. All the color, the splendor, the ornament, all that delights or displeases the eye by day, was now blended to-gether ; and doubtless it was this absence of striking detail that 5 66 MADEMOISELLE MORI. gave the impression of boundless space in the building, which by day seems in comparison small. Mrs. Dalzell walked slowly up the nave towards the eastern end, where were seats erected for the public functionaries and the ladies who would be present at the great ceremony of the mor-row. Mrs. Dalzell took her place here, and sat waiting and expecting the service to begin ; Madame Marriotti had fallen into a reverie, from Avhich a whisper of Irene roused her sud-denly. ' What did you say ? ' she asked quickly in Italian, which she always spoke to her pupil. ' I cannot help thinking the service is beginning in the chapel of the choir,' repeated Irene, looking down the basilica to a spot where lights were glittering, reflected in the pavement like moons in a lake. ' Well, are we not there ! Why, where are we ? Mrs. Dal-zell, why did you come here ? ' ' Seeing these seats I really thought the service was here, and I trusted to you.' ' Could any one believe such folly ? ' exclaimed the old lady, irascibly. ' A baby might have known the Pastorale would be in the chapel of the choir ; now we shall not
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Title | Mademoiselle Mori: A tale of modern Rome |
Author | Roberts, Margaret, b. 1833 |
Related to | Intellectual Underpinnings of the Civil War: http://www.archive.org/details/medemoisellemori00robe |
Date Published | 1860 |
Description | This book was written by Margaret Roberts and was published by Ticknor and Fields, Boston, in 1860. It is a work of fiction. |
Decade | 1860s |
Print Publisher | Boston : Ticknor and Fields |
Subject Terms | Rome--Fiction; |
Language | eng |
File Name | medemoisellemori00robe.pdf |
Document Type | Text |
File Format | |
File Size | 32.9 Mb |
Digital Publisher | Auburn University Libraries |
Rights | This document is the property of the Auburn University Libraries and is intended for non-commercial use. Users of the document are asked to acknowledge the Auburn University Libraries. |
Submitted By | Coates, Midge |
OCR Transcript | AUBURN UNIVERSITY LIBRARIES Spec PR 5232 .R155 M3 i860 Digitized by the Internet Arcinive in 2010 with funding from Lyrasis IVIembers and Sloan Foundation http://www.archive.org/details/medemoisellemoriOOrobe MADEMOISELLE MOEI A TALE OF MODERN ROME. •^ MADEMOISELLE MOPJ: A TALE OF MODERN ROME. ' D-abord je suis/e?n?ne, avec les devoirs, les affections, les sentiments d'une femme; et puis je suis artiste,^ Madame Vurdot Garcia. ' Come, make a circle round me, and mark my tale with care, A tale of what Rome once hath borne, of what Rome yet may bear.' Macaulay. BOSTON: TICKNOR AND FIELDS. M DCCC LX. author's edition. RIVERSIDE, Cambridge: PRINTED BT H. 0. HOUGHTON AND COMPANY. %j>et ^R 5^32 ^{m m llloO •w I -so BGC PEEFACE The words of an accomplished singer, ' D'abord je suis femme^ avec les devoirs, les affections, les sentiments d'une femme ; et puis je suis artiste^^ may be taken as the text on which the following tale has been composed. Irene Mori is an ideal who arose before the mind of the writer among fair scenes and on classic ground, at a time when recent events in the history of Rome had a vivid interest for the spectator. The beauty and interest of Ancient Rome have been long the theme of travellers, poets, and historians, and it is an interest that can never be forgotten ; but now a new one is springing up there. Besides the dead Past, there is a living Present, and the aim of the following pages is to give some description of the thoughts and feehngs that stir Modern Rome ; and some picture of that every-day life in the Eter-nal City, which would not be more wonderful, more beauti-ful, or more interesting than every-day hfe elsewhere, if it were not that it has been of late years marked by some touch of heroism, and that it may ere long be so distinguished again. It is matter of history, that when once a race has fallen below a certain point it can rise no more. Whether the Italian people have sunk to this point is a question that, in VI PREFACE. the course of a few years, must have its answer. A new spirit has gradually risen among them ; they have dared and suffered, and they are ready to dare and suffer again, if so they may purchase hberty. They are not like the Spaniards, willing to acquiesce in insignificance, and content to have no place among the nations. They are gaspmg and struggling for life. We, in our island home, are, as a people, brought little in contact with other nations. We have a strong, busy, national life, which fills our heads and hearts, and gives full scope to our activities. Our sympathies are apt to be nar-rowed to the measure of our own concerns, and it has been truly said of the Enghshman that ' foreign affairs, in his normal state, he views with indifference.' Now and then this indifference is thawed, and our sympathies are roused by the course of events to take a wider range. The Italian revolution of 1848-9 awakened an interest amongst us that has not died away, and drew our earnest attention to Italian politics. The best historical account of those revolutions, Farini's Stato Romano, has been translated into our lan-guage, by the accomplished pen of an Enghsh statesman ; and time has enabled us to appreciate the truthfulness of a work which we were at first inclined to call in question. At the present epoch, the scenes in which the following tale is laid may give it a peculiar interest. It was written among those who had taken an active share in them. Some of the incidents described in it will be recognised as real occur-rences, such as the murder of the two supposed spies by the populace ; the attendance of the Roman ladies at the hospi-tals during the siege ; the existence of the child regiment called la Speranza, the flight and pursuit of the traitor, and PREFACE. VU his rescue by the eloquence of a priest. But the writer is far from presenting this shght work of fiction as a picture of all that Rome did and suffered in 1849. It is but a sketch of the way in which private lives are affected by convulsions in the whole body politic, and private hopes made shipwreck in the tempests that shake the State. If the fortunes of the dramatis personce of this story should awaken some feelings of pity for those who have been much oppressed, some admiration for those who have fallen in a good cause, and some sympathy for the future fortunes of the Roman people, the writer's end will have been accom-pHshed. May, 1859. JVIADEMOISELLE MORI. CHAPTER I. Thou art in Eome ! the city that so long Eeigned absolute, the mistress of the world. EOGERS. One Sunday evening in October, the English congregation were pouring out of the room which served them as a church, oj-itside the Porta del Popolo. The English season at Rome had just begun. A long file of carriages was waiting, and they suc-cessively came up to the door, and drove off, either to various residences, or to the Pincian Hill. The walkers turned into the gardens of Villa Borghese, the gates of which stood invitingly open close at hand ; or crossed the Piazza, and fell into the crowd in the three streets branching from it. Some ascended the Pincian Hill, which the Italians, ever dreading the unhealthy hour of sunset, were already leaving ; so that there was a double stream of vehicles and foot-passengers, one descending and the other ascending, the winding way. Ample as the road was, it hardly contained the crowds tempted out by the fine afternoon to this charming place, once the Collis Hortulorum, and still a re-gion of gardens,* as much as in the days of Sallust and Lucretius. If the piazzas and streets below had not been equally crowded, all Rome might have been supposed on the Pincio. Languages from all parts of the world were heard there ; foreigners and natives were blended together. Here, a magnificent Armenian prelate walked, with stately aii- and flowing beard, beside a white-robed Dominican. There, a group of Americans, of Eng-lish, of Germans, passed by. Here, again, a Frenchman ex- 10 MADEMOISELLE MORI. changed no very friendly glances with a slender, dark Italian. Now, all the crowd pressed hastily together into the angles of the road, as a carriage, containing two Italian ladies reclin-ing luxuriously in it, dashed along. Nurses, distinguished by their crowns of bright ribbon and long silver pins ; priests in their various habits, were conspicuous and abundant ; but in the whole throng there was hardly a Roman from the country ; all on the Pincio were inhabitants of the city, and no particular festa had called the dwellers in the Campagna into Rome. It was only such a crowd and such a scene as may be witnessed on the Pincian Hill on any fine Sunday in autumn. Amongst those of the English congregation who made it their way home from church were a young brother and sister, fol-lowed by a spaniel, which had been waiting for them at the door. As they mingled with • the crowd, their appearance was so for-eign and their Italian so pure, that no one would have supposed them to be English, though the boy's tall, slender figure and bright complexion were unlike those of a Roman. They paused for a few moments in an angle of the wall, looking down into the gardens below, whence the warm, perfumed breath of the China roses came up in gusts, and where lizards and butterflies coquetted together. A carriage passed, and a lady in it remarked them, and asked her companion who they were, saying, ' If I had not seen them in our church, I should have taken them for Italians.' ' So they are, in fact. I do not know much about them, but I believe the father was a young English artist, who married a Neapolitan girl. I suppose he met with her in some expedition into il Regno, as they call Naples. I remember seeing a portrait of her once when we went to his studio, and a beautiful crea-ture she must have been — with one of those pf!ire Greek faces which you- see at Sora or Capri. She died, and left him this girl and boy ; and some one said the other day that he was dead too.' ' How do they live ? ' ' I do not know ; on the boy's earnings, probably. Oh, you do not know how little people can live on here, or you would not look incredulous. Yet I sometimes think that poverty is worse here than in England ; there are so many families who once were MADEMOISELLE MORL 11 better off, and are going steadily down hill. And it is so hope-less. What can one do ? ' ' Ah, the priests dislike the English helping or visiting their people ? ' ' Oh, some do, and some do not. Some are glad to let their people get part of the alms at the English church ; others would not hear of it.' ' Do you see anything of the poor here ? ' ' I did, when I jQrst came here, with my English notions but it is so disheartening, the cases are so endless and so hopeless. And it is a most unfortunate thing to get the name of being charitable, one has no peace — and then one gets so shock-ingly imposed upon. I do assure you, Mrs. Dalzell, you would not believe me, if I told you the frauds that people, as well off as you or I, will practise to get a few pauls. I am quite in earnest ; the spirit of independence, or honesty either, is entirely wanting here. And then I know that the people take what one gives, and hate one all the time as something worse than a pa^n They call converts from our Church to theirs Nuovi Cristiani, New Christians. Religion is, of course, a forbidden subject, and I have lost all heart, and feel sure I am being taken in when an Italian talks me into being charitable. I have learnt to resist their pathetic entreaties at last. Ah, you look dissatisfied; but if ever you live here, you will find philanthropy to be all very well in theory but mightily disagreeable in practice at Rome.' Mrs. Dalzell made no reply, and bent forward to look at the road, some turns of which now lay below •them. She distin- .guished the brother and sister again, slowly ascending in the throng, and asked if they had been brought up as Protest-ants. ' I suppose so. Yes, they must be Protestants, for Italian Ro-manists are strictly prohibited from setting foot within our church. The boy is a handsome fellow, is he not ? I should like to know if they have any friends here. Well, we must drive down, or you will miss the tahle d'hote. I wonder why Italian women will wear white bonnets ! Did you see that one ? Frightful, is it not ? Have you decided on goino- into lodg-ings ? ' ' My old friend, Madame Marriotti, recommends me to do so.' 12 MADEMOISELLE MORI. Meanwhile, the boy and girl had reached the door of the French Academy, and instead of following the stream of prome-naders to the gardens above, they went in, and asked the porter for the key of the Bosco, which was given, and they entered a grove of ilexes, whose gloomy shade effectually shut out the radiant sunshine that still illuminated the western sky. ' Now the bread, Vincenzo,' said the girl, in Italian ; ' see, see, there he is,' and she held out her hands caressingly to a white o-oat, which was browsing amid the rank herbage, and feigning to take no notice of them. ' Come ! vien, vien. qua ! Oh, see the creature ! ' as the spaniel, which had been racing in another part of the wood, came into sight, and the goat, startled out of coquettish indifference, gave an extraordinary caper, and rushed upon him. Vincenzo and his sister were too much overcome with laughter to interfere in the duel, which ended with the dog's taking refuge between his owners, while the goat pirouetted in-dignantly at a little distance. ' Come, if we are to see the sunset we must make haste, Irene,' said Vincenzo ; ' Nanna will certainly think we are lost, and eat the ricotta all herself. What are we going to have for supper ? Come, tell me ! ' ' You greedy boy ! Don't suppose I shall tell you. Nanna would never forgive me if I spoiled her treat in that way.' ' How she must rack her good old head eyeryfesta to get the something to make us a surprise,' said Vincenzo, as they ad-vanced towards a long and exceedingly steep flight of steps, lead-ing up a high moulid clothed with ilexes. 'I believe it is what she thinks of from one holiday to another.' ' And I think of what you are doing in the studio. Ah, Vin-cenzino, when you are a great sculptor ! ' • 'Ah, when!' repeated her brother. 