She appeared to be a widow. At least she had no husband that he had ever seen; and therefore to the Senator's mind she must be a spinster or a widow. From the general style in which she was addressed he concluded that she was the latter. Now if the poor _Cica_ was hopelessly in love, it must be stopped at once. For he was a married man, and his good lady still lived, with a very large family, most of the members of which had grown up.
_La Cica_ ought to know this. She ought indeed. But let the knowledge be given delicately, not abruptly. He confided his little difficulty to his friend the Minister. The Minister only laughed heartily.
"But give me your opinion."
The Minister held his sides, and laughed more immoderately than ever.
"It's no laughing matter," said the Senator. "It's serious. I think you might give an opinion."
But the Minister declined. A broad grin wreathed his face during all the remainder of his stay at Florence. In fact, it is said that it has remained there ever since.
The Senator felt indignant, but his course was taken. On the following evening they walked on the balcony of _La Cica_'s noble residence. She was sentimental, devoted, charming.
The conversation of a fascinating woman does not look so well when reported as it is when uttered. Her power is in her tone, her glance, her manner. Who can catch the evanescent beauty of her expression or the deep tenderness of her well-modulated voice? Who indeed?
"Does ze scene please you, my Senator?"
"Very much indeed."
"Youar countrymen haf tol me zey would like to stay here alloway."
"It is a beautiful place."
"Did you aiver see any thin moaire loafely?" And the Countess looked full in his face.
"Never," said the Senator, earnestly. The next instant he blushed. He had been betrayed into a compliment.
The Countess sighed.
"Helas! my Senator, that it is not pairmitted to moartals to sociate as zey would laike."
"'Your Senator,'" thought the gentleman thus addressed; "how fond, how tender--poor thing! poor thing!"
"I wish that Italy was nearer to the States," said he.
"How I adamiar youar style of mind, so differente from ze Italiana. You are so strong--so nobile. Yet would Maike to see moar of ze poetic in you."
"I always loved poetry, marm," said the Senator, desperately.
"Ah--good--nais--eccelente. I am plees at zat," cried the Countess, with much animation. "You would loafe it moar eef you knew Italiano. Your langua ees not sufficiente musicale for poatry."
"It is not so soft a language as the _I_-talian."
"Ah--no--not so soft. Very well. And what theenka you of ze Italiano?"
"The sweetest language I ever heard in all my born days."
"Ah, now--you hev not heard much of ze Italiano, my Senator."
"I have heard you speak often," said the Senator, naively.
"Ah, you compliment! I sot you was aboove flattera."
And the Countess playfully tapped his arm with her little fan.
"What Ingelis poet do you loafe best?"
"Poet? English poet?" said the Senator, with some surprise. "Oh--why, marm, I think Watts is about the best of the lot!"
"Watt? Was he a poet? I did not know zat. He who invented ze stim-injaine? And yet if he was a poet it is natnrale zat you loafe him best."
"Steam-engine? Oh no! This one was a minister."
"A meeneestaire? Ah! an abbé? I know him not. Yet I haf read mos of all youar poets."
"He made up hymns, marm, and psalms--for instance: 'Watts's Divine Hymns and Spiritual Songs.'"
"Songs? Spiritnelle? Ah, I mus at once procuaire ze works of Watt, which was favorit poet of my Senator."
"A lady of such intelligence as you would like the poet Watts," said the Senator, firmly.
La Cica.
[Illustration: La Cica.]
"He is the best known by far of all our poets."
"What? better zan Sakespeare, Milton, Bairon? You much surprass me."
"Better known and better loved than the whole lot. Why, his poetry is known by heart through all England and America."
"Merciful Heaven! what you tell me! ees eet possbl! An yet he is not known here efen by name. It would plees me mooch, my Senator, to hajre you make one quotatione. Know you Watt? Tell to me some words of his which I may remembaire."
"I have a shocking bad memory."
"Bad raemora! Oh, but you remember somethin, zis mos beautful charm nait--you haf a nobile soul--you mus be affecta by beauty--by ze ideal. Make for a me one quotatione."
And she rested her little hand on the Senator's arm, and looked up imploringly in his face.
The Senator looked foolish. He felt even more so. Here was a beautiful woman, by act and look showing a tender interest in him. Perplexing--but very flattering after all. So he replied:
"You will not let me refuse you any thing."
