CHAPTER IX

THE RECITAL

"You may remember when, two years since, before my marriage, I left you at Venice to go to Florence with my aunt Vasari, and Gianetta our waiting-maid. You had been an invalid for a long time, and were unable to accompany us."

"I remember it well. Gianetta wrote to me sometimes, by your desire, to tell me how you were."

"That Gianetta was very inquisitive, indiscreet, and faithless. I fear I kept her in my service too long."

"During your residence in Florence she wrote me but a few lines, just to say that you were well; and she seemed to do this very unwillingly," added Iris, with incredible assurance.

She lied, for Gianetta had, on the contrary, kept her constantly and fully informed of all that was going on at Florence during her godmother's absence.

"At the end of six months," resumed the princess, "I returned to Venice."

"It was then you had that long nervous attack which so nearly killed you."

"And during which you gave me so many proofs of your devotion and affection; and from that time, Iris, I loved you like a sisterlike a daughter."

Iris took her godmother's hand and silently placed it to her lips.

"My aunt Vasari," continued Paula, "went to Florence to attend to a lawsuit she had there. She went out every day, being able, as she thought, to influence her judges. In the evening we went out to walk, and there I frequently met a Frenchman named M. Charles de Brévannes. He was very soon my constant shadow; his pursuit of me became incessant and troublesome, and from that time my indifference was changed to aversion."

"Was he a man likely to cause such a sentiment?" "Why do you ask?" inquired the princess, scrutinising Iris's features; then adding, "You were so young then, you could not have remarked. Yes, at your age, that is natural. You recollect my cousin, Raphael Monti, the son of my father's brother?"

Iris imperceptibly contracted her eyebrows, and replied in a short manner,--

"Yes; each time he returned from sea he came to pass his leisure at Venice. Isn't he in the East? Have you had any news of him lately? When we left Italy his mother was becoming very anxious about his absence."

"He is dead," said Madame de Hansfeld, with desperate calmness.

"Raphael dead!" exclaimed Iris, with feigned astonishment.

"Charles de Brévannes killed him."

"And your aunt is ignorant of this?"

"Listen--the hour is come to disclose every thing to you. I had been, as you know, brought up with Raphael. When a child, I loved him as a brother; as a young girl, as my betrothed husband; or, rather, these two sentiments united themselves into one. You were then young and giddy, and our mutual affection, no doubt, escaped you."

"Why, to tell you the truth, godmother, now I remember some circumstances which ought to have enlightened me on that subject. But is it possible--is Raphael dead? And when and where did this happen?"

"Listen. I was to hare been married to him on my return to Florence. You may now comprehend why M. de Brévannes inspired me with so much aversion."

"I understand."

"His pursuit of me redoubled. Informed of our residence in Florence, he, by dint of perseverance and encouragement, contrived to form a connexion with those persons who would be of so much service to my aunt in her process, and obtained such influence with them, that he was very soon in a position to be of the greatest possible use to us.

"His way thus cleared, he one day boldly announced himself at my aunt's under the plea of lodging in the same hôtel. Our reception of him was very chilling, but the man soon proved himself so insinuating, such a flatterer, and so clearly shewed my aunt how greatly he could aid the progress of her suit, that she begged him to visit us as frequently as he pleased. As he left the room, he cast at me a very significant look. He had only done this in order to be able to approach me.

"I told my aunt all my suspicions, and her reply was that I was crazy; that it was requisite we should avail ourselves of M. de Brévannes' kind offices, since he could be so advantageous to us. You know my aunt had been very handsome, and at this time she was only forty years of age. M. de Brévannes saw one day that she took in earnest some little gallantries which he addressed to her in jest. He increased his attentions, so that, in a very short time, she could really not do without him. He accompanied us every where, walking, or to the theatre. I remarked to my aunt that he was young and rich, and that this intimacy might compromise me. She then told me, with as much joy as pride, that I was quite wrong to alarm myself. She was a widow and free; M. de Brévannes had avowed his love for her, adding that he only took so deep an interest in our lawsuit because it gave him an opportunity of being so constantly near her. I wished to make some observations to my aunt, but she would not even allow me to finish them, but broke out into a tirade as to the vanity of young girls, and reproached me with ever having believed for a moment that M. de Brévannes bestowed a thought on me. He saw us every day, often sent minstrels under our windows, and continually presented us with similar bouquets, in order (as he told my aunt) that my self-love might not be wounded.