'Do you remember the sculptor who sold nothing for fourteen years ? Fourteen years of working and waiting, and hoping and despairing, Irene ! ' ' And we can work, and wait, and hope too, but not despair,' said Irene, eagerly. ' Fortune came at last to him, and so it will to us—and any way, you must be a sculptor.' ' Ay,' said Vincenzo, looking out on the magnificent view which now. lay before them as they attained the miniature temple on MADEMOISELLE MORI. 18 the top of the mound and above the wood, ' it is not for the fame or the fortune ; it is for itself, Irene ! ' Both stood still, side by side, gazing silently on the city, where dome and bell-tower stood out against a sky of gold ; the desolate Monte Mario and its stone pines rising dark to the right. Be-hind, close at hand, were sombre ilex woods, amid which rose here and there the spire of a cypress or a ruined arch, and on the highest point, the white Villa Ludovisi ; beyond, stretched the Campagna, girdled by hills melting into light under the even-ing sky. ' It is something to be a Roman,' said Vincenzo, at last. * And a Roman sculptor,' added his sister. ' You must come to the studio some day, Irene ; I want to show you my copy of the Flora. I can tell you, it was a great honor to be chosen to make it. Alberti had no time, or else I don't suppose Signor Trajano would have chosen me. Ah ! the light is going.' ''Ave Maria when you hear, look you that your house be near,* said Irene, quoting a familiar Roman proverb ; ' but before we go, can you get me that bit of smilace ? See,' she added, point-ing to a graceful plant wreathed round a neighboring ilex. ' There, see that bough ; it will look beautiful round Santa Lucia, and you could copy it for a frame.' * I see ; stand out of the way,' said Vincenzo, advancing to the side of the flight of steps which was undefended by railing or balustrade. He leant lightly forward, stretching his lithe figure as far as he could, and reaching after the plant, while Irene ran down the steps so rapidly, that she came headlong into the arms of a stranger, as he turned a corner of the mound, and was about to ascend. Her exclamation made Vincenzo start upright to see what had occurred. He set his foot on a pebble which chanced to be on the step, slipped, lost his balance, strove in vain to recover himself, and fell down the whole flight of steps with frightful violence. He lay as if dead for some minutes, and when Irene wildly implored him to speak—to look at her — and the stranger, who had innocently caused the disaster, raised him, he only answered by faint moans of pain. Presently he recognised his sister, uttered her name, and tried to rise with 14 MADEMOISELLE MORI. the help of the stranger ; but the suffering caused by the move-ment showed that serious injury had occurred. The stranger asked, first in French and then in tolerable Italian, where he felt hurt. ' My back,' he answered in a faint whisper ; then, perceiving Irene's terror, ' Don't be frightened, only I cannot walk home yet.' Nor could he endure to be carried when they tried to lift him. ' You are Italian ! Where do you live ? Let me get a car-riage for you ; I fear you must wait here awhile, but I will make all possible speed. My name is De Crillon, Colonel de Cril-lon,' said the stranger, laying the poor boy's head tenderly upon Irene's lap. She thanked him by a look. He hastened away, and she sat waiting while the weary time passed on. The gloom of the ilexes deepened ; the sun had set, and the rapid Italian night was come. The bell of the neighboring convent rang for the Ave Maria, but still no one came to the help of the two poor children. Vincenzo was too much exhausted by pain to continue the comforting words which he had at first tried to speak ; his breath came feeble and fluttering ; Irene was dumb with fear and grief, and sat with tears rolling down her cheeks, and one arm passed closely round the neck of her dog, as if even his presence was a comfort, and the other hand on Vincenzo's damp forehead. A rustle gave her hope, but no one came ; it was but the white goat come to peer inquisitively at them. It seemed as if hours had passed ; all was still again— surely all the world had forgotten them ; yet it was not so very long in reality before voices and steps came near, and Colonel de Crillon hur-ried up. ' My poor friend ! Have you been in much pain ? Every car-riage was engaged ; I could not find one. Here is something, at last, and these good men will carry you very carefully. Here, my men, lift him gently, gently—that's it,' as by his gesture rather than by his foreign Italian they comprehended, and laid the boy in a sheet which they had brought with them. But no tenderness could save Vincenzo from anguish which wrung irrepressible moans from him even while he gasped out, ' It's nothing ; don't MADEMOISELLE MORI. 15 mind, Irene,' and the transit over the rough pavements was a trial that ended in actual fainting. Colonel de Crillon accompanied them to their dwelling, and bade Irene hasten up-stairs to warn her friends and prepare a bed to receive Vincenzo at once. There was no one to warn ex-cept the old servant who had nursed them, and who, as Irene ran up to the rooms they occupied on a third floor, came to the top of the staircase, with indignant voice uplifted to a shrill shriek— ' Oh ! terrible children ! Do you wish to kill me with sorrow ? Is this an hour ? Child ! what has happened ? ' suddenly per-ceiving Irene's frightened aspect. ' Oh ! Vincenzo has fallen down the steps of the Bosco,' an-swered Irene, amid choking tears ; ' they are carrying him up-stairs now.' Quite overpowered, she hid her face and gave way to her sobs, while old Nanna hastened down scolding and lamenting. The sight of Vincenzo, carried up senseless, called forth a new out-burst, as she stood on the stairs, with vehement gestures and tones, preventing any one from passing, and quite unconscious of being in the way. The men who carried him did not know what had caused the accident. Colonel de Crillon could not muster Italian enough to explain, nor could he comprehend the local Italian spoken by Nanna. ' My good woman,' he exclaimed, at last, ' you really must let us pass by. Where is the boy's father or mother ? ' * Father or mother, did the Signor say ? They have none but me ; orphans are they, the blessed children ! ' Without further ceremony he pushed by her and ran up-stairs till he reached an open door, where sounds of sobbing directed him to Irene. He was getting thoroughly annoyed, and spoke sharply— ' Signorina, are you aware that we are losing a great deal of time ? Be so kind as to speak to your servant, and request her not to stand wailing over your brother as if she were a weeping willow, but to fetch a doctor.' Irene stood up, looking so scared and wretched that his heart smote him as if he had been cruel to a child. ' Pardon, if I speak like a savage, but indeed it is most im- 16 MADEMOISELLE MOKI. portant to waste no more time. Our first thought must be how-to relieve him.' ' Yes,' she answered, collecting herself with effort, and still shaken by repressed sobs. ' I am sorry. Papa used to be angry when I cried. What ought I to do?' ' Ah ! she has let him pass,' muttered Colonel de Crillon. 'Now we must have him put to bed directly, and then — here, lay him down softly. I'll fetch a doctor myself. The old hag ! can't she keep herself quiet ? ' ' He opens his eyes ! —he knows us ! ' exclaimed Irene, spring-ing towards him, but stopped by Colonel de Crillon. ' I will not talk ; I will do just what you tell me. Vincenzo — oh, dear Vincenzo ! Nanna, let me see his face. This good gentleman says he will go for a doctor.' M. de Crillon, however, thought that the boy would never be safely laid in bed without his superintendence, though Irene now showed more self-control and helpfulness than he had imagined she could possess. He gave the men something and got rid of them, and returned to help in undressing Vincenzo, growing meanwhile more exasperated every moment by Nanna's incessant chattering. Vincenzo had revived to entire consciousness, and when M. de Crillon had laid him tenderly in bed, the boy clasped his hand and feebly murmured thanks, and Irene's liquid eyes were even more eloquent. ' It is nothing ; let me seek a doctor,' said he, with a smile ; and Nanna, looking from the window, saw him the next minute hurrying down the street with what she, from their rapidity, called, inappropriately enough, jpassi Inglesi. He returned with the French doctor whose name he had the most often heard since he had been in Rome, consequently the one most fashionable and busy. An Italian household of the middle class was new to the foreign physician, and when, after his examination of Vincenzo, Colonel de Crillon privately asked him if he supposed they were badly off, he knew as little of the matter as the inquirer. They looked round, and judged that that there was no poverty here, deceived by the picturesque air of everything ; the frilled sheets, the damask couch, the silver cups for holy water hung over the bed, the paintings in carved frames, and the gay painted ceiling. A native would have per- MADEMOISELLE MORL 17 ceived directly that the rooms bore traces of past competency and present poverty; but the two foreigners understood none of these indications, and did not even think that the bare brick floors looked uncomfortable. M. de Crillon was not rich, but he paid the doctor's fee, told him to let him know if the children wanted anything, and gave him his address at Naples, whither he was obliged to go the next day. ' Is it possible they have no one to look after them but that old witch ? ' said he, looking to a little outer room, where the wrinkled face of old Nanna, her head covered by nothing but rough and scanty grey hair, was bending over a pot set on a morsel of glowing charcoal, which she was exciting by means of a large ventolaio, or feather fan, while she murmured to herself somethino; about havino- foreseen misfortune since she had dreamed of water the night before. ' No one else ? Impossible ! Such nice-looking children ! ' The doctor shrugged his shoulders. ' What do you really think of the boy ? ' ' I shall be better able to tell to-morrow. My impression is t"hat the spine is injured, and that it is a surgical case.' M. de Crillon returned fo the bedside to bid Vincenzo fare-well. The boy was lying with closed eyes and brow knit with pain ; the face, so blooming and full of life a few hours before, now wan as if with long illness. He opened his eyes as M. de Crillon took his hand and looked compassionately at him, seemed to recall what had happened, and thanked him, looking round for Irene as if to bid her join him. She came to his side, and looked earnestly at the stranger, almost as if asking for pardon. ' Farewell, my dear boy ; Dr. will let me know how you go on,' said he, with more cheerfulness than he felt. ' Signorina, I have alarmed you twice to-day ; what will jonv recollections of me be?' Irene colored with a pretty look of consciousness, held out her hand, and whispered — ' Addio, signor r The physician made his appearance again next day, and found Vincenzo in less pain, and in a feverish state of excitement about his work at the studio, though unable to sit up. When 2 18 MADEMOISELLE MORI. assured that absolute rest was imperative, he answered bj an impatient gesture, and beckoning Irene to approach, whispered— ' Make Nanna get the truth from him ; I must know.' Accordingly, when the doctor had written his prescription, and was retiring, the old woman followed him, and asked myste-riously what he thought was amiss with Vincenzo. He seemed slightly reluctant to answer, but at last said — ' I may as well tell you the truth ; I can do very little for him, and he had better be under a surgeon. I shall not come again unless you send for me. His back is injured.' ' Santa Vergine I and when will he be able to work again ? ' ' I cannot say. If these children are poor, why not let him go to Santo Spirito ? ' ' The hospital ! Better die ! The hospital ! Let him die of hunger here rather than there ! The signor knows nothing of these things. I am Romana ; I had a relation once in Santo Spirito, and I know what it is. I will starve, I will beg sooner than the boy shall go to the hospital ! ' The, fashionable physician had little knowledge of Roman charities, and was inclined to believe the popular prejudic'e against Santo Spirito to be unfounded. He was provoked, and said, drily — ' Do as you please ; but I warn you, the boy is very likely to be a cripple for life.' Thereupon Nanna burst into a perfect howl of grief, mingled with uproarious exclamations and adjurations, which entirely drowned the doctor's emphatic remonstrance. Every word reached Irene and .Vincenzo in the inner room, including her last— ' Then may Madonna take us to Paradise, for we shall starve before the week's e^d ! ' ' You hear, Irene ? ' said Vincenzo. ' It is not true,' was her instinctive reply. He made no answer, but drew the bedclothes over his face, lying thus for a long while, to the extreme terror of Irene, whose own truly southern nature always sought relief in unrestrained and visible emotion. At last he put out his hand, and drew her wet cheek close to his. MADEMOISELLE MORI. 19 'Don't cry so, my own dearest—I can't bear that. Irene, darling, do you remember our father's last words ? ' ' God hath never failed them that seek Him,' answered Irene in English. The words came again and again to her mind as she sat by her brother, while Nanna was gone to the druggist's with the prescription. She thought over her past life, for the most part too happy to be easily recalled, but one event stood out promi-nently— her mother's death. That one long past sorrow was dearer than all the peaceful pleasant days before and after. Then came recollections of her father's teaching ; walks with him on fesfe, when he would describe his own childhood in that Eng-land of which his children had so little idea— then she recalled his pride in his handsome and talented boy—then a dark vision of the sudden fever that had snatched him away, leaving them little but his memory as a legacy. The brother and sister were then eighteen and sixteen. A few months had passed since they had been left orphans, and all they had to depend on was Vin-cenzo's earnings, which, for his age, were very considerable. Friends they had none, except his master, the sculptor Trajano, who had treated him with great kindness and liberality. Vin-cenzo had acquaintances and companions of his own age and position, but no one to whom he could look in time of trouble. They had been but a short time in their present abode ; and the children of a Protestant were necessarily singularly isolated in Rome. Their creed must have been a very undefined one, for Nanna and their mother were devout Roman Catholics, but their father had always taken them with him to the English Church, where, unlike too many of the English artists in Rome, he never failed to attend once at least on a Sunday. It was dear to them for his sake, and all old Nanna's horror of the Protestants could not induce them to discontinue the habit of going there. They felt as if they found their father again there more than in the gorgeous worship of the Church of the mother who had been dead so long that their affection for her was vague and dreamy, while the memory of the dear father just lost was fresh as the flowers they strewed on his grave in the lonely burial ground where he was laid. The English Protestant might not lie by 20 MADEMOISELLE MORI. his Roman Catholic wife. Had both lived, the different religions must have caused disunion or confusion : it was well that their children had only peace and love to remember. The girl's meditations were interrupted. ' Irene ! how are we to live ? ' asked Vincenzo, abruptly. ' You know no more than I do. Well, Nanna must go to tell Signor Trajano not to expect me at present.' ' Yes,' she answered, in a tone of foi'ced cheerfulness, like her brother's. He lay still again for a while, and she began considering if there were anything she could do to gain money. She did not know much ; had she been of a far higher rank she would have known little more. A little arithmetic, reading, writing— let us not forget embroidery and the manufacture of paper flowers — such was the sum of her accomplishments. She had, too, the versatile and ready wit of her countrywomen, and all an Italian's talent for music, but it had never been cultivated ; it would bring in no money ! Embroidery ? Yes, she might sell it ; but she knew already several girls who tried to make a few pauls by it, and how sadly few they were. Still, the idea of being able to earn anything at all was cheering, and she awaited Nanna's re-turn with impatience, that she might send her to a workshop. The possibility of going out alone herself never even crossed her mind ; independent of the difficulty of leaving Vincenzo by him-self, she had never ventured into the street, unaccompanied, in her life ; the mere idea would have shocked her. But when Nanna returned, stiff and weary, she could not ask the old woman to go out again. She must wait. The next day brought Signor Trajano to see Vincenzo, hope-ful that his pupil would soon come back ; but it was too evident that this was out of the question. He assured him, however, that, come when he might, he should be welcome, and offered for the present to continue his wages. To this Vincenzo could not agree ; it was not just ; he might never recover. ' At all events, I may pay you for what you have done to the Flora,' said Trajano, laying down several sciidi, as he went away? to the delight of old Nanna, who bustled out to buy provisions ; but Irene saw Vincenzo's hands clasped hard over his face, while MADEMOISELLE MOM. 21 he murmured, *Mj Flora ! the last statue I shall ever touch ! ' Time passed very slowly over the sick boy, whose mind was ever at work, torturing him by visions of a dread future, or plan-ning what his hand could no more execute. His spirits flagged more and more as daily his strength lessened, and he was aware of the straits to which the little household was reduced. He had supported it ; he who was now forced to lie helpless, while starvation advanced slowly, relentlessly upon them. When he saw Irene and Nanna whispering together, he knew, with fevered anxiety, that the last paul was gone, and they were consulting how to find another. The attempt to procure embroidery had failed. There remained the great pawnbroking establishment of the Monte di Pieta. "What could they pledge there ? ' The acquasantiere^ suggested the old woman, looking towards the cups for holy water, which hung from a wreath of silver lilies above the bed of Vincenzo. 