Chapter XXIV: A Sketch of Italy

Auguste and Bertrand arrived at Turin, undelayed by any fresh adventure. They took rooms at a modest hotel, for, before continuing their journey, Auguste desired to make the acquaintance of that pleasant Italian city, where one may fancy oneself in France, and where reigns an attractive mixture of French manners and Italian morals. The ladies of Turin are pretty, agreeable and piquant; in addition to the charm of our Frenchwomen they have more fire in their glance, a more sensuous intonation to the voice, more abandon in their bearing. Bertrand, observing that his master gazed persistently at the Italian women, said to him again and again:

"Look out, lieutenant; we are travelling in search of fortune and not of conquests; we didn't come to Italy to admire black eyes and Greek noses."

"True, Bertrand; but as we find them here, there's no reason why we shouldn't admire them."

"Remember, monsieur, that the fine arts alone are to occupy your mind."

"The sight of a lovely woman kindles the flame of genius. Raphael was in love with his Madonna model."

"Perhaps that wasn't the best thing he did, lieutenant."

"Bertrand, you understand nothing about art."

"Perhaps not, but I know enough about it to calculate."

"I want to paint one of these charming heads that have caught my eye; I want to take for a model one of the piquant faces that I notice among the girls of this region."

"In that case you will do like Monsieur Raphael, you will fall in love with your model."

"So much the better, if it results in my producing a chef-d'oeuvre."

"I'm afraid that it will result in your producing something else."

"Have you heard them sing, Bertrand?"

"Who, monsieur?"

"The young girls in the suburbs, the villagers, the simple working-girls; they all sing with such taste and harmony! I hear delightful concerts every evening when I am walking. We are in the land of music, my friend."

"I should prefer to be in the land of gold mines."

"Here the common people, the workmen, are born musicians; the petty tradeswoman seeks recreation after her day's labor with her guitar. The boatman as well as the great nobleman, the peasant woman as well as the rich lady, blends her voice with the chords that she strikes on that instrument."

"It seems, then, that everybody plays it."

"And the Italian women have a nonchalant air when singing that forms such a striking contrast to the fire of their eyes."

"I certainly shall go back to Paris and make trousers, monsieur."

Auguste left Bertrand and went out to walk in the suburbs of the city. The season being farther advanced in that beautiful climate, there was already a wealth of verdure, shrubbery and fragrant groves, which the Italian regards with the indifference of habit, but which arouse the admiration of the stranger who sees for the first time that lovely sky, that delicious landscape, and those flowering orange trees which spread the sweetest of perfumes all about.

In a pleasant country everything is calculated to inspire pleasure. The climate of Italy seems to be the fitting climate of love. The aspect of a wild landscape, of a rugged and sterile country inclines the soul to melancholy and sadness; that of a verdant grove, of a valley studded with flowers, makes our hearts beat more gently and gives birth to no thoughts save of pleasure and of love.

Auguste, who did not need to be in Italy to have his imagination take fire, was conscious nevertheless of the soothing influence of the climate; he sighed as he glanced at the lovely women who passed him by; and as the young Frenchman was a comely youth, his sighs were answered by some very expressive glances.

Among the attractive young women whom he met in the street, Auguste noticed one, modestly but respectably attired, who usually had an older woman on her arm. The young woman's face was fascinating; but her timid glances, far from challenging the young foreigner's, were modestly lowered when they met. Auguste followed them, however. Sometimes the older woman turned her head, and, when she saw the young man, urged her companion to quicken her pace. When they reached a distant suburb of the city, the ladies entered a small isolated house. The young woman afforded Auguste one more glimpse of her lovely features as she furtively glanced at him; but the old woman closed the door behind them and the enchanting image vanished.

Auguste stood some time in front of the house which the pretty Italian had entered; but at last, tired of staring at a door and windows that did not open, he returned to his hotel, saying to himself:

"She's an angel! she is ideally beautiful, the model of the Venus de Medici, of Girodet's Galatea, of Psyche, of Dido; and I must make the acquaintance of such charms."

The next day he went out to walk again, and again he saw the two ladies. Grown bolder, he approached them and, as a stranger, asked the older one for information concerning the first thing that his eyes fell upon. She answered courteously, and the young woman, without joining in the conversation, turned her beautiful eyes on the Frenchman from time to time. The old lady, who was very talkative, soon informed the young Frenchman that her name was Signora Falenza, and that her companion was her niece Cecilia; that they were far from rich, and for that reason lived in a retired quarter, and that they let a portion of their lodgings when they had applications from quiet and orderly people, because that enabled them to increase their slender income a little.

The old woman had not finished speaking when Auguste asked her to let the little apartment to him.

"I have come to Italy to study painting," he said, "and I have rather neglected it; I have nobody with me but an old soldier, and we are as orderly as young ladies. I flatter myself that you will have no cause to regret having us for tenants."

Signora Falenza made some objections; but Auguste was so urgent that she consented to show him the apartment. It consisted of two rooms, rather shabbily furnished; to be sure, the price asked was very moderate. Auguste expressed himself as delighted; he was satisfied with everything, and, after casting a passionate glance at the fair Cecilia, he hurried away to make his arrangements to return the same evening and take up his abode beneath the same roof with the two ladies.