"One day, finding me alone, he made me a declaration of love, considering as a merit in my eyes the ability with which he had deceived my aunt, and taken off from me the gaze of the world by appearing smitten with her, and for this enormous sacrifice he considered I should admire and feel kindly disposed towards him."

"And was your aunt informed of this avowal of Charles de Brévannes?"

"That very evening she was told all."

"Then he was unmasked?"

"Child, you do not comprehend the weakness and vanity of women!"

"What!--she would not believe you?"

"Yes, at first; and that same evening our door was closed against M. de Brévannes. He guessed the fact, and wrote a long letter to my aunt. The very next day he was received even more kindly than usual. When she left me, my aunt came and scolded me severely. Jealous, as she declared, of M. de Brévannes' love for her, I had calumniated him in order to have him excluded from the house."

"Unhappy woman! she was mad!"

"Matters resumed their usual course. Charles de Brévannes did not utter one other word of love to me, but he passed whole days with us. On the 13th of April--ah! I shall never forget that date--my aunt said to me after breakfast, that the noise of the court-yard of the hôtel disturbed her so much, that she would, from that evening, change apartments with me. My room looked into the street, and had a balcony. What I have to add is fearful. That day we had been out for a long drive in the carriage, accompanied by M. de Brévannes. On our return we sat together until very late in the evening, my aunt appearing very much preoccupied. At length he retired, and I went to bed."

The princess turned horribly pale, shuddered, and then continued in a broken voice:--

"The next morning I wished to go as usual to wish my aunt good morning, when Gianetta, with an embarrassed air, told me that Madame Vasari was much indisposed, and could not see me.

"At the moment I was returning towards my own apartment, a stranger inquired for me, and a dark, pale man handed me a letter without uttering a syllable. I knew not why, but a tremor ran through my veins. I opened the letter--it inclosed a ring which I had given to Raphael."

"And the letter, godmother,--the letter?"

"Was from Raphael, who was dying."

"From Raphael?"

"Yes, and contained these words, which seemed to me written in characters of blood:--"

"'I have been in Florence for two days. I know all. This very night I saw Brévannes descending from your balcony; after which you closed the window. I fought with him instantly, as we both agreed. I sought death, and he has given it to me. Be thou accursed! Osorio will tell you when you return to Venice. Conceal from my mother. My sight is----'

"And nothing more," added Madame de Hansfeld, with agonising expression, "nothing but some shapeless letters."

"What a mystery!" said Iris, clasping her hands. "Who then could have appeared at your chamber-window?"

"Have I not told you that my aunt had occupied the chamber that very evening which I had before slept in? No doubt, Charles de Brévannes had obtained a rendezvous from her in order to serve his wicked designs, you will see how. She is my height--dark as I am; and thus was Raphael fatally deceived."

"Oh! how horrible!"

"After I had read this letter I was almost mad. I believed I was in a dream. Osorio told me the rest. Raphael, on his return from a voyage to Constantinople, had reached Venice. He only passed a day in that city, but, misled by some abominable calumny which had reached thither from Florence, he left that city suddenly with Osorio, to whom he said,--

"'They tell me that Paula has betrayed me shamefully; if that be true, I will kill my rival or he shall kill me.'"

"But who could thus have slandered you in Venice?"

"How do I know? Raphael had not even seen his mother. Every body was in utter ignorance of his short stay in Venice. In vain did I question Osorio on this point: he was mute."

"That is very strange."