'Or the conca deWacqua' Irene added, more ready to part with the large brazen vessel used to fetch water in, than with the pretty cups ; ' I don't know how we could spare it though, and we should get so little for it. The best thing we have is mamma's vezzoJ She opened a drawer, and took from it the row of gold beads and the boat-shaped ear-rings which had been all the fortune of her Neapolitan mother. ' Figlia mia ! thy dowry ! ' ' We need not think about that, Nanna ! ' ' Lucia was a mother before your age, child. Sell the corona 1 ' exclaimed the old woman, passing the necklace through her wrinkled brown fingers. ' It was as dew on parched ground to see her when she wore her own dress, her Sora dress ; the white panno on her head, and these pendenti in her ears, and her beads round her neck. You will never be as handsome as she was, child—never, never ; you have nothing of your mother, but her voice.' ' And that is of no use, since we cannot sell it,' said Irene. Brought back to the present by this remark, Nanna recollected that they owed money to the butcher, the baker, and the pizzica-rolo or greengrocer, and the rent-day was approaching ; but as 22 MADEMOISELLE MORI. for parting with the vezzo, she would not hear of it. She sought her own coral ornaments, and the silver dagger, known as the spadino, worn in the hair, all inherited by her as eldest daughter in her family, and which, as she had never married, and had no child to whom to give them, remained in her own possession. Dire indeed must have been the pressure of necessity which induced her to give up the treasured vezzo ! She wrapped it in a pocket handkerchief, and departed for the Monte. Vincenzo watched the proceedings in silence, presently desiring Irene to give him his tools, and a half-finished frame, which he had been carving into the elegant festoons and berries of the sarsaparilla, the plant that had been the partial cause of his accident. The attempt to carve showed him how much he was hurt, and the pain it caused him was betrayed by his knit brow and compressed lips ; but he defied it for a time, and toiled on, though in his recumbent position he got on very slowly. Irene sat by his bed, knitting ; the sounds of singing came faintly up to them from a fountain below, where women were washing clothes, and half unconsciously Irene began, in a low, but exquisitely sweet voice, a verse of a Neapolitan fisherman's song. ' You sing as well as Madame St. Simon/ said Vincenzo, nam-ing the prima donna at one of the theatres. ' Ah ! how I should like to hear her again ! Now, I will tell you what I should like better than anything, Vincenzino ; to be a prima donna myself, and then w^e should be rich. When we used to see them act at the Valle, I could hardly help standing up and calling to the actors—" No, this is the way ! " For I am certain that often even Madame St. Simon only thought of the audience, and forgot that she was Lucia or Amina. If I were only one of the chorus, I would make myself a part, and not stand like a great dry reed.' ' Yes, a reed without even a withered leaf on it, only fit to light a fire ! ' ' And,' continued Irene, glad to see him smile, ' when I was prima donna assoluta I would have a beautiful name. Every prima donna must have a fine name. I would be the Signo-rina ' * No ; Mademoiselle ' MADEMOISELLE MORI. 23 ' I am Italian ! It is only the foreigners who are mademoi-selles.' • ' You may depend upon it they would make you into a for-eigner. It is so much grander to have singers from abroad.' ^ ' Well,' said Irene, reluctantly. ' I think it a ridiculous thing, however. What should I be ? I suppose I might keep our own name ? ' ' Yes. Mademoiselle Moore — More — Mori.' ' But that is really Italian, Vincenzo.' ' Never mind ; it could not sound better. Mademoiselle Mori —that is it.' Old Nanna had gone as fast as age and rheumatism would let her to the Monte di Pieta, that resource of those who are in immediate need of money. Anything may be pledged there, from a valuable picture to a pair of shoes ; part of the value is given to the owner, and a ticket, by means of which it may after-wards be redeemed ; but a small rate of interest must be paid for it monthly, and it must be recovered at the end of a certain time, or it will be sold in one of the auctions that take place from time to time. Nanna mingled with the stream of people that flowed under the great archway leading into the quadrangle, on each side of which are the vast magazines where all the goods are arranged —a stream consisting of old and young, men, maidens, and ma-trons, chiefly of a low rank, and all brought thither reluctantly by the same need of money. Nearly all the faces, of whatever age or sex, were worn and anxious, except some few who came not on their own account, but commissioned by others too busy or of too high a rank to choose to appear in person. There was a list of articles to be sold in a few days hung up beside the doorway, and amongst them were some far too valuable to have been pledged by the poor—a ruby necklace, a silver cup, a lace veil. Doubtless there was a history attached to each, a sad one enough, usually. Fresh faces continually passed in and out, showing how greatly this institution was taken advantage of by the needy ; for far from this being the only place in Rome where they could go, the Monte had succursali, branches, in each rione or district of Rome. A small number of those who entered, 24 MADEMOISELLE MORI. parted from the crowd and took a different direction, with looks so elated, and steps so quick, that it was easy to see that they were of the happy few whom some good fortune enabled to ipecover their possessions. Presently a burst of passionate grief was heard, and a woman came back, sobbing aloud. A mur-mur of compassion went through the crowd —^Poverina! her things have been sold ! Ah, shame ! ah, the Pagans ! '—all sympathizing in a calamity which might befall any one of them-selves, if they failed to pay the interest on what they had bor-rowed. ' What did they give you ? how much have you got back?' ' A nothing ! a folly ! a scandal ! ' she answered, tossing out her hand, in which were a few pauls—part of what her house-hold gods had fetched. 'Ah,' responded the others, with indescribable, though sup-pressed scorn and anger ; ' see the beautiful charity ! ' She went out, passing by a party of English, who were asking the Swiss porter if they might visit the establishment, without perhaps very well knowing what they were to see. The Italians immediately detected the foreign dress and accent, and not very complimentary remarks passed between them, as they came and went, on the English heretics who had come to spy out their poverty. Unheeding or unhearing remarks made in the local dialect, almost incomprehensible to any but a native, and differ-ing even in different parts of Rome, the foreigners disappeared into the room, where the porter told them that the pictures were kept, probably imagining that they should see a Borghese or Spada gallery instead of such originals and copies as had been pawned. Time is apparently an article valued by none but foreigners in Rome, and so much was consumed before it came to Nanna's turn to be attended to, that she found the shortening November day had nearly closed when she left the Monte. A sirocco was blowing, the streets were wet as if with rain, and nearly empty, and of the few passengers, some had umbrellas up, others held them furled, as if there were a diversity of opinion as to whether it rained or not, but every Italian had his cloak flung across his mouth, and hurried on his way, anxious to escape from the chill- MADEMOISELLE MORI. 25 ing atmosphere. The air was heavy; darkness had come on before its time ; there was a gloomy, disconsolate look every-where. Old Nanna muttered in disgust as the damp, cold wind made her shiver, and quickened her pace, but coming to the. Church of Sant' Agostino, she stopped, pushed aside the heavy mat which hung at the doorway, and entered, signing herself rapidly with holy water, and devoutly kneeling down among the congregation— a remarkably numerous one, considering that the hour was late, and there was no service going on. The scene was one peculiarly Roman. Darkness prevailed in the build-ing, though before each altar in the side aisles burned a small lamp suspended from the roof, and two more shone out with a clear, steady brilHancy, like that of stars, at the further end ; but all around was gloom, and the bottom of the church seemed a cavern into which the eye was unable to pierce or follow the figures that now and then passed into it. But at the lower end was a marble statue of the Virgin holding the Infant Saviour, and above, and around it, were a wreath of lamps whose light illumined it and flashed on the silver hearts, crucifixes, and other countless offerings which incrusted the pillars and the walls— tokens of gratitude from those who believed that their prayers at this shrine had been granted. From some curious effect of light, the form of the Infant Christ could hardly be distinguished, and the illumination brought out the figure of the Virgin alone, and into strong, startling relief. Two tapers, in massive bronze candlesticks, rpse at least fourteen feet from the ground, at some distance from the altar. A large congregation of men and women knelt around in profound silence ; sometimes a new wor-shipper came in, or another softly rose, went up to the statue, and kissed or held a child to kiss its feet, before leaving the church. Nanna was one of the last to go ; had her prayer been audible, it would have been found to end thus :—'Listen to me, Madomna mia ; you will not let us starve, for you are our Mother, full of grace, and goodness, and mercy. What mother will let her children starve ? Queen of Heaven and Earth, listen to me. Queen of Angels, now you know everything—I have told you all. I am going^away, and you must really and truly make the boy well. Adm^, dear Madonna.' 26 MADEMOISELLE MORI. Putting her rosary into her pocket, she went up the low steps leading to the altar, kissed earnestly the Virgin's feet, and dip-ping a bit of cotton wool into the oil of a small lamp burning close at hand, left the church,, happy in the belief that Vincenzo would soon be well, since she had vowed to offer her ear-rings to the Virgin of Sant' Agostino should he again go to his work, and had moreover obtained a charm, which must avail, if used with faith. Nanna was not the only one who carried home that even-ing a similar bit of cotton or tow dipped in the holy oil, nor would persons of a much higher rank and education have doubted, for a moment, that its application to an ailing part would have miraculous results. Probably this custom dates from the middle ages, when on certain days the clergy and people went in pro-cession to particular churches, and mass having been sung, an acolyte dipped a piece of tow in the oil of the lamp which burnt before the shrine of the saint whose day they had been celebrat-ing, and bore it to the Pope, saying, ' To-day the station took place in such a church, and the saint salutes you.' A solemn message ! i^The locks of tow were carefully kept to form a pillow, on which the Pontiff's head might rest in his grave. No such antiquarian speculations troubled old Nanna as she went homewards, her heart much the lighter for the pauls in her pocket, and the entire and childlike confidence that her prayer must be granted, and Vincenzo's recovery be secured. As her knock came to the door which shut in their rooms, Irene was lighting a small lamp, and with true Roman caution she ex-claimed, 'Who is it?' and came to reconnoitre before she would open. The time had seemed long to her during the old woman's absence : Vincenzo had fallen asleep, and, afraid to rouse him, she had been sitting in the dark with the spaniel's cold nose in her hand. He showed his astonishment at his young master's inactivity as plainly as a human being could have done ; and when he stood by the bed, wagging his tail or giving a short bark, while he fixed his intelligent eyes on the boy, tears filled Irene's eyes, and Vincenzo had some difficulty in concealing his own. ' Oh, Nanna ! how long you have been ! Down, Tevere, be quiet!' ^ • . MADEMOISELLE MORI. 27 * Eh ! eh ! daughter, go yourself next time. Keep tranquil, evil clog ! you would see what is in ray apron, eh ? Little enough I got for all I took, but we can live for a while, and then Madonna help us ! How is my boy ? see what I have brought home, sun of my soul ! Here is a fine supper for us all,' said the old woman, as gay as a child, now that want was staved off for a time, and producing her handkerchief, full of yellow-brown shells, tellijie, as she, unlearned in conchology, would have called them, but more properly donaces, a favorite dish, cooked or uncooked, in Rome. ' Sccmsarti ! begone, dog ! And here is something besides, something to make my darling boy well ; and I have promised Madonna that he will never go to the English Church again, now that he has felt her displeasure attends it.' Irene looked grave, and wondered that Vincenzo made no protest, unless a hasty movement might be so called. A moment afterwards it came upon her, with a sort of stab of pain, that he had not spirits to combat Nanna's prejudices, or to laugh at them as usual, because he believed that never again should he have the power of walking to the English Church. 