"Aha! you are vera willin to refuse. It is difficulty for me to excitare youar regards. You are fill with the grands ideas. But come--will you spik for me some from your favorit Watt?"
"Well, if you wish it so much," said the Senator, kindly, and he hesitated.
"Ah--I do wis it so much!"
"Ehem!"
"Begin," said the Countess. "Behold me. I listen. I hear everysin, and will remembaire it forava."
The only thing that the Senator could think of was the verse which had been running in his head for the last few days, its measured rhythm keeping time with every occupation:
"'My willing soul would stay--'"
"Stop one moment," said the Countess. "I weesh to learn it from you;" and she looked fondly and tenderly up, but instantly dropped her eyes.
"'Ma willina sol wooda sta--'"
"In such a frame as this,'" prompted the Senator.
"'Een socha framas zees.' Wait--'Ma willina sol wooda sta in socha framas zees.' Ah, appropriat! but could I hope zat you were true to zose lines, my Senator? Well?"
"'And sit and sing herself away,'" said the Senator, in a faltering voice, and breaking out into a cold perspiration for fear of committing himself by such uncommonly strong language.
"'Ansit ansin hassaf awai,'" repeated the Countess, her face lighting up with a sweetly conscious expression.
The Senator paused.
"Well?"
"I--ehem! I forget."
"Forget? Impossible!"
"I do really."
"Ah now! Forget? I see by youar face--you desave. Say on."
The Countess again gently touched his arm with both of her little hands, and held it as though she would clasp it.
"Have you fear? Ah, cruel!"
The Senator turned pale, but finding refusal impossible, boldly finished:
"'To everlasting bliss'--there!"
"'To affarlastin blees thar.' Stop. I repeat it all: 'My willina sol wooda sta in socha framas zees, ansit ansin hassaf awai to affarlastin blees thar.' Am I right?"
"Yes," said the Senator, meekly.
"I knew you war a poetic sola," said the Countess, confidingly. "You air honesto--true--you can not desave. When you spik I can beliv you. Ah, my Senator! an you can spik zis poetry!--at soch a taime! I nefare knew befoare zat you was so impassione!--an you air so artaful! You breeng ze confersazione to beauty--to poatry--to ze poet Watt--so you may spik verses mos impassione! Ah! What do you mean? Santissima madre! how I wish you spik Italiano."
The Countess drew nearer to him, but her approach only deepened his perplexity.
"How that poor thing does love me!" sighed the Senator. "Law bless it! she can't help it--can't help it nohow. She is a goner; and what can I do? I'll have to leave Florence. Oh, why did I quit Buttons! Oh, why--"
The Countess was standing close beside him in a tender mood waiting for him to break the silence. How could he? He had been uttering words which sounded to her like love; and she--"a widow! a widow! wretched man that I am!"
There was a pause. The longer it lasted the more awkward the Senator felt. What upon earth was he to do or say? What business had he to go and quote poetry to widows? What an old fool he must be! But the Countess was very far from feeling awkward. Assuming an elegant attitude she looked up, her face expressing the tenderest solicitude.
"What ails my Senator?"
"Why the fact is, marm--I feel sad--at leaving Florence. I must go shortly. My wife has written summoning me home. The children are down with the measles."
Oh, base fabrication! Oh, false Senator! There wasn't a word of truth in that remark. You spoke so because you wished _La Cica_ to know that you had a wife and family. Yet it was very badly done.
_La Cica_ changed neither her attitude nor her expression. Evidently the existence of his wife, and the melancholy situation of his unfortunate children, awaked no sympathy.
"But, my Senator--did you not say you wooda seeng yousellef away to affarlasteen belees?"
"Oh, marm, it was a quotation--only a quotation."
But at this critical juncture the conversation was broken up by the arrival of a number of ladies and gentlemen.
But could the Senator have known!
Could he but have known how and where those words would confront him again!
CHAPTER XLIV
.
"MORERE DIAGORA, NON ENIM IN COELUM ADSCENSURUS ES."--THE APOTHEOSIS OF THE SENATOR (NOTHING LESS--IT WAS A MOMENT IN WHICH A MAN MIGHT WISH TO DIE--THOUGH, OF COURSE, THE SENATOR DIDN'T DIE).