"Unfortunately he shared Raphael's suspicions. What I foresaw arrived. The attentions of M. de Brévannes, explained by shameful scandal, had compromised me most fatally. I passed in Florence as his mistress, and, when Raphael inquired of me, I was accused by one common voice. However, determined not to be misled by appearances, he had gone straight to M. de Brévannes, had told him of his love for me, and that we were betrothed, that young girls being frequently giddy and coquettish, without being culpable, and that the world was slanderous,--and then entreated M. de Brévannes, in the name of honour, not to conceal the truth, and, whatever it was, he would believe it."

"And Charles de Brévannes?"

"Far from being touched by this language, he treated Raphael with _hauteur_, and said to him,--

"'Since you have watched Paula Monti for two days, you must know which is her chamber.' 'I know it; for, without being perceived by her, this very morning I saw her in the balcony.' 'Well, be this night at three o'clock in front of that balcony, and you shall have my reply.' You know the rest. Brévannes then said insolently to Raphael, 'Are you satisfied?'

"In his rage, Raphael struck him in the face; a duel ensued at break of day, and he fell. His last wish was to conceal his death from his mother. He preferred leaving her, in that uncertainty in which people remain for many years with respect to sailors, to allowing her to learn that my treachery had killed him. Osorio told me all this; and, his sad mission fulfilled, he went away without listening to a word of my assurances and protestations. I have since heard that he died in the East; and Raphael's mother is continually expecting her son. He died cursing me--died in calling and believing me infamous and perjured--dead--killed by Charles de Brévannes, that calumniator and murderer!"

"Ah, it is horrible! and your aunt Vasari?"

After a moment's silence, during which the princess appeared borne down by the weight of a painful recollection, she thus resumed:--

"The laws of duelling were of excessive severity. Charles de Brévannes went away that same day. Raphael was unknown in Florence: neither Osorio nor the second of M. de Brévannes appeared again. No one, therefore, could betray this fatal secret. My aunt was the more inconsolable for the sudden departure of Charles de Brévannes, as for want of his support she lost her suit, and was completely ruined. We returned to Venice, when I became so very ill."

"And in a year afterwards you were the Princess de Hansfeld?"

"Yes, to save my family from dire misfortune, I resigned myself to this marriage, for which I could hardly have looked. Thanks to the kindness, the cares, and delicacy of the prince, I saw before me a prospect of happy days once more; and to gratitude there was gradually succeeding a sentiment more tender and delightful, when, suddenly, M. de Hansfeld, affected in some most extraordinary manner, forgot his kindness and his accustomed gentleness; and," added Madame de Hansfeld, with a deep sigh, "then began the life I now lead. Sometimes I ask myself, how my reason can have received such shocks and not have broken down beneath them? The fear and amazement caused in me by the singular and alarming behaviour of the prince follow me even into the world when I go sometimes to seek, not amusement, but forgetfulness. For nearly six months had I dragged on this wretched existence, in appearance so splendid and happy, when I accidentally met M. de Morville. I remarked him, because I had heard so much said of his fidelity, which he had, like myself, vowed to an adored remembrance. Every where they talked of his devotion, his delicacy, and above all, his tender constancy for a lady from whom he had been forcibly separated. Rendered sad by his love, entirely devoted to his invalid mother, he went out but very little. He resided near us in the Rue Guillaume. One day I found a letter on the bench in the most lonely part of our garden. Without at all comprehending the means by which that letter had reached there, my first impression, as you know, was to believe that it came from him.

"I was confirmed in this idea the next day, when I remained for some hours concealed in a clump, and towards evening saw another letter fall, dropped out of a window concealed by ivy.

"M. de Morville seemed to penetrate the causes of the thoughts which agitated me. Gay, if I were gay, sad, if I were sad, dull and despairing, if I were so, his letters seemed the echo of my most deep or light impressions."

"How could he guess them?"

"By observing me, he read in my countenance the situation of my mind."