28 MADEMOISELLE MORI. CHAPTER 11. I have been told the virtuous must be happy, And have believed it true: tell me, my friei>d, What shall disturb the virtuous ? Poverty ! Southet. One thing after another was sold ; even Irene's vezzo and the guitar on which she used to play with untaught skill, down to their little lamp, and many other things which it was hard to spare, and which fetched so little at the Monte that Nanua did not scruple to say it was ' an infamy, an iniquity ; ' and in truth the institution is not at the present day exactly what was con-templated by the founder, St. Bernardino of Siena. Nanna urged the advisability of taking the vezzo to some one who might be mduced to advance a more equitable sum on it, with the promise that it should speedily be redeemed ; and she was dis-concerted by Irene's objecting that this was dishonorable, since they had no chance of recovering it. Such a pitch of morality was beyond the old woman, who, though thoroughly faithful to the orphans, had littj^ notion of truth and honesty towards others, and was only a degree above those of her compatriots who pick their neighbor's pockets while reciting their prayers devoutly in a church. One thing went, then another ; the picture of Santa Lucia, their mother's patron saint ; sketches by their father, in the beautiful carved frames which Vincenzo had delighted to make for them ; at last even the portrait of their mother, their dearest possession ; and as they could not pay the trifling interest due to the Monte for the money lent on these things, they knew that all jsvould speedily be sold in the auction room in the Piazza dei Pellegrini, where so many hoi^hold treasures are examined MADEMOISELLE MORI. 29 by careless hands, and sold for prices far below their real value. Each day something went, till at last there was nothing more to sell. Nothing ! and Yincenzo grew no better. He could now sit up a little and use his hands, but that was all, and hunger was close at hand, and an execution for rent impending. Hun-ger— actual hunger—not a morsel of bread in the cupboard; not one handful more maize to make another dish of polenta. Daily, Irene had grown whiter and thinner as food became scarcer, and what were her brother's feelings, as from his sick bed he saw it, and knew that nothing stood between them and starvation. At any time, a boy must have felt as a trial almost unbearable this sudden change from buoyant health and constant occupation, which made a leisure hour or an occasional festa so delightful, to ceaseless pain and forced idleness. Yincenzo had no books, and, moreover, had not been brought up to care for reading ; the future had been his constant dream, and he had no store of recollections to fall back upon ; all day long he lay in his bed with nothing to think of but their desperate condition. The boy had a gallant spirit, and from the day that Irene had been trusted to his care by their dying father, to his elastic youth he had added a man's earnestness. How happy and pro'ud he had bepn in the knowledge that he supported the whole house-hold ! And now it was all over. At least he would not com-plain, and as long as any one saw him, he maintained some cheerfulness, and if Irene had not one night fancied that she heard a sound in his room and crept to the door to listen, with-out waking Nanna, she would never have known how dire was the struggle to keep up that composure by day. She stood for a little while unperceived, watching his face, so white in the moon-light ; she heard broken, despairing, imploring prayers, till her heart was ready to break ; and if she had followed her impulse she would have rushed to his bedside and sobbed away her wretchedness there ; but Irene was no longer the mere child she had been but a few weeks before ; she, too, had been taking les-sons in self-control. Many times already she had forced out a cheerful answer, and tried to forget that she was hungry, and now she knew that this anguish was meant for no mortal eye. 30 MADEMOISELLE MORL and would not betray that she had seen it. In the morning she asked Vincenzo rather timidly how he was. He answered, ' I'll tell you how many noises I counted last night :— First, at mid-night, some one was wanted on the sixth story of the house over the way, so there were six knocks. Tliey must sleep soundly up there, for they did not wake till the third summons, that made eighteen thumps. Then came a party very jolly indeed, with a mandolin, all singing ; some one opened a window to listen, so, of course, they began to bark. I never can understand why they do that.' ' Modesty ! I suppose they mean to say that they are not worth listening to—mere dogs. However, they howled rather nicely, so I was sorry when they turned the corner. Then the bells of Sta. Maria Santissima rang for the midnight funzione ; then S. Nicolo struck up just as I was going to sleep ; and then came day-light ; and the soldiers and their drums ; before that, I ought to have counted the firing from S. Angelo for the festa, and the man who cries chicory ; and so I did not get much sleep to be sure.' Not a word of any other reason, and Irene asked no more. It being afesta, Nanna, of course, went to mass, and returned so radiant with delight that Irene eagerly asked what had hap-pened. Nanna mysteriously produced something which .she had held in her hand, under her apron, and Irene beheld a bracelet, formed of bosses of garnets, which, from its workmanship, she had no difficulty as recognising as Florentine. In answer to her eager questions, Nanna said that she had picked it up in a church —without, however, mentioning that she had seen it fall from the arm of an English lady. She was going to take it to the Ghetto, and see what the Jews would give for it. ' But,' said Irene, doubtfully, 'it — it is not ours ; it will be advertised.' ' Let them advertise, if they like, and let us live, silly child ! ' ' What is it?' asked Vincenzo. Irene explained, though Nanna made a sign to her not to do so. ' Of course it is not ours ; go to the libraries in theT*iazza di Spagna and say you have found a bracelet ; don't keep it here MADEMOISELLE MORI. 31 to tempt us,' said Vincenzo, more sharply than they had ever known him speak before. Nanna grumblingly obeyed, comforted a little by the hope of a reward, and on reaching the library, she found the ladies whom she had seen in the church, talking to the bookseller about their loss. He advised an advertisement, but gave them small hopes of recovering it. One of the party said she believed she had heard it drop ; she looked, but there was nothing to be seen, and, if she were right, an old woman, "who was kneeling near, must Just at this point Nanna ap-peared ; the sight of her caused a sensation, but the bracelet was speedily restored to its owner, who was too w^ell satisfied to ask any questions, and Xanna had no cause to be dissatisfied with English liberality. Signor Trajano came again and left money, wdiich made Irene and' Nanna so happy for several days that they wondered at Vincenzo's increased depression, for they did not see that he felt how they were living on alms ; and, besides, anything that re-minded him of the studio was acutely painful. But, in a short time, these chance supplies were exhausted, and they literally did not know whither to turn for a meal. They rose up hungry in the morning, and went to bed at night almost without having bi'oken their fast, to wake to the same state of things. All their neighbors were very poor ; of the seven or eight families living in the same house with them, most lived from hand to mouth, sleeping on straw, and crowded into one or two rooms.' None had the power, if they had the will, to help them. Neither of the three complained nor spoke of wdiat was to be done. Old Nanna had tried every resource, even to begging, and all in vain. They and starvation kept house together. One afternoon Irene went down to the fountain to fetch some water •and cry unseen ; returning with her noiseless step, she saw old Nanna crouched in a corner, her distaff, with no flax on it, lying on the ground beside her; Vincenzo lying idle, the clay that he had begged Signor Trajano to send^ him, left untouched beside him ; it was a picture of blank hopelessness. Just then the spaniel, which had followed Irene down, pattered back into the room, looked into his empty food-dish, went up to his master's bedside, and wagged his tail. Nothing could have spoken plainer. 32 MADEMOISELLE MORI. ' Poor fellow ! ' said Vincenzo, in English, that ISTanna might not understand, 'are you hungry? So am I.' The dog whined, and put his fore paws on the bed, trying to lick his face. Nanna never looked up, she was sunk into apathetic despair ; but Irene heard only too plainly, and in a passion of anguish she drew her shawl over her head, and ran down-stairs out into the street, all her fears and prejudices forgotten in the kind of despairing hope that she might find some help. Nanna had failed at the workshop, but perhaps they might have pity on a girl who said she was starving. She hurried on, hardly feeling or seeing the passengers whom she ran against or who pushed her off the crowded side paths, till she came to the workshop, where there were more customers than the owners could easily attend to. No one had a minute to spare for her—her entreaties were hardly listened to ; repulsed, she found herself outside the shop again, her last hope gone. She leaned against the wall, too faint and heart sick to move a step further, and, half unconsciously, watched the passers by, who brushed impatiently against the object in their way, without stopping to regard it. An old crone with- the never-failing scaldino (or basket of charcoal to keep the hands warm) stood near ; Irene heard her mutter, ' Fifteen pauls ; only fifteen pauls to-day ! ' then, in a prolonged whine, ' Give me some little alms, that the Madonna may give you health ! Do not abandon me, signer— madama ! I am so hungry ! Oh ! hard hearts ! ' with a snarl, as they passed on, unheeding. A gentleman gave her some small coin, and Irene involuntarily held out her hand too. He hurried on, saying to his companion, ' These beggars are the pest of the place ; all the same ! I wonder how many scudi I should have spent if I had given a bajocco to every one who has begged since I came out!' Tlie lady on his arm laughed, and they disappeared in the never-ending stream of promenaders, chiefly gay sight-seers, rejoicing in the sunshine. No one had a glanoe for the desolate girl, who stood just where she had leant when first sent out of the shop. A child was the only one to have compassion—a little fellow of perhaps four years old, who came running out of the confectioner's shop next door, preceding his mother, a bun MADEMOISELLE MORI. 33 in his fat hand. He was a perfect picture of a rosy, well-dressed English child, in his black velvet pelisse, and a little pink handkerchief round his throat. He was chattering with all his might, till he looked up and met the wistful black eyes of Irene. She did not beg this time ; she only looked at the bun as if famished, and the little one suddenly put it into her hand and scrambled into a carriage after his mother. Irene saw his rosy laughing face pressed against the glass to watch her as they drove away. She had clutched the bun fast— what a mouthful it was to a girl who had eaten nothing that day ! but she had scarcely devoured it, when the thought of Nanna and Vincenzo at home flashed upon her. She had for-gotten them ! Poor child, her hungry impulse seemed actual sin ; she had eaten the bun while her sick brother was starving at home ! Miserable as she felt, she had recovered a little ener-gy — she turned homewards, but had to go back with no com-fort for those she should find there ! And yet she had trusted— she had believed long, for time in some circumstances cannot be counted by days and hours ; she had believed so firmly that help would be sent them ! had that promise indeed failed ? and if so, where was she to turn for help ? Three o'clock was past and the churches were again open : she entered the first she came to, and hiding her face in her hands, wept so passionately that she did not perceive that one of a party of English, who were exam-ining the pictures and statues, had approached her, and laying a hand on her shoulder, asked gently what had happened. Startled by the touch, Irene hastily lifted a face so white and so thin that the lady started, looked doubtful, and said, ' Have I not seen you in the English Church ? ' « ' I go there.' ' Then what right have you here, ray child ? ' ' It is God's house ; I have the right of every one who is un-happy,' Irene answered. ' And why are you unhappy ? Have you been ill ? * In reply Irene told her story, ending with, ' Oh, signora, it was so wicked of me to eat that bun ! I forgot Vincenzo ! I did in-deed ! ' ' Will you take me to see Vincenzo ? ' 84 MADEMOISELLE MORI. A sudden flash of delight from Irene's black eyes was the an-swer, and her companion returned to her party and spoke a few words, which were received with smiling incredulity. No one objected, however, and she accompanied Irene, stopping at the first breadshop they came to that Irene might have something more substantial than a bun, and convey a supply to her home. In all the ecstasy of renewed hope, she hurried her new friend along, through streets quite unknown to the latter, till they reached their destination, a square, which, to judge by the num-ber of old palaces, must once have been a favorite quarter of the nobility, but now each floor was divided into many apart-ments and let to the poor ; rags hung to dry from many win-dows, and hides, scenting the whole air, were suspended before one stately mansion ; there was a general look of poverty and dirt everywhere. Into one of these palaces, Irene introduced her companion, running lightly before her up flight after flight of stairs. Nanna came slowly to the door in answer to her im-patient knock ; she had not even perceived her absence, Nanna who usually watched over her like a dragon ! ' Oh, Nanna ! ' began Irene, breathlessly, ' this lady has come to see us, and she has brought us all this ! She carried it all down the Corso, and did not mind ! and I must give Vincenzo some dinner immediately — see ! ' * Per Bacco ! ' exclaimed Nanna, taking possession of the vis-itor's hand and kissing it, as she conducted her into the next room, where Irene was explaining eagerly to Yincenzo. The lady advanced and took the hand, thin and fair as an invalid girl's, which he held out to her, examining her face attentively, then smiling and saying, ' Mrs. Dalzell.' * How do you know my name ? ' she asked, much surprised. ' I worked in Signor Trajano's studio, and he had just begun to model j^our bust before my accident.' ' I knew I had seen you somewhere before. I noticed you in the English Church,' she answered; 'I have long wished to meet with you ; fortune favored me to-day.' While Irene insisted on Vincenzo's eating immediately, Mrs. Dalzell looked round and asked questions, and felt very sure that here at least she was safe from the imposition which her friends i MADEMOISELLE MORI. 35 had predicted. If M. de Crillon had seen the room now, he would have had no doubt as to the poverty of its owners, and when Mrs. Dalzell looked at the faces of the brother and sister, she felt that she had come but just in time. Old Nanna saw her compassionate look and exclaimed, ' If the signora had but seen the boj before he fell ill ! he was an Adonis, an Apollo ! ah ! ' (shaking her hand at him) ' and a demon too, a tempest, wicked boy! He would rush up-stairs shaking the whole house ! Santa Vergine ! ' as she caught a clearer view of Mrs. Dalzell than she had yet done, and she summoned Irene aside. The girl speedily returned, saying with animation, ' Nanna says you were with the lady whose bracelet she found ! ' Mrs. Dalzell's sensation was far from pleasant, as she recalled her conviction that the bracelet had rather been stolen than found, but she was convinced that the orphans were unconnected with the affair. However, she was glad when Irene added, ' We were so poor that day that Nanna wanted to sell it, but Vincenzo would not let her.' ' I am glad of it ; I know that my friend values it particularly. Have you really no one to take care of you but this old woman ? What hands for a girl to be in ! ' she added, mentally. ' No, no one else. Tevere, do you really want some more ! Oh fie ! No one else, signora, but she is so kind and true to us. She is a pearl, an oriental pearl of probity,' said Irene, whose English, though fluent, was apt to be a translation from the more poetical Italian. The figure of speech, especially so applied, made Mrs. Dalzell smile, and she thought that the truth and probity probably began and ended at home. 