Part 20 (2/2)

The morning was already far advanced and the sun high when Gerald awoke.

The heavy dews had penetrated his frail clothing and chilled him, while the hot gleam of the sun glowed fiercely on his face and temples. He was so confused besides, by his dream and by the objects about him, that he sat vainly endeavouring to remember how and why he had come there.

One by one, like stragglers falling into line, his wandering faculties came back, and he bethought him of the poet's house, Alfieri himself, the d.u.c.h.ess, and lastly, of his quarrel with Marietta--an incident which, do what he might, seemed utterly unaccountable to him. If he felt persuaded that he was in the right throughout, the persuasion gave him no pleasure--far from it. It had been infinitely easier for him now, if he had wronged her, to seek her forgiveness, than forgive himself for having offended her. She, so devoted to him! She, who had taken such pains to teach him all the excellences of the poets she loved; who had stored his mind with Petrarch, and filled his imagination with Ariosto; who taught him to recognise in himself feelings, and thoughts, and hopes akin to those their heroes felt, and thus elevated him in his own esteem. And what a genius was hers!--how easily she adapted herself to each pa.s.sing mood, and was gay or sorrowful, volatile or pa.s.sionate, as fancy inclined her. How instinctively her beautiful features caught up the expression of each pa.s.sion; how wild the transports of her joy; how terrible the agonies of her hatred!

With what fine subtlety, too, she interpreted all she read, discovering hidden meanings, and eliciting springs of action from words apparently insignificant; and then her memory, was it not inexhaustible? An image, a pa.s.sing simile from a poet she loved, was enough to bring up before her whole cantos; and thus, stored with rich gems of thought, her conversation acquired a grace and a charm that were actual fascination.

And was he now to tear himself away from charms like these, and for ever, too? But why was she displeased with him? how had he offended her? Surely it was not the notice of the great poet had awakened her jealousy; and yet, when she thought over her own great gifts, the many attractions she herself possessed--claims to notice far greater than his could ever be--Gerald felt that she might well have resented this neglect.

'And how much of this is my own fault?' cried he aloud. 'Why did I not tell the poet of her great genius? Why not stimulate his curiosity to see and hear her? How soon would _he_ have recognised the n.o.ble qualities of her nature!'

Angry with himself, and eager to repair the injustice he had done, he arose and set out for the city, resolved to see Alfieri, and proclaim all Marietta's accomplishments and talents.

'He praised _me_ last night,' muttered he, as he went along; 'but what will he say of _her_? She shall recite for him the ”Didone,” the lines beginning,

'”No! sdegnata non sono!”

If his heart does not thrill as he listens, he is more or less than man!

He shall hear, too, his own ”Cleopatra” uttered in accents that he never dreamed of. And then she shall vary her mood, and sing him one of ter Sicilian barcarolles, or dance the Tiranna. Ah, Signor Poeta,' said he aloud, * even thy lofty imagination shall gain by gazing upon one gifted and beautiful as she is.'

When Gerald reached the Roman gate he found a large cavalcade making its exit through the deep archway, and the crowd, falling back, made way for the mounted party. Upward of twenty cavaliers and ladies rode past, each mounted and followed by a numerous suite, whose equipment proclaimed the party to be of rank and consideration. As Gerald stood aside to make place for them to pa.s.s, a pair of dark eyes were darted keenly toward him, and a deep voice called out:

'There's my Cerretano, that I was telling you about! Gherardi, boy, what brings thee here?'

Gerald looked up and saw it was the poet who addressed him; but before he could summon courage to answer, Alfieri said:

'Thou didst promise to be with me this morning early, and hast forgotten it all, not to say that thou wert to equip thyself in something more suitable than this motley. Never mind, come along with us. Cesare, give him your pony; he is quiet and easy to ride. Fair ladies all,' added he, addressing the party, 'this youth declaims the verse of Alfieri as such a great poet merits. _Gherardi mio_, this is a public worthy of thy best efforts to please. Get into the saddle; it's the surest, not to say the pleasantest, way to jog toward Parna.s.sus!'

Gerald was not exactly in the mood to like this bantering; he was ill at ease with himself, and not over well satisfied with the world at large, and he had half turned to decline the poet's invitation, when a gentle voice addressed him, saying:

'Pray be my cavalier, Signorino; you see I have none.'

'Not ours the fault, Madame la Marquise,' quickly retorted Alfieri; 'you rejected us each in turn. Felice was too dull, Adriano too lively, Giorgio was vain, and I--I forget what I was.'

'Worst of all, a great genius in the full blaze of his glory. No; I 'll take Signor Gherardi--that is, if he will permit me.'

Gerald took off his cap and bowed deeply in reply; as he lifted his head he beheld for the first time the features of her who addressed him. She was a lady no longer young, past even the prime of life, but retaining still something more than the traces of what had once been great beauty: fair brown hair, and blue eyes shaded by long dark lashes, preserved to her face a semblance of youthfulness; and there was a coquetry in her riding-dress--the hat looped up with a richly jewelled band, and the front of her habit embroidered in gold--which showed that she maintained pretensions to be noticed and honoured.

As Gerald rode along at her side, she drew him gradually and easily into conversation, with the consummate art of one who had brought the gift to high perfection. She knew how to lead a timid talker on, to induce him to venture on opinions, and even try and sustain them. She understood well, besides, when and how, and how far, to offer a dissent, and at what moments to appear to yield convictions to another. She possessed all that graceful tact which supplies to mere chit-chat that much of epigram that elevates, without pedantry; a degree of point that stimulates, yet never wounds.

'The resemblance is marvellous!' whispered she to Alfieri, as he chanced to ride up beside her; 'and not only in look, but actually in voice, and in many a trick of gesture.'

'I knew you 'll see it!' cried the poet triumphantly.

'And can nothing be known about his history? Surely we could trace him.'

'I like the episode better as it is,' said he carelessly. 'Some vulgar fact might, like a rude blow, demolish the whole edifice one's fancy had nigh completed. There he stands now, handsome, gifted, and a mystery.

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