Strolling through the streets day by day Buttons and Dick beheld the triumph of the Senator. They gazed on it from afar, and in amazement saw their old companion suddenly lifted up to a position which they could not hope to gain. The companion of nobles--the associate of _beaux esprits_--the friend of the wealthy, the great, and the proud; what in the world was the cause of this sudden, this unparalleled leap forward to the very highest point of honor? Who, in the name of goodness, was that dashing woman with whom he was always driving about? Who were those fair ladies with whom he was forever promenading? Plainly the chief people of the land; but how the mischief did he get among them? They were bewildered even though the half of the truth had not begun to dawn upon their minds. They never saw him to ask him about it, and for some time only looked upon him from a distance.
"Do you give it up?" asked Buttons.
"I give it up."
"And I too."
"At any rate the United States might have many a worse representative."
"But I wonder how he can get along. How can he manage to hold his own among these refined, over-cultivated, fastidious Florentines?"
"Goodness knows!"
"A common school New England education can scarcely fit a man for intercourse with polished Italians. The granite hills of New Hampshire have never been famous for producing men of high breeding. That is not their specialty."
"Besides, our good friend can not speak a single word of any language but his own."
"And frequently fails in that."
"He hasn't the remotest glimmering of an idea about Art."
"Not of the Fine Arts, but in the useful arts he is immense."
"He looks upon Italy as he would upon a field of stumps--a place to be cleared, broken up, brought under cultivation, and made productive."
"Yes, productive in cotton factories and Yankee notions."
"What in the world can keep up his reputation among the most poetic and least utilitarian people in the world?"
"There's the mystery!"
"The beauty of it is he goes as much with the English as with the Italians. Can he keep up his vernacular among them and still preserve the charm?"
"Well, whatever is the secret. I glory in it. I believe in him. He is a man. A more noble-hearted, sincere, upright, guileless soul never lived. Besides, he knows thoroughly what he has gone over."
"He is as generous a soul as ever lived."
"Yes, a stiff utilitarian in theory, but in practice an impulsive sentimentalist."
"He would legislate according to the most narrow and selfish principles, but would lay down his life for his friend."
"Think of him at Perugia!"
"Yes; the man himself with his brave soul and invincible courage. Didn't he fight? Methinks he did!"
"If it hadn't been for him it is extremely probable that you and I would now have been--well, certainly not just here."
Talking thus, the two young men walked up toward the Palazzo Vecchio. They noticed that the busy street through which they passed was filled with an unusual multitude, who were all agitated with one general and profound excitement, and were all hurrying in one direction. The sight awakened their interest. They went on with the stream. At every step the crowd increased. At every street new throngs poured in to join the vast multitude.
Confused murmurs rose into the air. Hasty words passed from mouth to month. They were unintelligible. They could only distinguish broken sentences--words unknown--Cavriana--Mincio--Tedeschi --Napoleone--Spia d'ltalia. What was it all about? They could not guess. Evidently some mighty national event had occurred, which was of overwhelming importance. For the entire city had turned out, and now, as they entered the great square in front of the Palazzo Vecchio, an astonishing sight burst upon their view. A vast multitude filled the square to overflowing. Load cries arose. Shouts of a thousand kinds all blending together into one deafening roar, and rising on high like the thunder of a cataract:
"Vittoria!" "Vittoria!" "Cavriana!" "I Francesi!" "Viva l'Italia!" "Viva Vittore Emmannele! il nostro Re!" "Viva!" "_Viva_!" "VIVA!!!" Words like these rose all around, mingled with thousands of similar exclamations. At length there was distinguished one word. It was passed from man to man, more frequently uttered, gathering as it passed, adding new volumes of meaning to its own sonorous sound, till at last all other words were drowned in that one grand word, which to this rejoicing multitude was the lyre of glorious victory, the promise of endless triumphs for regenerated Italy:
"SOLFERINO!"
Solferino.
[Illustration: Solferino!]