'I never knew the value of my dinner so well before, signora,' said Vincenzo, sinking comfortably back on the pillows, which Irene had re-arranged for him. ' We had almost forgotten what dinner was,' she added. ' Is it possible you could find no assistance ? ' asked Mrs. Dal-zell ; ' I thought the Roman charities were magnificent.' ' They are not for such as we ; they are to keep quiet the hassa gente—the populace,' replied Irene, with grave simplicity. ' And nqt for Protestants,' added Vincenzo. ' Ah, no. And you have no friends, though you have lived here so Ions .'' ' 86 MADEMOISELLE MORI. * None who can help us. My father had few ; he lived for his art.' ' I should like to be considered as your friend then,' said Mrs. Dalzell, rising to take leave. ' Signor Trajano and I must have a little talk together. Give me your doctor's address again, and don't forget mine. I shall come to pay you another visit in a day or two.' She took Vincenzo's hand in hers, as she spoke and looked kindly at his face, so much altered from what she re-membered it, that it was hard to believe he was the fine hand-some boy she had admired on the Pincian Hill. ' I would thank you if I could, signora,' he answered, in hur-ried, faltering tones. ' Oh, signora, we were starving —she was starving '—looking at Irene ; ' that was worst ; I was beginning to wish I were dead, sooner than see it.' ' Oh, Yincenzo ! ' said Irene, with a crimson blush. ' I shall leave you to make your confessions to him,' said Mrs. Dalzell : ' but, meanwhile, will you come here and say something for me to Nanna ? ' She gave Nanna what she judged would be sufficient for their present wants, and departed before the old woman had half ex-pressed her voluble gratitude. MADEMOISELLE MORI. 37 CHAPTER III. What sorrow was, thou bad'st her know, ^ And from her own, she learnt to melt at others' woe. Gray. Mrs. Dalzell was a widow, still young, and rich. She had come to Rome for the first time in her life, and friends, who had known her in former days, expected her to be enthusiastically delighted with its wonders ; but, hitherto, she had gone through the routine of sight-seeing with a somewhat forced interest, and the first thing that really roused her was the history of the or-phans. Her friends were too glad to see her begin to shake off the depression, caused by heavy trials, to wish to interfere, though they took it for granted that she would be imposed on. She set about her task in a very business-like manner ; she saw the physician who had first attended Vincenzo, and sent a good surgeon to see him ; and she had a great deal of conversation with Signor Trajano about him ; but she found it so difficult to devise any schemes for the permanent benefit of the orphans, that she returned to their house to see whether they had any ideas on the subject themselves. Cheerfulness and comfort had revisited the rooms, and Irene and Vincenzo met her greeting with bright looks. She had calculated her gift on an English scale, ignorant of how far Italians can make a little money go, and she assuredly had not expected that almost the first use of her bounty would be the recovery of Irene's gold ear-rings. Irene exhibited them to her with delight, relating how they had been first pledged, and then sold ; -but how Nanna had discovered who had bought them and got them back. Unaware of the ex-treme value attached to the vezzo, Mrs. Dalzell was inclined to regard this as mere foreign love of finery, and determined, for the future, not to trust Nanna with more money than necessary. 38 MADEMOISELLE MORI. She sat down by Vincenzo, who was cheered by having been allowed to leave his bed and be carried to a sofa. He was carv-ing a bunch of cyclamen leaves and flowers with a delicacy and grace that surprised her, and Irene told of the beautiful frames that he had made for their father's pictures — all sold now. She stopped, seeing the flush that rose to her brother's face at the recollection of those lost treasures, so inestimable to the orphans. Mrs. Dalzell described to him a room which she had once seen decorated by a celebrated carver with groups, of birds, musical instruments, and flowers, in exactly the same style as Vincenzo's, and asked him if he did not think he might gain a livelihood in this way. ' Oh, signora I To get my own living again ! not to live on charity — to be even thus much of an artist ! You little know what happiness you have given me ! ' ' I think I know several people who would employ you,' she replied, amused at the un-English vehemence of his gratitude ; the invalid's face seemed suddenly to have recovered its bloom ; the dark eyes sparkled ; Vincenzo looked for a time transformed into his old self. ' Finish what you are about and then let me have it. And what can Irene do ? ' ' Irene wishes to be a prima donna,' answered Vincenzo, smil-ing. ' A prima donna ! ' 'I could act, I think,' said Irene herself; and Mrs. Dalzell, watching her expressive and graceful movements and looks, felt that she was right. ' And she can sing,' added Vincenzo. ' Ah ! she must let me hear her.' ' Sing something, carina,' said Vincenzo ; ' what a pity your chitarra is gone ! ' ' What is that ? I thought the mandolin was the Roman in-strument.' ' That is a man's instrument. Oh, signora, at Easter you should go to the Villa Borghese, on the river side, to see the people dancing the salterello and playing with castanets and the mandolin — it is beautiful ! ' ' But now I want to hear you.' MADEMOISELLE MORI. 39 With a glance towards Vincenzo, Irene began a popular can-zone, acting the expression just enough to show how much dra-matic power she possessed, and soon, so entirely forgetting all but her song, that her tones, at first faltering, became steady and full, and proved how fine the voice would some day be. Vin-cenzo watched the face of Mrs. Dalzell anxiously, and thought he read surprise and admiration. He Avas much disappointed when, as the song ceased, she quietly remarked, ' You have a very nice voice, but I should be sorry you should turn it to account on the stage. You can have no idea of the temptations and trials of such a life, or of its hard work either.' Irene made no answer. Mrs. Dalzell sat thinking, and Vin-cenzo said, ' She very nearly went to Madame St. Simon the other day to beg her to teach her, only her courage failed.' * It will not do so again, Vincenzo.' *You wish it so much?' said Mrs. Dalzell; 'what do you know about it ? ' Irene looked at her brother, who replied for her, 'I do not know whether she be quite in earnest, and I believe it is not acting that she cares so much for ; she would like to be a prima donna at the opera.' ' But I am in earnest, Vincenzo,' said Irene, emphatically. It was not the life that Mrs. Dalzell would have chosen for her protegee. She avoided a definite answer, and left them, glad that Vincenzo's plans were more sober, and recommendino- him to finish his carving as soon as he could. He, delighted to be employed again, and employed, too, on a kind of sculpture where his imagination had play, was happier than he had been since his accident, and seemed insensible to the fatigue which even this slight labor caused him. Irene, on the contrary, was moody, and said, after a long silence, ' I believe I could be a great canta-trice ; I do not see what right this English lady has to interfere.' ' Interfere ! ' said Vincenzo, looking up in surprise. ' Yes, interfere. I shall ask Madame St. Simon to help me, not this Signora Dalzell ; and if I succeed I can repay her ; many learn on that condition.' 'Child! child!' broke in Nanna, 'are you crazy? what are you saying ? This rich English lady can make us live in Asiatic 40 MADEMOISELLE MORI. luxury ; her purse drops gold, and you had not the sense to tell her to-day that we have not got the corona back ; did you not hear what I said to you ? ' ' She has done too much already,' said Vincenzo ; ' help of this kind I can take,' pointing to his carvings 'but we are not beggars.' ' No, and because I do not wish to live on her money or on any one else's, I want to learn singing,' said Irene, with cheeks so flushed and eyes so tearful, that Vincenzo found the matter was more serious than he had imagined, and asked gravely how long she had had this fancy. ' You might remember that I always wished it, Vincenzo, long before— before our troubles, but I never thought it was possible till that day when you said I sang as well as Madame St. Simon.' ' It was an unlucky day when I said it. Think how actresses are regarded.' * If I were prima donna, my profession should be esteemed for my sake ; I would make it the most honorable in Rome. Vin-cenzo, cannot you understand that as you —as men I mean — wish for fame, so women may ! I think, if one has the power to do anything, one must and one ought to do it,' said Irene, who seemed in the last few weeks to have grown from a child into a woman ; the ambition that had lain dormant in her heart was awake, and no spell known to prudent brother or friend could lull it to sleep again. The bird had found out the use of its wings ; its nest would soon seem only a prison. Vincenzo had had visions of his own, he comprehended. * I understand, Irene,' he said, unconsciously speaking very mournfully ; ' I know that when one has a vocation and cannot follow it, one must feel like a swallow which cannot migrate ; but how is it that you care so suddenly and so much about this ? ' ' Because till lately I had — I had —I cannot tell you.' ' Perhaps till lately you thought so much of fame for me that you did not want it for yourself ! ' Irene turned away hastily ; she could not bear to realize what nevertheless she knew full well, that Vincenzo's chance of fame w^as gone forever. She came back caressingly to his side, almost as if asking pardon. ' I could not help thinking about it ; I was MADEMOISELLE MORI. 41 SO glad of any pleasant fancies, and I thought so often to myself what Madame St. Simon would say, and what I would sing to prove to her that I had a voice, that at last I almost believed it had all come to pass ; but the last few days, when we were so hungry, I had not courage ; I did not seem to care for anything.' ' Poor little one,' said Vincenzo, affectionately. And she, tak-ing courage, nestled close to him, whispering, ' But don't say you will never be well again ; you are better already, and if, as the doctor says, you could go into the country and have baths — ' ' Don't talk about it, Irene,' said Yincenzo, unaware that he was speaking sharply; 'I would rather think about you and your singing.' ' I care more for you than even for that,' she answered. Vincenzo had a Roman's love of music and a Roman's delight in the theatre, and the idea of letting Irene follow her wishes grew less unwelcome as he considered them. After all, he was but a boy, and the dream of renown for her, if not for himself, was very pleasant. He pictured to himself her success, and mentally compared her voice with those of the few public singers of note whom he had heard, and it did not suffer by comparison. She had almost won him over to her side before night, and Nanna was vehemently in her favor. Vincenzo had heard enoush of theatres to make him hesitate a little, but even this anxiety was a relief to his mind, wearied with dwelling on one subject. His dreams were an odd mixture of cyclamens, musical instruments, hisses and applause, and even the famous Book of Visions could hardly have explained one wherein he beheld Irene playing on the tool which Italian sculptors call a violin, in the Teatro Regio. Mrs. Dalzell was much worried by the turn affairs had taken. She had intended to help the orphans in some sober unobtrusive way, and had little expected to find a musical genius upon her bands. She knew too well how much enter-tained most of her English friends would be, to feel inclined to confide her perplexities to them ; in their stead, she sought an old acquaintance whom she had known slightly years before in London, and had found again living in Rome, a Madame Marri-otti, by birth a Sp'aniard, once the idol of the musical world, and 42 MADEMOISELLE MORI. who still in advanced age preserved her love of music, with the execution and taste, and even something of the voice, that had made her pre-eminent among the professional musicians of her day. Mrs. Dalzell wanted to find her alone and disengaged, and therefore sent a note, announcing that she was coming to spend the evening with her whenever she had no reception. She walked alone to Madame Marriotti's abode, her own being close by, and her habits very independent. She had yet to learn Italian ways, and was greatly surprised, on reaching the archway leading into the house, to find herself in total darkness, and hear a trampling as if oxen or horses were close by. Remembering that the staircase faced a stable, she hastily retreated into the street, where at least there was such light as could be obtained from one dim oil-lamp at the far end of it, and another burning under a picture of the Virgin, fastened on the wall. When all was quiet, she ventured in again, and, with some trepidation, felt her way up two steep flights of stairs, happily, at last, chancing to lay her hand on a string, which caused a bell somewhere to ring. A voice, up aloft, exclaimed, ' Chi e ? ' and the heavy door at the head of the stairs was opened a little way. Mrs. Dalzell profited by the ray of light that shone through the crack, and soon made her way to Madame Marriotti's rooms. A quick, clear voice from within, answered, ' Passi 1 ' to her knock, and entering, she found Madame Marriotti rummaging papers in a cabinet, with a fur cloak wrapped round her, and a little x^^faz-zoletto on her head. She turned round to look at her visitor, exhibiting a small dark face, with vivid black eyes and jet-black crisped hair, scarcely streaked with grey ; a face which she her-self always considered ugly, but which was capable of such varying and brilliant expression, that it was worth all imaginable beauty of coloring. Her figure was of fairy proportions, and still as light and active as a girl's, though little could be seen of it in her manifold wraps, and neither it nor her countenance owed anything to her costume, which, to say the least, was singular ; and altogether a more original little creature than the celebrated cantatrice would have been hard to find. She ceased hunting through her papers for a moment, to shake hands with Mrs. Dal- J MADEMOISELLE MORI. 43 zell, and stir the Avood fire, where an earthen pot was boiling, set on an iron tripod, contrasting oddly with the size and hand-some furniture of the apartment. ' Ah, so you have come,' said she, absently, as if she had not well mastered the idea that Mrs. Dalzell was present. ' I was thinking of you this—ah, by the bye, you sent me a note. I cannot think where this letter is,' she said, returning to the cab-inet, and soliloquizing in short sentences while she rustled the papers. Mrs. Dalzell waited with exemplary patience till the missing one was found, and Madame Marriott! came voluntarily to sit beside her and talk. Then she began telling her business, grow-ing more eager as she proceeded, and looking at Madame Mar-riotti as she ended, to see what effect she had produced. ' Ah—yes —' was the reply, in a preoccupied manner ; ' it is a curious story. I dare say you are right.' * My dear madame, have you heard a word of what I said ? ' ' Oh yes, I heard it,' was the answer, in exactly the same dreamy tone ; then all at once wakening up to present things, she asked very sharply, ' What did you say ? ' In short, her mind had been absent, and Mrs. Dalzell's story had reached her ear, but not her brain, and had to be told all over again. She listened this time with increasing surprise and disdain. ' A cantatrice ! you are dreaming ! I dare say the girl has a pretty voice ; every Roman can sing ; they are all musical ; if you passed any cafe to-night where there was music, you might have seen a crowd outside the door listening, and every one of that crowd could have joined in the airs played ; that is a very different thing from having a talent for the stage. Make a Maestra Pia of the girl, if you don't know what to do with her ; but don't turn her head with talking of the theatre.' ' I am sure I am most guiltless of wishing her to be an actress,' said Mrs. Dalzell, half laughing ; ' and I have not an idea what a Maestra Pia is.' ' Don't you know ? The Maestre Pie have three great houses of education here for the middle class, and besides some of them hold free schools in every parish in the Papal States ; they don't 44 MADEMOISELLE MORI. go very deep, you know, so nobody is afraid of them ; but we don't love education overraucli here. They take no perpetual vows, but there is some ceremony when they are admitted.' Mrs. Dalzell laughed outright this time. ' I don't think that would do at all, and besides, Irene cannot leave her brother. I assure you her voice is not a common one, and if you had seen her graceful gestures as she told me her story — ' ' All that may be very true, especially if she has Neapolitan blood in her —have you been at Naples ? No ?