"He loves you well," said Iris, with a voice deeply agitated.

"You see, as I do, that M. de Morville regretted a lost love; and, strange, fatal event! our common regrets served, as it were, as a link between the past love and the new love."

"You may love,--the prince has given you liberty."

"I know it,--I know it; but he has often recurred to those harsh words. How often has he passed from the most chilling, most disdainful, most overwhelming cruelty, to language of most affectionate tenderness. But what avails it now! his cruelties, and his tenderness, alike find me unmoved; my love gives me courage to brave them; my love! and still my conscience reproaches me for forgetting Raphael!

"Since I have seen M. de Brévannes again, it seems to me, that in redoubling my hatred against this murderer, I seek to expiate my inconstancy; it seems to me, indeed, that if I obtained a sweeping revenge against this man, my fresh love would be excused; and then, again--wretch that I am!--has this fresh love need of any excuse? An insurmountable barrier separates me for ever from M. de Morville."

"An insurmountable barrier?" said Iris.

"Yes, some fatality pursues me; my soul was being renewed; the most delightful future was opening to me; I believed myself assured of the love of M. de Morville. I had contrived to form an intimacy with Madame de Lormoy, one of his relatives; he had begged to be introduced to me, when, suddenly, he appeared to feel towards me the most intense hatred, and avoided a meeting with so offensive a pertinacity, that I resolved on the step which I have to-day put into execution."

"And what was the cause of his hatred, godmother?"

"Oh, it is not hatred,--he loves me, my girl--loves me as passionately as I love him, although I have concealed my infatuation from him. But, I repeat to you, an insurmountable obstacle separates us for ever. To tell you what I have suffered at this disclosure, and the energy it required to maintain my composure, would be impossible. Well! still I might have accepted this position almost with happiness, but for this infernal Brévannes."

"How?"

"Devoted entirely to this sad and pure love, I would never again have seen M. de Morville; but, at least, I should have known that he loved me as I love him. Human nature is so fantastical, that the reasons which opposed themselves to this love being happy would, perhaps, have assured its permanency; but if M. de Brévannes speaks, misery--misery for me! Then contempt would succeed to the adoration now in the heart of M. de Morville; and he, so frank, so noble, would not then find sufficient disdain to overwhelm me. Despised by him, ah! I know what I have suffered when I thought myself the sole possessor of this fatal secret; and to think that Brévannes could direct this heavy blow at me by again spreading the infamous calumny which caused Raphael's death,--it is enough to drive one mad!"

"From all this, godmother, two things result. You must learn the mystery which impels Morville to avoid you, and you must reduce Charles de Brévannes to silence."

"Yes, it must be done; but how?--alas!--how: I am indeed wretched!"

"Then Iris is nothing with you?" said the young girl, with great bitterness.

The princess was struck with it, and replied kindly,--

"Yes, my dear child, I can tell all to you, and that is consolation to me."

At this moment a solemn, sonorous, and powerful sound, full of sweetest harmony, but rendered faint by the distance, reached the ears of the two women. It was the notes of an organ, touched with an exquisite finger and saddened expression.

At these tones the princess shuddered, and then cried,--

"Ah, 'tis he! He is still watching. Ah! Now, my head is so weak that the sound of this organ appears to me fearful and supernatural; they are not the sounds of this instrument I hear, but the mysterious voices of an invisible world replying to the prince who questions them. Oh, mercy, mercy! it terrifies me!"

By a singular chance, and as if the entreaty of the princess were heard, the sound of the organ slowly died away in the silence of the night, like a complaint that gradually subsides.

"This conversation overpowers me. I tremble all over," said Paula.

"You must go to bed, godmother."

After having aided her in undressing with the utmost care, and respectfully kissed Madame de Hansfeld's hand, Iris closed the door of her godmother's chamber, drew a sofa across the sill, which, opening, formed a bed, and, having carefully bolted the entrance of the secret staircase, threw herself on the couch, and was soon in a deep slumber.