"Pack our valises and pay our bill, Bertrand; we are going to move."

"Are we going to leave Turin, monsieur?"

"Oh, no, my friend; I am more pleased with it than ever!"

"In that case, why do we leave this hotel, where we are well accommodated, and at not too high a price?"

"For economy's sake, Bertrand; I have found much pleasanter lodgings, which will cost only half as much; I trust that you won't find fault with me this time."

Bertrand frowned and muttered:

"There's a petticoat under this, I'll wager."

However, he packed the valises, paid the bill, and followed his master, who led the way to the suburb.

"We don't seem to be moving into the fashionable quarter, monsieur," said Bertrand.

"What do we care, so long as the lodgings suit us?"

"True."

"See, there's the house."

"It's a long way from any other. Do you remember that we're in Italy, monsieur? It looks to me like a cut-throat sort of place."

"Do you mean that you're afraid, Bertrand?"

"Oh, lieutenant!"

"You are growing absurdly suspicious. This is a very pleasant house; the outlook is on fields and gardens. It's very quiet here, and that is what I like."

"Ah! you like quiet now, do you?"

"Very much."

Auguste knocked. The door was opened by Signora Falenza, at sight of whom Bertrand said to himself:

"If there's only faces like this one here, we shall certainly be very quiet."

The old woman escorted the strangers to their rooms, showing them every courtesy. As they passed through a passageway they met the fair Cecilia, who bowed pleasantly to the young Frenchman. Whereupon Bertrand heaved a sigh and thought:

"This is the economy the lieutenant mentioned!"

The travellers being installed in their apartment, Signora Falenza left them, saying:

"When you gentlemen wish for anything, you need only come to my room; my niece and I will hasten to offer our services."

"In that case," thought Auguste, "I hope that I shall frequently have occasion to seek them."

Bertrand inspected the two rooms, and at each object that he examined, frowned and muttered:

"This is very nice!"

"Isn't it, Bertrand?"

"Yes, indeed! a wretched bed and no pillows!"

"So much the better! we will go and ask for one."

"Two broken chairs!"

"So much the better! I'll go and change them."

"Closets that won't lock!"

"Bah! they're good enough for what we have to put in them."

"A desk that I can't find any key to!"

"I'll go and ask the ladies for it."

"Not a candlestick on the mantel!"

"The ladies will give us one."

"Not even a jar of water."

"Perhaps it isn't the custom in the country."

"Well! it's a very clean custom that don't allow a person to wash his hands! In fact, monsieur, we lack everything here."

"We shall lack nothing if we ask the ladies for it."

"The ladies! the ladies!"

"And the low rent, Bertrand--don't you take that into account?"

"If there wasn't anybody but the old landlady in the house, you wouldn't have been tempted to come here to live."

"That may be; but if I can enjoy the company of a pretty woman, and at the same time reduce my expenses, it seems to me, Bertrand, that you can't object to that."

Bertrand said no more; he went into a corner and filled his pipe, and as it was growing dark, Auguste went to his landladies' room to ask for a light. The old lady was absent, but her niece was there, and our Frenchman, overjoyed at the opportunity of a tête-à-tête with the fair Cecilia, sat down beside the young woman, who seemed less shy at home than on the street, and who replied with a smile to the soft avowals that he addressed to her. The conversation lasted until very late. Auguste forgot Bertrand, who was without a light; he was in a fair way to forget a great many things, but Signora Falenza returned and by her presence revived his memory. He went up to his own room; Bertrand had thrown himself on the bed and was asleep. Auguste did not think it best to wake him, and he too fell asleep, his mind full of the fascinating Cecilia's image, convinced that he had never been more comfortably bedded.

Three days passed in the new lodgings. Auguste almost never went out; he watched for opportunities for a tête-à-tête with Cecilia; but the aunt was seldom absent and kept a much closer watch upon her niece. However, Auguste obtained a sweet avowal; he knew that he was beloved; but that was not enough, and Cecilia's eyes seemed to promise him more.

Bertrand had become accustomed to his new quarters; but he said to his master every day:

"You came to Italy to study and work, monsieur; instead of doing that, you pass all your time running after our young landlady."

"Cecilia is teaching me to speak Italian better, Bertrand; and I am teaching her French."

"I don't see what good this reciprocal teaching will do you."

"Why, the pleasure of it, Bertrand--is that to be counted nothing?"

"Are we travelling for pleasure?"

"Not entirely; but, when it offers itself, why not make the most of it?"

"Remember, monsieur, that your pleasures have always cost you dear."

"You can't say that I am squandering my money here; I have never been so quiet and orderly. I never go out; these ladies, when I invited them to go to the theatre, declined."

"I agree that they are stay-at-homes and don't try to make you take them all over the city. But I don't like that old Falenza with her reverences and her compliments."

"Really, Bertrand, you are getting to be too particular. When you travel, my friend, you must accustom yourself to the idea of finding different customs and different manners."