— well, they converse there more by looks and gestures than by words —it is not proved that she has the slightest talent for the stage.' ' Her wish is so strong, however, that she was near applying to Madame St. Simon.' ' That settles it at once. That woman ! I do assure you, my dear—' Madame Marriotti started up in her energy—' I do assure you it makes me perfectly ill to hear her. A vain, heart-less coquette, without a grain of sentiment—nothing but a flexible voice with which she can do wonderful things, I dare say ; I hear every one say so except the Abate G-rossi, the only man who knows what music is—real old music; he keeps, up the traditions of the old ways, and hates this new school of macaws, just as I do. No. If this girl admires Madame St. Simon, that is enough.' * I wish you would hear her, at all events.' ' Where do they live ? ' ' It is near. You know the church of St. Andrea della Valle — the famous church which every one goes to see.' * No.' * Not, my dear madame ? impossible ! ' ' No,' repeated the old lady, very incredulous of its existence. ' Well,' said Mrs. Dalzell, resignedly, knowing that Madame Marriotti might have seen it fifty times without being conscious of its existence, unless something particular brought the fact home to her mind, ' it does not matter much ; I could not ask you to go there, but should you object to my bringing her here, without, of course, pledging you in any way ? I really should be thankful to put this fancy out of her head, and from your de-cision there could be no appeal.' MADEMOISELLE MORI. 45 ' You may bring her here if you like, but I cannot promise to admire her singing, out of politeness. I know exactly the kind of thing it will be.' ' Very well, only be so kind as to hear her sing once ; then we can settle about it,' said Mrs. Dalzell ; and Madame Marriotti began to talk of some matter uppermost in her mind, and entirely forgot the first part of the conversation. Mrs. Dalzell found that friends had arranged plans for her and themselves, which occupied the whole of the next day ; and pic-tures, churches, ruins and views, left no room in her mind for her proteges. Returning to her lodgings at night, weary, ex-cited, and feeling that she had seen an immense variety of things, which she could not clearly recall, a more living interest was brought back by the s^ght of Vincenzo's carving, which had arrived in her absence. Minute inspection only made her better pleased with it, and she placed it in her drawing-room, intending to become its purchaser ; but a friend called the next day, and at once declared it must be his —it would exactly suit a paintino- . which he had bought— where had she met with it ? She told its history, and gave Vincenzo's address, with strong hopes that other orders would follow, and she could not resist taking him the good news at once. Irene met her with such cheerful looks that she smiled, and asked if she had forgiven her for opposing her wishes. Irene blushed and looked at Vincenzo, who an-swered, smiling, ' She expects that you have brought her good news.' ' How could she guess anything about it ? ' ' Oh, you have, signora ! ' cried Irene, with great animation ; * I knew you would, for I had a good dream last night ! ' ' It may be only my frame ; I think that is enough good luck for to-day ! ' said Vincenzo. ' A dream, my dear child ? What did you dream about ? ' saifl Mrs. Dalzell. ' I dreamed of farina,' replied Irene, seriously ; but, perceiv-ing that her visitor did not comprehend, she added, ' You know, that always means good fortune. I did not know what it would be ; but as soon as I saw you from the window, I was sure that you were bringing me good news about my singing.' 46 MADEMOISELLE MORI. * Farina ? ' repeated Mrs. Dalzell. * What bread is made of, signora. ' Do you not call it thus ? ' ' Flour,' added Vincenzo. 'My dear, do you really mean that you believe in dreams ?' ' Oh, yes, every one does. Nanna can tell what nearly every dream means. Before Vincenzo's accident she dreamed of water — that means tears ; and she was so unhappy all that Sunday, knowing that some misfortune would happen, and, you know, it did ; and afterwards, she and I both dreamed we were in the street in our night-dresses, and that means poverty. You see that, certainly, was true, for we were almost starving when you came.' ^ And do you believe in dreams too ? ' asked Mrs. Dalzell of Vincenzo. 'No, not I; but we are obliged to believe more wonderful things still in this place,' he answered, with a smile of contempt. Irene interrupted hastily—'Now, don't laugh, Vincenzo; it will bring ill luck. Do they not believe in dreams in England, signora ? ' ' How much did papa believe in them ? ' inquired Vincenzo. 'Oh, but papa was— was — was — perhaps Protestants do not believe in such things ? ' ' Well-educated people,' began Mrs. Dalzell, stopping, be-cause, as the hour of noon was announced by the churches, Irene stood up, Nanna crossed herself, and Vincenzo, too, as-sumed a serious attitude. After a few moments Nanna took up her knitting again ; Irene sat down ; and Vincenzo, seeing their visitor's look of perplexity, said, ' The Angelus ; at noon 'every one repeats it. Did you never notice men taking off their hats in the street when it is noon ? ' ' But I thought you were Protestants.' 'We are, but mamma taught us to say the Angelus; she thought one thing right, and papa another. I believe as he did, but Nanna has taught Irene all sorts of nonsense.' ' Oh, Vincenzo ! ' ' W^ell, really, I cannot accept the history of Sta. Filomena on the same ground as I do St. Paul's; and Nanna knows much more about that Sta. Filomena than she does of the Apostles. MADEMOISELLE MOM. 47 Really one is told to believe so much that one is ready to believe nothing.' Mrs. Dalzell found that from being children of a Protestant, the brother and sister had never had the advantage of such edu-cation as otherwise would have come within their reach in Rome ; they had not attended any of the classes or catechizings to which Roman Catholic children are summoned. They had never been to any kind of school, and Irene had been almost entirely left to Nanna's care. English both she and Vincenzo spoke easily, but read with difficulty. Mrs. Dalzell offered books to the latter, and would not seem to see that he received the proposal o-rate-fully, but not eagerly. She took Irene away with her, without fully informing her how important was the impending interview with Madame Marriotti, but telling her enough of the cantatrice to inspire a respect for her judgment. Irene had never heard of her. Madame Marriotti's public days were past before Irene ever saw the inside of a theatre, but when she heard that the lady had been a prima donna in London, her awe and respect were boundless. Her own wildest dreams had never reached such a height ; she believed that nothing but diamonds and ru-bies were showered on public singers in that capital of golden streets ! Madame Marriotti had never thought again of the affair, and was in a not infrequent mood of nervous irritability, which augured ill for a candid judgment. Mrs. Dalzell regretted that she had brought Irene, and was growing very nervous herself. To cut matters short she took up a heap of popular songs and asked Irene if she knew any of them. The girl withdrew her earnest glance from Madame Marriotti for the first time since she entered, and pointed out a favorite popular air. '"Well, let us hear whether you can sing it,' said Madame Marriotti reluctantly, but going to her piano and striking the first notes. Irene came to her side and obeyed. Mrs. Dalzell watched, with a half smile, her friend's start of surprise and the deep attention with which she listened. ' Can you sing this ? ' she asked, without any comment, as Irene paused. ' You don't know it ? Oh, yes, you do ; listen. La, la, la, la,'—humming the first bars. Finding that her young 48 MADEMOISELLE MORL visitor really did not know it, she made an impatient gesture and sang it herself, playing the accompaniment, looking from time to time at Irene, who listened entranced, and exclaimed in English to Mrs. Dalzell, ' But it is a marvel ! I never heard any singing hke that ! ' ' Not Madame St. Simon's ?' ' Oh, no, no, no, this is quite different ; this is beautiful—most beautiful ! ' Now Madame Marriotti, though she professed not to under-stand English, had lived quite long enough in London to compre-hend every word, and the young girl's admiration pleased her, though she had had the homages of illustrious audiences laid at her feet till she was weary of them. ' Well,' said Mrs. Dalzell. ' Well, she will do, I think. I must consider. Here, my dear,; you want to be a cantatrice, they tell me ; I was one myself, and I know the life ; now listen to me.' Thereupon followed a very unflattered picture of the trials of a celebrated singer, at the end of which she waited to hear what Irene had to say. ' But, if the signora had foreseen all this, she would still have been a cantatrice.' ' Not for fame or fortune, though. I found both pleasant enough-; but if that had been all, half the heart-aches would have far outweighed them.' ' I think the music would make amends for all the rest/ said Irene. ' . ' If you feel that, you are good for something. There, we have talked enough about it ; what are you going to do with the child now, Mrs. Dalzell ? I want you to sit a little longer ; can't she go home now ? ' ' If she knows her way.' ' Yes, yes, but whom has she to go with ? You are not going alone, my dear ? ' 'Oh, no,' answered Irene, shrinking. ' I had not thought of that,' began Mrs. Dalzell. ' But you should think about it, my dear. Italian girls can't go scampering about the streets like your English ones ; we don't consider it respectable. Can't your servant escort her ? ' MADEMOISELLE MOEI. 49 ' Yes, but you must let me go to look for some books for Vin-cenzo.' When she returned she found Madame Marriott! still at the piano, playing a few bars now and then and meditating. She looked up and said abruptly, ' It would be a thousand pities not to cultivate such a voice as that.' ' So I think, but the life • ' * Oh, the life, the life ; I know many public singers whose names stand as high as any lady's name in England. I myself can witness that it is a life which can be made an honor ; if it have great temptations, it has great rewards for those who are real votaries, who look upon it as an art—not a trade. If this child were well trained, brought up properly, if she had some good quiet friends to look after her, she might do admirably ; and with the talent she has, she will be a cantatrice whether you like it or not. ' It would be a sin to let the St. Simon demoralize her voice.' ' If she had but some better teaching than the old nurse's— that woman has a covetous, cunning look which quite frightens me, and I am sure she is not honest ; and then the confusion of rehgious ideas in these children's minds is so painful.' ' The girl believing everything, and the boy nothing, I suppose — a common case here.' ' No ; Yincenzo has more ideas on the subject than I should have expected ; but Irene actually professed entire faith in dreams this morning.' She was interrupted by a burst of laughter from Madame Marriotti. ' Dreams, my dear ? There is not a household which does not possess the Libro del Sogni. What ! is it possible you don't know what that is ? Not know what that is ! ' She rang her bell, and, when the maid entered, asked, changing from French into Italian, ' Zenaide, I want the dream book.' In two minutes, a w^orn copy was produced, which Madame Marriotti put into Mrs. Dalzell's hands. Opening it at the first page, she found an aphabetical list of words, each with numbers attached. * An index ? ' she said, inquiringly. ' No, not at all. These numbers relate to the lottery. You, probably, don't know the enormous importance of the lottery 50 MADEMOISELLE MOKI. here ; there is hardly a house in Rome, I'll answer for it, without this book. You don't understand yet ? Now, for instance, J dream I walked into the Via Margutta, and a dog came out of a house and bit my hand. On waking, I look for dog, house, or hand, or all three, and take one or more of the numbers belong-ing to these words, in the lottery. It need not, necessarily, be a dream ; for example, in one Carnival there was a frightful acci-dent— some children killed by the mossa, the charge of the dragoons, to clear the Corso. "Well, there was a perfect run up-on the lottery after that ; they took Carnival—horse—child— che so 10— yes, and misfortune and accident too ; for, now I come to think about it, misfortune was the only one that drew a prize ; No. 32, is it not ? ' ' But, surely, this is one of the books that would be pro-hibited?' ' My dear, if you look, you will see on the* contrary it is pubHshed with the Censor's approval ; we must have some amusement, and, besides, it is profitable to Government— II gioco in complesso E un vizio bestiale, Ma il lotto in se stesso Ha non che di morale ! I wonder who the clever rogue is who writes these things ; I had those verses on the lottery sent me in manuscript, under the rose, and my friend only got them in the same way ; yet one hears them whispered everywhere. But about this girl— I have a great mind to teach her myself ; I want something to do sometimes, and I should rather like another pupil.' ' She could not have a better teacher ! ' 'But, then, she knows nothing— she has everything to learn. I should never have patience, and, besides, it is an immense re-sponsibility to be any way answerable for a girl ; I would not ask a mother to trust her daughter with me for an hour ; she would be having billets doux—falling in love! ' ' My idea was,' said Mrs. Dalzell, without attempting to per-suade her, ' to take them away from their present lodgings, and establish them in some that my landlady had not let.' ' Who is your Padrona di Casa ? Cecchi ? I had forgotten — MADEMOISELLE MORI. . 51 did not I recommend her to you ? I forget so many things now. Then you could keep your 9je on this girh' ' She and her brother interest me more than I can tell you, and I might do something for Irene, if I had her constantly with me till June.' ' What will your friends say to your spending your time in this way? ' ' You know I came to Rome for mental change ; it does not matter how I get it, and I don't mean to neglect the sight-see-ing ; I am only afraid of thinking of nothing else.' ' So you stay here till June ? ' said Madame Marriotti, regard-ing with affection the face of her friend, which had become sad-dened as she spoke of mental change. ' Till June. I suppose the heat will drive me out then.' ' Oh, I suppose so ; as for me, as often as not I stay here all the year round, instead of going to my villa at Florence. I did spend one summer up in the hills, but we got nothing to eat. Well, I shall consider about this child— what is her name ? ' ' Irene Moore.' ' Mura ?