Part 19 (1/2)

'I pray you do, madam. I long to know his features. It is a face I have painted in fancy often and often.'

'Tell me, then, how you would portray him,' said she, smiling.

'Not regularly handsome; but n.o.ble-looking, with the traits of one who had such vigour of life and mind within, that he lived more for his own thoughts than the world, and thus would seem proud to sternness. A high, bold forehead, narrow and indented at the temples, and a deep brow over two fierce eyes. O! what wildly flas.h.i.+ng eyes should Alfieri's be when stirred by pa.s.sion and excitement!'

'And should you find him different from all this--a man of milder mould, more commonplace and less vigorous--will you still maintain that faith in his genius that now you profess?' said the Count, with slow and quiet utterance.

'That will I. How could I, in my presumption, doubt the power that has moved the hearts of thousands?'

'Come, then, and look at him,' said the d.u.c.h.ess, and she arose, and moved into a room fitted up as a library. Over the chimney was a large picture, covered by a silk curtain. To this Gerald eagerly turned his eyes, for he already marked that the gilded eagle that surmounted the frame held in his beak a wreath of flowers, interwoven with laurel leaves.

'One whose enthusiasm equals your own, boy, placed the wreath there, on the 17th of January last. It was the festa of Vittorio Alfieri,' said the d.u.c.h.ess, as she gently pulled the cord that drew back the curtain.

Gerald moved eagerly forward--gazed--pa.s.sed his hand across his eyes, as if to dispel a fancy--gazed again and again--and then, turning round, stood steadfastly staring at the Count himself. A faint, sad smile was on the calm and haughty face; but, as it pa.s.sed away, the boy dropped down upon his knees, and seizing the other's hand, kissed it rapturously, as he cried--

'Oh! that I should have ever known a moment like this! Tell me, I beseech thee, Signor Conte, is my brain wandering, or are you Alfieri?'

'Yes, boy,' said he, with a slight sigh, while he raised him from the ground, laying one hand gently on his shoulder.

'It is with reason, boy, you are proud of this event in your life,' said the d.u.c.h.ess. 'The truly great are few in this world of ours; and you now stand before one whose memory will be treasured when we are all dust.'

The poet did not seem to heed or hear these words, but stood calmly watching the boy, who continued to turn his eyes alternately from the picture to the original.

'I suspect, boy,' said he, with a smile, 'that your mind-drawn picture satisfied you better--is it not so?'

'O! you who can so read hearts, why will you not interpret mine?' cried Gerald, in rapture; for now to his memory in quick succession were rising the brilliant fancies, the splendid images, the heart-moving words of one whose genius had been a sort of wors.h.i.+p to him.

'This, too, is fame!' said the poet, turning to the d.u.c.h.ess.

'But we are keeping you too long from your guests, madam; and Gherardi and I will have many an opportunity of meeting. Come up here to-morrow in the forenoon, and let me talk with you. The youth is more complimentary to me than was the cardinal yesterday.'

'What was it that he said?' asked she.

'He wondered I should have written the tragedy of ”Saul,” since we had it already in the Bible! To-morrow, Gherardi, about eleven, or even earlier--_a rivederlo!_'

As with slow steps, half in a dream, and scarce daring to credit his senses, Gerald moved down the stairs, the poet overtook him, and pressing a purse into his hand, said--

'You must have some more suitable dress than this, and remember to-morrow.'

CHAPTER XVII. A LOVER'S QUARREL

When Gerald found himself once more in his little room at the Porta Rosa, it was past midnight. He opened his window and sat down at it to gaze out upon the starry sky and drink in the refres.h.i.+ng night air, but, more than even these, to calm down the excitement of his feelings, and endeavour to persuade himself that what he had pa.s.sed through was not a dream. It is not easy for those who have access to every grade they wish in life--who, perhaps, confer honour where they go--to fas.h.i.+on to their minds the strange, wild conflict that raged within the youth's heart at this moment. Little as he had seen of the great poet, he could not help comparing him with Gabriel, his acquaintance at the Tana. They were both proud, cold, stern men--strong in conscious power, self-reliant and daring. Are all men of genius of that stamp, thought Gerald. Are they who diffuse through existence its most elevating influences, its most softening emotions--are they hard of mould and stern in character?

Does the force with which they move the world require this impulse of temperament, as rivers that traverse great continents come down, at first, from lofty mountains? And if it be so, is not this a heavy price for which to buy even fame? Then, again, he bethought him, what a n.o.ble gift to bestow must be the affection of such men--how proud must be they who owned their love or shared their friends.h.i.+p! While he was thus musing a round, warm arm clasped his neck, and Marietta sat down beside him. She had waited hours for his return, and now stole gently to his room to meet him.

'I could not sleep till I had seen you, _caro_,' said she fondly. 'It seemed as if in these few hours years had separated us.'

'And if they had, Marietta, they could scarcely have brought about anything stranger. Guess where I have been--with whom I have pa.s.sed this entire evening?'

'How can I? Was he a prince?'