"True, monsieur; but I'm very much afraid that the foundation is the same everywhere! Selfish men, coquettish women, schemers who make a great show of wealth in order to make dupes more easily, rascals who open their mouths only to lie; and here and there a few honest people, who nevertheless consider their own interests before everything. I fancy that that's what we shall find in every country."

"Travelling makes you very eloquent, Bertrand. Write down your reflections; I'll read them--when we return to France."

"It will be high time, monsieur."

Auguste was no longer listening to his companion; he had overheard Cecilia's voice, and he went to her. But the young Italian had but a moment to speak to him, as her aunt would soon return. Yielding to the young man's urgent entreaties, she gave him an assignation for the next day. A pretty little wood, about a fourth of a league from the city, was the spot to which Cecilia was to go secretly. The time was agreed upon, and they parted, to avoid arousing her aunt's suspicions.

Auguste returned to his room with the inward satisfaction that one always feels at the approach of a long-desired moment. Never did evening seem longer to him, and he retired early so that the morrow would come the sooner.

Day broke at last. Auguste rose, dressed himself with care, and went out, leaving Bertrand still asleep. The place appointed for the meeting was a very long way from Signora Falenza's abode; but Auguste supposed that Cecilia had chosen it from prudential motives. He traversed a large part of the city, followed the bank of the Po, and at last reached the little wood, where he hoped soon to see his young landlady.

He waited patiently a long while; hope sustained him; it must be that some accident had kept Cecilia at home. But several hours passed and the fair Italian did not come. Auguste, weary of walking back and forth on the same spot, decided at last to return to the house, cursing the mischance that had prevented Cecilia from keeping her appointment.

As he approached the suburb where he lived, Auguste saw Bertrand in front of him, evidently returning home, like himself; he quickened his pace in order to overtake him. When the ex-corporal caught sight of his master, he uttered a cry of joy, saying:

"Morbleu! you are not wounded?"

"Why in the devil should I be wounded?" demanded Auguste.

"What would there be so surprising about it, monsieur, when you have been fighting a duel?"

"A duel--I?"

"At all events that's what our landlady told me this morning; she declared that a young man called for you at daybreak, and that from the few words that fell from you she gathered that there was a duel in the wind."

"Parbleu! this is very strange!"

"She even mentioned several places where she thought you might have gone to settle your dispute; so that, since early morning, I've been running in all directions, and have been well laughed at by everybody that I asked if they'd seen two men fighting."

"I don't understand it at all, Bertrand."

"Do you mean to say that it isn't all true?"

"There isn't a word of truth in it."

"Ah! that old signora shall learn that I'm not to be made a fool of like this."

"Let's hurry, Bertrand."

"What's the matter, lieutenant? You seem anxious."

"Yes. I'm afraid that the niece has made a fool of me too. Here have I been waiting for her in vain three hours and more at the other end of the city."

"Ten thousand bullets! there's something very crooked in this long excursion they made us both take. Didn't I tell you, lieutenant, that the old woman made too many reverences?"

"Perhaps we are frightened without cause. But here we are. Knock, Bertrand."

Bertrand knocked, but no one opened the door. He knocked again until the window panes rattled, and there was no response.

"What does this mean, lieutenant?" he cried, looking at Auguste.

"Why, it means that there's no one here, that is very certain."

"Still, we must get in."

As he spoke, he broke in the door with a kick, and entered the house, followed by his master. It was deserted; they had carried off everything except a few wretched pieces of furniture, and the travellers' apartment too was dismantled.

"We are robbed, monsieur," said Bertrand.

"It looks to me very much like it, my friend."

"Did you leave our money here?"

"Alas! yes, in the desk. It was all there except these ten gold pieces that I have in my pocket."

"Ah! the rascals! To the devil with signoras, fine eyes and reverences! Why did we leave our hotel?"

"It was my fault, Bertrand, I realize it. It is my folly again that has caused this misfortune. But what's the use of talking? the harm is done."

"We must enter a complaint, monsieur; we must obtain justice."

"Enter a complaint, my friend, in a country where we are strangers, and when we have nothing with which to pay for obtaining justice, which is very dear everywhere?"

"In that case, monsieur, we must allow ourselves to be robbed and say nothing, must we?"

"That is the wisest course in this case, Bertrand."

"It's very amusing!"

"We must make haste, too, to leave this house, which was undoubtedly let to those sharpers, and of which we have smashed the door; for we may be asked by what right we are here, and be punished for breaking in as we did."

"That would be the last straw! Ah! my poor old Schtrack, it would have been much better to stay with you!"

"Courage, Bertrand, let us rise superior to disaster. We have nothing left--very good! that compels me to work. We will travel on foot; in that way one doesn't run the risk of making evil acquaintances as one does in a diligence. And then our baggage is lighter than ever, and each of us can say with the Greek philosopher: _'Omnia mecum porto.'_"

"That must mean that he hadn't a sou, doesn't it, lieutenant?"

"Pretty nearly that, Bertrand."

"In that case we are getting to be mighty philosophical!"

"Let's leave Turin and go elsewhere in search of prudence."

"Ah! where shall we stop, monsieur?"