—what is it ? Irene— Irene Mori.' 52 MADEMOISELLE MORI. CHAPTER IV. Whither are you bound? To the palace, an it like your "worship. Winte7''s Tale. • The lodgings that Mrs. Dalzell had taken M^ere on the second floor in an old palace near the Tiber. One common staircase led to corridors with open arcades, looking into a great quad-rangle; each story had its corridor, or loggia, to use the Italian word, except the highest, which was tenanted by very poor fam-ilies, or by artists, to whom abundance of light was essential. About eighteen doors on each floor opened into the corridor, and ascend or descend when you would, a face you had never noticed before was sure to be seen. The palace resembled a large hive of bees, with storehouses underground or in the lowest floor, where no one lived, and magazines of wine and wood were kept ; and, as in other hives, there were working bees and drones. On the first floor dwelt rich and^ titled families, on the mezzanini professors and teachers ; a staircase higher came un-titled people ; and higher still the artists and the poor, amongst whom might perhaps be counted a poet, who seemed of a joyous temperament, and, whenever he could aflPord it, gave a supper to his friends ; and rumors of a reunion of nineteen other poets, whose songs and shouts were heard late into the night, more than once afforded matter for speculation and amusement to the other inhabitants of the palace. It belonged to a noble and very poor family, who, reserving two floors for themselves in a smaller in-ner quadrangle, let all the rest, and contrived to live on the small •portion of rent which was not swallowed up by mortgages and debts. Mrs. Dalzell had found her way into this un-English MADEMOISELLE MORT. 53 quarter under the guidance of Madame Marriotti, and she had far more enjoyment in the. novelty, and even the occasional dis-comforts, than she could have derived from the luxuries of the hotels or lodgings in the streets frequented by her compatriots, where often more English than Italian is to be heard, and all is adapted to English tastes. The palace looked stately by day, but its aspect gained inde-scribably by night, when the moon gleamed on the white fronts of the arcades and threw the corridors within into profound shade, in which mysterious staircases yawned blacker still, lead-ing up and down into unknown regions, and lights glimmered here and there from windows grated like those of a prison. As soon as the reign of night began, ghostly noises too were heard — sounds, like heavy blows or distant cannonading, re-echoed through the quadrangle, and the fountain lifted up a voice nearly inaudible by day, and murmured plaintively, doubtless telling of the Anio, from whence its waters came, and of the ancient aque-duct along which they had travelled many a mile. By daylight all the awe and mystery disappeared, and the palace, though always stately, looked cheerful, like a place inhabited by modern, e very-day people—a place, moreover, where they might desire to live, when it was seen flooded by sunshine, with white-winged terns wheeling in the blue air above the quadrangle. Mrs. Dalzell had come abroad with maid and courier; but before she had been a week at Rome, her maid had become so disconsolate in this land, where she could neither understand nor make herself understood, that her mistress was glad to send her home and manage without her. The landlady, Signora, or, as foreigners usually called her, Madama, Cecchi, spoke enough French to make it a medium of conversation ; and when Mrs. Dalzell returned to her lodgings she was admitted by her in per-son, the padrona having ascertained from a little grated window that it was her lodger who rang. It would not have been easy to find a handsomer specimen of a Roman of the middle class than was this Madama Cecchi, who looked as stately as any duchess as she stood at the door, her black silk dress draping her full and rounded form, her hair rolled back from her brow, and partly shaded by a black lace lappet fastened with gold pins ; 54 MADEMOISELLE MORI. little enamel and pearl ear-rings in her ears and a mosaic brooch to fasten her lace collar. This was her every-day dress ; had she been in full costume, she would probably have worn white, or pale colors, and a gown of some thin material, far less becom-ing to her, for Roman beauty requires the deep lines and abun-dant drapery which, happily, the common people, at least, delight in. Few high-born dames in England could have equalled the natural and stately grace with which she received her lodger, whom she had not seen before that day, and the readiness to hear the something, which Mrs. Dalzell announced she had to say, was expressed in courteous phrases untranslatable, because in any language but their own they would- have sounded un-natural. She preceded Mrs. Dalzell into the anteroom, which had a brick floor and a pile of firewood in one corner ; the apartment was by no means splendid, but when, lifting the curtain that hung over the door, they entered the salotto or sitting-room, the sunshine which literally bathed the whole room and called out all the colors on the arched and. painted ceiling, sufficiently indi-cated why Madame Marriotti had recommended it. Sunshine is one of the luxuries for which people come to Rome, and though the winter had been a cold one, Mrs. Dalzell had never yet found it necessary to have a fire in the little open stove until evening. A nosegay of camellias, fringed with the maidenhair fern that grows on every fountain, stood on a round table ; an-other table with a marble top stood in a window which admitted the morning sunshine ; a third, also bearing a heavy slab of marble, and too high to be used except as a sideboard, was placed between the two other windows looking towards the west ; besides books, it bore two vases of artificial flowers, with a stuffed canary bird and several beetles among them to add to their vraisemUanc'e ; a heavy clock, highly gilt, was placed in the centre. It being winter, the floor was covered with coarse green and black drugget, or else it, like that of the anteroom, would have been seen to be of brick. This was the sole sign of winter, for there were only thin muslin curtains to the windows ; and the green persiani outside showed that more precautions against heat than cold were necessary. MADEMOISELLE MORI. 55 Mrs. Dalzell sat down, and told the history of her proteges, ending with a proposal to visit the rooms in which she desired to settle them. The prospect of letting them for an indefinite time was welcome to the Roman landlady, who usually could only dispose of them for the season, and she instantly led the way, remarking, however, that she must consult her husband, to the amusement of Mrs. Dalzell, who was aware that the said hus-band was a very nominal authority: Madama Cecchi was a perfectly despotic, though very good-humored potentate ; and ' Nino,' as she called him, submitted unmurmuringly to her de-crees. The three rooms proved in every way desirable, except that to reach them from her own apartments, Mrs. Dalzell was obliged either to go out into the corridor, or to pass through the kitchen ; but as Madama Cecchi thought this unimportant, Mrs. Dalzell said no more about it. It so happened that she had never been in the little back kitchen before, and she paused to sui'vey the vessels, scanty in number, and of unknown shapes and uses, which stood on the shelves. She smiled and wondered what an English servant would think of the disorder and want of accommodation. All cooking was done at square holes in a kind of brick counter, into which a handful of charcoal was put when wanted ; the consequence of which was, that whenever so much as an extra jug of hot water was required, the charcoal had to be lit, water fetched from the fountain, and much time spent before the demand could be supplied, for charcoal was too dear to be freely used. Among the various utensils Mrs. Dal-zell spied out a little lamp, and she said, ' I like these so much that I bought one yesterday, but it would not burn last night, and I forgot to tell my courier to examine it.' ' Where is it ? let us make my husband look at it — he is capace di tutto,' said Madama Cecchi ; ' Nino ! Ni ! come here.' Nino, or rather Giovanbattista, appeared from another room, bowed to his lodger, and asked what was the matter. He was, like most of the Roman men, a great contrast to the female part of the population, being slender, middle-sized, with taper hands, and not a trace of the muscle and strength which characterize northern nations. Black-haired and black-bearded, he had dark soft eyes, which were at once sad, and arch and subtle, as only 66 MADEMOISELLE MORI. Italian eyes can be, and a pleasant tenor voice, mucli more agreeable than his wife's ; but the sound so exactly like most of those which Mrs. Dalzell heard in the streets, that she was apt constantly to look round, fancying that her landlord was beside her. He turned the lamp upside down, examined it, and in-quired if the signora had blown into it when she bought it. On hearing that this precaution had not occurred to her, he shook his head, and evidently thought its defects were no more than she deserved, but at once gave his most serious attention to remedying them. Just then a crash as of falling plates was heard somewhere near: Madama Cecchi hurried off with ex-clamations of despair, and directly afterwards, her voice and the maid's were heard uplifted to a most amazing pitch ; then a sound was heard, as if the girl had received a box on the ear, after which Madama Cecchi returned, cheerful and smiling as before, and not in the least ruffled by what had occurred. Mrs. Dalzell made some remark on the cause of the clatter, and the padrona replied, ' Oh dear, dear, dear, dear ! it is this henedetta figliuola, Filomena, who makes me desperate ; ' but the despair did not seem to go very deep, nor the offending Filomena to be very repentant, for immediately after, she came by, looking just as rosy and merry as usual. The prospect of a new habitation was very welcome to the three whom it chiefly concerned, especially to Vincenzo, who in spite of his carving was fast again becoming a prey to melan-choly and languor. He had no friends to enliven him with visits ; Nanna was more of a torment than anything else ; and dearly as he loved Irene, a girl's society could not make up to him for what he had lost. Any change was welcome to him ; the new project was thorough refreshment ; the preparations for departure positively delightful ; he did not even shrink from the notion of being conveyed over the rough streets, which the others dreaded much for him, and only considered possible, when fully sanctioned by his surgeon. The transit proved less painful than they had expected ; but all were thankful when he had been safely conveyed up the long staircases, carried by Cecchi and Mrs. Dalzell's courier, and laid on the sofa in the sunny sitting-room, which was now to be his own. Irene was almost too MADEMOISELLE MORI. 57 happj, between hearing that she was to be Madame Marriotti's pupil, and finding herself mistress of a little room which seemed palatial luxury to her. Her felicity was beyond expression, when she found that a piano had been hired for her, and was placed in the sitting-room ; and she flew about, showing every-thing to Nanna, darting back to Vincenzo for additional sympa-thy, springing to the side of Mrs. Dalzell with a new burst of gratitude, and making acquaintance with the padroua, whose heart was speedily won by her frank delight, and all whose sym-pathies were enlisted for the invalid boy, as he lay with smiling, grateful looks, too weary to answer his sister's transports, and only wishing to lie still and watch the various arrangements which kept all the others fully employed. They had brought a few articles of furniture with theni to add to that already in the rooms, where there was not much space to spare ; and Nino, his wife, Nanna, Mrs. Dalzell, and Irene, were still in full conclave when the clock announced, in that Italian fashion so mysterious to foreigners, that the hour of five had come. At the same time, the bell rang, Filoraena opened the door and admitted a boy, with two tin chests on his head, each containing a pan of charcoal and a dinner. This broke off all discussion. Mrs. Dalzell left Nanna to see about one, and retired to her own sit-ting- room to eat the other, not without a compliment from both landlord and landlady on her looking so well that afternoon. It was deserved ; Mrs. Dalzell felt more occupied, more happy,* than she had done for many months. Till this time, do what she would, all the beauty, all the associations of Italy, had, at the most, only filled her mind ; while at heart there was always the aching of a grief for which she found no cure. Strange ! this one little good deed had done what neither Art nor Nature could effect ; it had lulled the pain to rest, for a time, at all events ; and as she sat alone that evening, willing to let Vincenzo rest, after a day very exciting and fatiguing to him ; although her book remained unread, and her work lay idly upon her lap, it was not now because her thoughts had wandered and her eyes were dim with tears. She thought anxiously, yet hopefully, of Irene, and with a still tenderer feeling of the invalid Vincenzo, whose grateful and cheerful looks that day had keenly reminded 58 MADEMOISELLE MORI. her of another invalid, very dear to her, whom she had once tended and watched over as only a mother can watch over her sole treasure. More than once she had found the name of Ar-thur rising to her lips instead of that of Vincenzo, who, hence-forward, must be dear to her, for the sake of that dead son, as well as for his own. It was much to have rescued this brother and sister from destitution ; it was like an answer to the question that had often forced itself upon her — TVhat the future could have for her to do ? Through these orphans it might yet have an interest. She thought of what it might bring them, far more anxiously than they did—one dreaming on her pillow, with lips parted into a smile, and a rosy flush on her cheek — the other, awake, and taking courage from the thought, that though his own faith had failed, the promise their dying father had trusted in had stood firm, bidding himself remember that on the ruin of his own hopes had risen new ones for Irene, and thinking, with deep gratitude, of her who had rescued them from actual starva-tion. Surely, with these two near her, Mrs. Dalzell could not help feeling satisfied and cheered. Thus it gradually came to pass that, while she visited the sights of Rome, entered occasionally into society, and was always ready to take part in any scheme proposed by her friends, these two orphans became Mrs. Dalzell's chief thought. They inter-ested her not only for their own sakes, but as specimens of Ital-ians — a race unknown to her ; and Italians, rather than English, they certainly were, though Vincenzo betrayed the English part of his parentage at times, by a certain reserve and steadfast-ness, joined, however, to much Italian enthusiasm : but Irene, with the soft and brilliant dark eyes of her Sora mother, had in-herited a southern grace, an instinctive courtesy, a fire and im-petuosity, that never came from England. Pretty she was not ; she had inherited none of the beauty for which the women of Sora are celebrated, and with which her mother had been pre-eminently endowed ; yet her slight figure, and the open brow whence dark shining hair was braided back, the