"_Solferino_!" They did not know then, as they listened, the full meaning of that eloquent word. But on mingling with the shouting crowd they soon learned it all: how the accursed Tedeschi had summoned all their energy to crush forever the array of liberty; how the Kaisar himself came from beyond the mountains to insure his triumph; how the allied armies had rushed upon their massive columns and beaten them back; how, hour after hour, the battle raged, till at last the plain for many a league was covered with the wounded and the dead: how the wrongs of ages were crowded together in the glorious vengeance of that day of days; how Victory hovered over the invincible banners of Italy; how the Tedeschi fled, routed, over the river, no more to cross it as masters; how the hopes of Italy arose immortal from that one day's terrific slaughter; how Liberty was now forever secured, and a Kingdom of Italy under an Italian King.
"Viva Italia!" "Viva Luigi Napoleone!" "Vira Garibaldi!" "Viva Vittore Eramanuele Re d'Italia!"
In great moments of popular excitement people do not talk to one another. They rhapsodize; and the Italians more than any other people. Hence the above.
The Senator Speaks.
[Illustration: The Senator Speaks.]
Buttons and Dick clambered up to the recess of a window and contemplated the scene. There was the innumerable crowd; swaying, embracing, laughing, weeping, shouting, cheering. High in the air waved hundreds of banners; and the tri-color flaunted in ribbons, from thousands of breasts, or shone in rosettes, or gleamed in flowers. Ever and anon loud trumpet blasts arose triumphantly on high; in the distance victorious strains came swelling up front bands hurried there to express in thrilling music what words could never utter; while all around the whole air rang with the thunder of cannon that saluted the triumph of Solferino.
"Look there! _Look_! LOOK!" cried Dick.
He pointed to the large portico which is on the right of the Palazzo Vecchio. Buttons looked as he was directed.
He saw a great assemblage of ladies and gentlemen, the chief people of the Tuscan state. From this place those announcements had been made which had set the people wild with joy. There were beautiful ladies whose flashed faces and suffused eyes bore witness to their deep emotion. There were noble gentlemen whose arms still waved in the air as they cheered for Italy. And there, high above all others, rose a familiar figure--the massive shoulders, the calm, shrewd, square face, the benignant glance and smile, which could belong only to one person.
"_The Senator_!" cried Buttons.
Every body was looking in that direction. The impulsive crowd having celebrated abstract ideas, were now absolutely hungering for some tangible object upon which to expend something of the warmth of their feelings. A few who stood near the Senator and were impressed by his aspect, as soon as all the news had been made known, gave expression and direction to the feeling by shouting his name. As they shouted others took up the cry, louder, louder, and louder still, till his name burst forth in one sublime sound from thirty thousand lips.
No wonder that he started at such an appeal. He turned and looked upon the crowd. An ordinary man would have exhibited either confusion or wonder. The Senator, being an extraordinary man, exhibited neither. As he turned a vast roar burst from the multitude.
"Good Heavens!" cried Buttons; "what's in the wind now? Will this be a repetition of the scene in the Place Vendôme?"
"Hush!"
The crowd saw before them the man whose name and fame had been the subject of conjecture, wonder, applause, and hope for many days. They beheld in him the Representative of a mighty nation, sent to give them the right hand of fellowship, and welcome their country among the great powers of the earth. In him they saw the embodiment of America!
"Viva!" burst through the air. "The American Embassador!" "Hurrah for the American Embassador!" "The Plenipotentiary Extraordinary!" "He comes to crown our triumph!" "Hurrah for America!" "Free, generous America!" "The first nation to welcome Italy!" "Hurrah!" "This is the time!" "He will speak!" "Silence!" "Silence!" "He rises!" "Lo!" "He looks at us!" "Silence!" "Listen to the Most Illustrious Plenipotentiary Extraordinary!" "_Hush_! AMERICA SPEAKS!"
Such shouts and exclamations as these burst forth, with many others to the same effect. The crowd in front of the portico where the Senator stood--were almost uncontrollable in their excitement. The Senator rose to the greatness of the occasion. Here was a chance to Speak--to utter forth the deep sympathy of his countrymen with every down-trodden people striving for freedom. He turned to face them and held out his hand. At once the immense assemblage was hushed to silence.
The Senator took off his hat. Never before did he look as he looked now. The grandeur of the occasion had sublimed his usually rugged features into majesty. He looked like the incarnation of a strong, vigorous, invincible people.
The Senator spoke: