Rienzi [43]
lacks your skill in the mixture of colours," said the complaisant waiting-woman.
"And then, too, what a mien! - no royalty in it! She moved along the hall, so that her train well nigh tripped her every moment; and then she said, with a foolish laugh, 'These holyday robes are but troublesome luxuries.' Troth, for the great there should be no holyday robes; 'tis for myself, not for others, that I would attire! Every day should have its new robe, more gorgeous than the last; - every day should be a holyday!"
"Methought," said Lucia, "that the Lord Giovanni Orsini seemed very devoted to my Lady."
"He! the bear!"
"Bear, he may be! but he has a costly skin. His riches are untold."
"And the fool knows not how to spend them."
"Was not that the young Lord Adrian who spoke to you just by the columns, where the music played?"
"It might be, - I forget."
"Yet, I hear that few ladies forget when Lord Adrian di Castello woos them."
"There was but one man whose company seemed to me worth the recollection," answered Nina, unheeding the insinuation of the artful handmaid.
"And who was he?" asked Lucia.
"The old scholar from Avignon!"
"What! he with the gray beard? Oh, Signora!"
"Yes," said Nina, with a grave and sad voice; "when he spoke, the whole scene vanished from my eyes, - for he spoke to me of HIM!"
As she said this, the Signora sighed deeply, and the tears gathered to her eyes.
The waiting-woman raised her lips in disdain, and her looks in wonder; but she did not dare to venture a reply.
"Open the lattice," said Nina, after a pause, "and give me yon paper. Not that, girl - but the verses sent me yesterday. What! art thou Italian, and dost thou not know, by instinct, that I spoke of the rhyme of Petrarch?"
Seated by the open casement, through which the moonlight stole soft and sheen, with one lamp beside her, from which she seemed to shade her eyes, though in reality she sought to hide her countenance from Lucia, the young Signora appeared absorbed in one of those tender sonnets which then turned the brains and inflamed the hearts of Italy. (Although it is true that the love sonnets of Petrarch were not then, as now, the most esteemed of his works, yet it has been a great, though a common error, to represent them as little known and coldly admired. Their effect was, in reality, prodigious and universal. Every ballad-singer sung them in the streets, and (says Filippo Villani), "Gravissimi nesciebant abstinere" - "Even the gravest could not abstain from them.")
Born of an impoverished house, which, though boasting its descent from a consular race of Rome, scarcely at that day maintained a rank amongst the inferior order of nobility, Nina di Raselli was the spoiled child - the idol and the tyrant - of her parents. The energetic and self-willed character of her mind made her rule where she should have obeyed; and as in all ages dispositions can conquer custom, she had, though in a clime and land where the young and unmarried of her sex are usually chained and fettered, assumed, and by assuming won, the prerogative of independence. She possessed, it is true, more learning and more genius than generally fell to the share of women in that day; and enough of both to be deemed a miracle by her parents; - she had, also, what they valued more, a surpassing beauty; and, what they feared more, an indomitable haughtiness; - a haughtiness mixed with a thousand soft and endearing qualities where she loved; and which, indeed, where she loved, seemed to vanish. At once vain yet high-minded, resolute yet impassioned, there was a gorgeous magnificence in her very vanity and splendour, - an ideality in her waywardness: her defects made a part of her brilliancy; without them she would have seemed less woman; and, knowing her, you would have compared all women by her standard. Softer qualities beside her seemed not more charming, but more insipid. She had no vulgar ambition, for she had obstinately refused many alliances which the daughter of Raselli could scarcely have hoped to form.
"And then, too, what a mien! - no royalty in it! She moved along the hall, so that her train well nigh tripped her every moment; and then she said, with a foolish laugh, 'These holyday robes are but troublesome luxuries.' Troth, for the great there should be no holyday robes; 'tis for myself, not for others, that I would attire! Every day should have its new robe, more gorgeous than the last; - every day should be a holyday!"
"Methought," said Lucia, "that the Lord Giovanni Orsini seemed very devoted to my Lady."
"He! the bear!"
"Bear, he may be! but he has a costly skin. His riches are untold."
"And the fool knows not how to spend them."
"Was not that the young Lord Adrian who spoke to you just by the columns, where the music played?"
"It might be, - I forget."
"Yet, I hear that few ladies forget when Lord Adrian di Castello woos them."
"There was but one man whose company seemed to me worth the recollection," answered Nina, unheeding the insinuation of the artful handmaid.
"And who was he?" asked Lucia.
"The old scholar from Avignon!"
"What! he with the gray beard? Oh, Signora!"
"Yes," said Nina, with a grave and sad voice; "when he spoke, the whole scene vanished from my eyes, - for he spoke to me of HIM!"
As she said this, the Signora sighed deeply, and the tears gathered to her eyes.
The waiting-woman raised her lips in disdain, and her looks in wonder; but she did not dare to venture a reply.
"Open the lattice," said Nina, after a pause, "and give me yon paper. Not that, girl - but the verses sent me yesterday. What! art thou Italian, and dost thou not know, by instinct, that I spoke of the rhyme of Petrarch?"
Seated by the open casement, through which the moonlight stole soft and sheen, with one lamp beside her, from which she seemed to shade her eyes, though in reality she sought to hide her countenance from Lucia, the young Signora appeared absorbed in one of those tender sonnets which then turned the brains and inflamed the hearts of Italy. (Although it is true that the love sonnets of Petrarch were not then, as now, the most esteemed of his works, yet it has been a great, though a common error, to represent them as little known and coldly admired. Their effect was, in reality, prodigious and universal. Every ballad-singer sung them in the streets, and (says Filippo Villani), "Gravissimi nesciebant abstinere" - "Even the gravest could not abstain from them.")
Born of an impoverished house, which, though boasting its descent from a consular race of Rome, scarcely at that day maintained a rank amongst the inferior order of nobility, Nina di Raselli was the spoiled child - the idol and the tyrant - of her parents. The energetic and self-willed character of her mind made her rule where she should have obeyed; and as in all ages dispositions can conquer custom, she had, though in a clime and land where the young and unmarried of her sex are usually chained and fettered, assumed, and by assuming won, the prerogative of independence. She possessed, it is true, more learning and more genius than generally fell to the share of women in that day; and enough of both to be deemed a miracle by her parents; - she had, also, what they valued more, a surpassing beauty; and, what they feared more, an indomitable haughtiness; - a haughtiness mixed with a thousand soft and endearing qualities where she loved; and which, indeed, where she loved, seemed to vanish. At once vain yet high-minded, resolute yet impassioned, there was a gorgeous magnificence in her very vanity and splendour, - an ideality in her waywardness: her defects made a part of her brilliancy; without them she would have seemed less woman; and, knowing her, you would have compared all women by her standard. Softer qualities beside her seemed not more charming, but more insipid. She had no vulgar ambition, for she had obstinately refused many alliances which the daughter of Raselli could scarcely have hoped to form.