marked and ex-pressive eyebrows, and the lovely eyes, made hers a poetical face ; and the instant changes at word or look, from the serious and pensive expression usual to it when at rest, to archness and MADEMOISELLE MOKL 59 mirth, had a charm so bewitching that many beautiful women would have been far less attractive than Irene. In her, there was none of the abrupt English honesty, so repulsive to Italians. To be charmingly courteous was her nature, but she was no less true than Vincenzo ; as Mrs. Dalzell, in time, discovered, after being a little mistrustful of what she had heard her countrymen assert in other cases to be insincerity —sometimes justly, some-times much otherwise ; but Italian faults and virtues are almost equally perplexing to English people, and so are those of the English to Italians. Mrs. Dalzell had expected to find Irene the best possible guide to Eome, especially as both brother and sister were proud of their birthplace, and spoke of ' Roma mia ' and ' i miei Ho-manV with pride worthy of an ancient senator ; but, to her sur-prise, Irene knew nothing about it. Vincenzo too read a book about Rome Pagan and Rome Christian, and their historical as-sociations, with the delight of a blind man when enabled to see. It was the first book that awoke any lively interest in him ; he seemed to have found a glorious new w^orld, and Mrs. Dalzell often could not resist a smile as she heard him telling Irene, with the utmost enthusiasm, of some fact trite to all the rest of the world. On questioning Irene, it appeared that she • had seen hardly any of the great sights which attract travellers from every land. She had, now and then, gone to the Colosseum, with her mother or Nanna, to pray at the stations ; she had been some-times at the Vatican, because every one goes there on the public day at Easter, and Vincenzo was fond of visiting it ; and that seemed to be the extent of her acquaintance with the ruins and galleries. Mrs. Dalzell could hardly believe that she heard aright, and asked if Roman girls never went to see sights. Irene said they hardly ever did ; they sometimes went to shops, or on the Pincio, or in the Corso, with their mothers, or paid a morning visit, but not often to see sights ; and she could not un-derstand the notion of walking for exercise sake, when asked if she were not accustomed to do so. ' Papa liked walking ; but then he was English. When he was alive, he often took her and Vincenzo to the Villa Pamphili Doria, or the Villa Bor-ghese, on festas.' 60 MADEMOISELLE MORI. ' Have you never seen any of the ceremonies in St. Peter's ? Never been there at Easter ? ' ' Oh ! no. Romans hardly ever do go ; there is such a crowd— people behave so ill, and push so. The foreigners say, "We must see these things, because we have come from the ends of the earth to do so, and you Romans can see them when you Avill;" but then they come and come every year, and do not cease, and thus we see nothing.' ' Besides, as for Easter day, every Romanist is obliged to hear mass in his parish church, unless the priest gives him express leave to go somewhere else,' added Yincenzo. ' The rules are very strict ; you receive a certificate to show that you were there, and some days after the priest comes to each house for it, and you would get into terrible disgrace if you could not produce it ; your name publicly posted up in the church, and a great up-roar made, and it would be remembered against you to a cer-tainty if you wanted anything done for you. All power here is in the priests' hands.' ' I always fancy there is a strange contempt, mixed with fear, in Signor Cecchi's manner, when the priests are alluded to,' said Mrs. Dalzell ; ' and his wife once privately begged me never to name politics before him, it excited him so.' ' She is imprudent enough herself; but she knows she is safe^ with us. If half what I have heard her say were repeated, she*" would see the inside of a prison speedily.' ' Not really, Vincenzo ? ' ' Really, Mrs. Dalzell ; a careless word is enough to send a man to Spoleto for life.' The English lady thought this must be strange exaggeration ; but Vincenzo did not seem at all inclined to pursue the subject, so she turned to another. ' There is one ceremony that I mean to see and take Irene to this year ; she ought to hear Guglielmi's Pastorale ; what do you say, Vincenzo ? ' ' I would go if I could,' he answered, 'just to see St. Peter's by night ; but as for the music I don't care for that kind. I de-clare '—and herein he spoke the feelings of many of his fellow- MADEMOISELLE MOM. 61 citizens— ' when I hear it I am ready to stop my ears and run out of the church.' ' I hope Madame Marriotti will teach Irene better/ said Mrs. Dalzell, smiling. ' How did the lesson go to-day ? ' ' Oh, pretty well,' said Irene, with a blush ; ' I am afraid we both got out of patience ; but at last she said I was improving.' Indeed, teacher and pupil had both such impatient tempers, that Mrs. Dalzell had feared the alliance would speedily break up ; but Madamo Marriotti in her heart was very glad of this new interest, and fast becoming extremely proud of her pupil. She required entire devotion to music, with the most watchful and exciting jealousy, and Irene was ready to give it. Love for her art gave her fervor which took the place of persever-ance, and she became so absorbed in it, that Vincenzo silently, felt, or more truly, fancied, that he had grown a secondary object with her. Mrs. Dalzell's society, visits from such of her friends as desired to purchase his carvings, and the new delight of read-ing, kept, however, this feeling in the background ; and Irene, radiant with hope and energy, looked scarcely happier than did Vincenzo, lying on his couch, with a table drawn up to it, with books and a handful of wild flowers upon it, or a basket of fruit, destined to be copied in lime or pear wood. Mrs. Dalzell some-times wondered whether he had quite realized that his destiny was to be an invalid for life. Nothing could change that fiat ; they must never hope to see him walk again, except with crutches. 62 MADEMOISELLE MORI. CHAPTER V. Quera vidistis, pastores, dicite; annunciate nobis, in terris quis apparuit; Natum vidimus, et choros angelorum coUaudantes Dominum. Office of the Pastorale. The idea of going to hear the Pastorale did not fall to the ground ; it was one of the few ceremonies which Mrs. Dalzell could witness, without failing to attend the services of her own church, and she had particularly wished to see it. To go with a large party was the last thing she desired, and she named her intentions to none but Madame Marriotti, who had first inspired her with the wish, and now, much to Mrs. Dalzell's surprise, immediately declared that she should like, of all things, to go too. An expedition at three o'clock, a. m., w^as such a singular freak for so frail a creature, that Mrs. Dalzell would hardly consent, though she acknowledged that her pleasure in music was always doubled when Madame Marriotti was by to comment on it ; and the little old lady was as wilful as any spoiled child, and got her way. Accordingly, on Christmas eve, instead of going to bed, Irene came to Mrs. Dalzell's sitting-room, where she found her friend, lying on the sofa, resting till the hour to set out should arrive. Resisting an invitation to share the couch, Irene, with her dog, which, as usual, had followed her, sat down on the floor before an open stove, where a wood fire burned brightly. Irene occupied herself with reading the music which was to be her next lesson, and Mrs. Dalzell, between sleep and waking, opened her eyes sometimes, and looked at the slight figure and bending profile of the young girl, on which the fire-light gleamed. She was absorbed in her task ; one hand, unconsciously, beat time on the back of her dog ; her brow was sometimes knit, as she looked MADEMOISELLE MORI. 63 with austerity at some difficult passage, and then expanded as she mastered it, and smiled and lifted her eyes, as if to those of some imaginary auditor. Now and then, still murmuring half inaudible notes, she added a piece of wood from the tall basket which stood by the stove, or moved the coffee-pot on its iron tripod into a hotter position ; while the dog looked on with great interest, or directed an intelligent glance towards the cups and saucers on the table, as much as to say that if they really in-tended to have a meal at this extraordinary hour, it was advis-able to lose no more time. A ring at the outer door announced Madame Marriott! ; Irene sprang up, and went to let her in, disencumbering her of a multitude of wraps ; while the old lady diminishing momentarily in size, as she was released first from one, then another, was at last reduced to dimensions fit for a fairy godmother, for which she might very well have passed. She was in a fidget about this unusual expedition, and at first rejected vehemently the coffee which Irene poured out for her ; but ended by drinking it, in an absent, unconscious way, while Mrs. Dalzell sought her bonnet and cloak. Irene looked very mirthful and mischievous, and moved so noiselessly, and spoke so low, that Madame Marriotti's nerves were speedily irritated by this mysterious conduct, and she demanded, sharply, what was the matter with her. ' Only I feel as if we were plotting something very wonderful and secret. We are the only people awake in the palace ; we are going out directly without their knowing it ; it is a secret expedition, and we are conspirators.' ' Nonsense, child ; don't talk of conspirators, I beg ; we had enough of that in '31 ; how can you be so silly ? ' asked Madame Marriotti, uneasily. ' Oh, I think a conspiracy must be so interesting ! ' answered Irene, gaily, too young to remember much about the troubles that had hailed the election of the reigning Pope, Gregory XVI. ' Heaven help the child ! she may live to know more about it,' muttered the old lady, who, though she chose to lead a somewhat secluded life, knew most things, public or secret, that went on in Rome, and was well aware of the storms that were gathering there. ' Mrs. Dalzell, are you ready ? Do let us go, if we are 64 MADEMOISELLE MORI. going, and have done with it. Where are you running off to now, child ? ' ' Only to take Tevere back, and see if Yincenzo is asleep,' answered Irene, running away, with a little lamp in her hand, through the empty kitchen. The Cecchi had gone to the fun-zione at San Luigi, and had not yet returned ; the rooms were still as death, and she speedily re-appeared, a little excited and awed by the silence and darkness. Madame Marriotti, still looking ruffled, was wrapping herself slowly up again, an opera-tion suddenly delayed by the loss of a glove. Irene and Mrs. Dalzell looked for it in vain ; Madame Marriotti fumed and fidgeted. At last, Irene emerged from under a table, holding up something dark, a single kid finger. ' I am afraid,' said she, half stifled by suppressed laughter, ' that Tevere must have eaten the rest ! ' ' Tevere ! ' exclaimed Madame Marriotti, nearly speechless ; ' my glove ! ' ' Poor dog, he will certainly be ill,' said Mrs. Dalzell, anx-iously. ' How did he seem, Irene ? ' ' I don't think it has disagreed with him, though I am sadly afraid he ate the button too,' replied Irene, half suffocated with amusement at the catastrophe, and the indignation of her be-reaved friend. ' I hope it will, I hope it will. The ill-mannered, inconsid-erate beast,' exclaimed Madame Marriotti. ' Of course I shall catch cold, I must make up my mind to that ; so we had better go at once. Such nonsense as it all is ! ' She hurried towards the door, nearly falling over Mrs. Dalzell's courier, who was coming to announce the carriage. Both Irene and Mrs. Dalzell were quite aware that this irritation only meant, that the un-wonted expedition had strung their friend's excitable nerves a little too highly ; so they were not in the least disturbed by it, but settled themselves speedily in their corners of the carriage, which had thundered into the quadrangle, and now thundered out again in a way likely to discompose all the sleepers in the palace, and auguring ill for the secresy of Irene's expedition. Till within an hour or two there had been an incessant hum of voices and roll of carriages in the streets : all Rome was abroad, MADEMOISELLE MORI. 65 hastening to and from the midnight mass at various churches ; but now all was still ; only a few men or women Avere seen in the dark deserted streets : and the occasional rinorino: of bells from some church was almost the only sound. The Tiber glided below the bridge, swift, silent, and tawny in the moonlight ; not a living creature was visible about St. Angelo, "which rose mas-sive and desolate, as if once more a tomb ; and the Archano-el on its summit looked like some indistinct and threatenins: form descended from the gloomy sky above. The piazza of St. Peter stretched out in an extent of space which the eye could hardly compass, and the large semicircular colonnades appeared to ex-pand themselves, as though to embrace a world. Lamps were hung here and there against their columns, marking out their circuit in the darkness ; lights shone in the belfry, where a deep-toned bell was ringing ; the fountains lifted up their silver jets, and in front rose the basilica, dark, enormous, and appearing to retreat before the advancing visitor. Mrs, Dalzell and Irene united their strength to lift the ponder-ous curtain, or rather mat, which hung befforethe door by which they entered ; Madame Marriotti slipped in, they followed, and at once found themselves in a world of shadow so vast, so strange, that they stood still involuntarily to gaze. Between every arch stood one tall lighted taper, and under the cupola, the crowd of ever-burning lamps around the tomb of St. Peter shone out, clear and pale, like a garland of stars. Not a flame but burned up motionless in the still, perfumed atmosphere, but on all sides was gloom and silence, and the cupola seemed to rise up and vanish, as if it contained a whole sky filled with soft darkness, like that of a moonless night in summer. Few were present at this hour of the night, and in the area which no man has ever beheld full, even when the jubilee attracts multitudes from every land, the units present on this Christmas eve were scarcely per-ceptible. Now and then some one crossed the nave ; three or four knelt amid the circle of hght at the Apostle's tomb ; and a woman was bowed before his statue, immovable as the bronze figure above her. All the color, the splendor, the ornament, all that delights or displeases the eye by day, was now blended to-gether ; and doubtless it was this absence of striking detail that 5 66 MADEMOISELLE MORI. gave the impression of boundless space in the building, which by day seems in comparison small. Mrs. Dalzell walked slowly up the nave towards the eastern end, where were seats erected for the public functionaries and the ladies who would be present at the great ceremony of the mor-row. Mrs. Dalzell took her place here, and sat waiting and expecting the service to begin ; Madame Marriotti had fallen into a reverie, from Avhich a whisper of Irene roused her sud-denly. ' What did you say ? ' she asked quickly in Italian, which she always spoke to her pupil. ' I cannot help thinking the service is beginning in the chapel of the choir,' repeated Irene, looking down the basilica to a spot where lights were glittering, reflected in the pavement like moons in a lake. ' Well, are we not there ! Why, where are we ? Mrs. Dal-zell, why did you come here ? ' ' Seeing these seats I really thought the service was here, and I trusted to you.' ' Could any one believe such folly ? ' exclaimed the old lady, irascibly. ' A baby might have known the Pastorale would be in the chapel of the choir ; now we shall not |
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