Chapter XIV: Barbagallo

If Michel could have removed his eyes from the object of his contemplation, he would have seen his father playing a flageolet in the orchestra a few steps away. Pier-Angelo had a passion for art in any form in which he could assimilate it. He loved and understood music, and played several instruments by instinct in almost perfect tone and time. Having attended to several details of the fête which had been placed under his supervision, and having nothing more to do, he had been unable to resist the desire to mingle with the musicians, who knew him well, and who took pleasure in his gayety, his attractive, kindly face, and the enthusiasm with which he produced from time to time a shrill _ritornello_ on his instrument. When the minstrel whose place he had taken returned from the buffet, Pier-Angelo seized upon the vacant cymbals, and, toward the end of the quadrille, was sawing with great delight the heavy strings of the bass-viol.

He was enchanted above all things to play for the princess, who, having espied his bald head on the platform among the orchestra, bestowed upon him from a distance a smile and an imperceptible friendly nod which the old man stored away in his heart. Michelangelo would have considered perhaps that his father gave his time too lavishly to the service of his dear patroness, and did not maintain strictly enough his dignity as an artisan. But at that moment Michel, who believed that he had forgotten or been cured of the effect of Princess Agatha's glance, had fallen so completely under its influence that he cared for nothing but to encounter it again.

His only fine clothes, which a lingering remnant of ineradicable aristocratic feeling had led him to bring through the gorges of Ætna in a travelling-bag slung over his shoulder, were of fashionable cut and in good taste. His face, too, was so handsome and so noble that there certainly was nothing to which exception could be taken in his person or in his dress. And yet his presence in the circle immediately surrounding the princess had, for some moments past, offended the eyes of Master Barbagallo, the majordomo of the palace.

That individual, ordinarily the mildest and most humane of men, had nevertheless his antipathies and his spasms of comical indignation. He had recognized Michel's talent; but the young man's impatient air when he ventured to address some trivial remark to him, and the small respect he had seemed to entertain for his authority, had caused the majordomo to look upon the painter with distrust and something like aversion. According to his ideas--and he had made a special study of titles and heraldry--nobody was noble but the _nobles_, and he looked upon all other classes of society with silent but unconquerable disdain. He was shocked and offended, therefore, to see the haughty palace of his masters thrown open to what he called a mob--tradesmen, lawyers, Jewesses, suspicious travellers, students, petty officers; in a word, to anyone who chose to pay a gold-piece for the privilege of dancing in the princess's quadrille. This subscription fête was a new invention, imported from abroad, and it overturned all his notions of decorum.

The retirement in which the princess had always lived had assisted this worthy majordomo to retain all his illusions and all his prejudices touching the excellence of castes. That is why he became more and more distressed, restless and morose as the night advanced. He had seen the princess promise a contra-dance to a young lawyer who had had the audacity to invite her; and when he saw Michelangelo Lavoratori gazing at her at such close quarters with enraptured eyes, he wondered if that dauber of canvas would not also enter the lists to dance with her.

"The world has turned upside down in twenty years, I see," he said to himself; "if such a ball as this had been given here in Prince Dionigi's time, things would have been managed differently. Each class would have kept apart from the rest; they would have formed different groups, and no group would have mingled with its superiors or inferiors. But here all ranks are jumbled together; it's a bazar--an infernal revel!--But, by the way," it occurred to him, "what is that little painter doing here? He didn't pay any money; he has not even the right which anyone can buy to-day, alas! at the door of the noble Palmarosa palace. He is only admitted here as a workman. If he chooses to play the tambourine beside his old father, or look after the lamps, let him stand back from where he is now. I will take down his conceit a peg, and it won't do him any good to play at being a great painter. I'll send him back to his sizing. It's a little lesson that I owe him, as his old madman of a father spoils him and doesn't know how to manage him."

Armed with this noble resolution, Messire Barbagallo, who dared not approach the princess's circle himself, tried to attract Michel's attention from a distance by making innumerable signs, of which the young man remained utterly unconscious. Thereupon the majordomo, seeing that the contra-dance was nearly at an end, and that the princess could not fail to see young Lavoratori, who had planted himself so audaciously in her path, determined to accomplish his purpose by a coup d'état. He glided among the spectators like a hunting-dog in a field of grain, and, gently passing his arm through the young man's, he tried to lead him aside without any noise or disturbance.

At that moment Michel had met the glance from the princess which he had been seeking and awaiting so long.

That glance had thrilled him like an electric shock, veiled though it was by instinctive prudence; and when he felt some one grasp his arm, without deigning to turn his head to ascertain with whom he had to do, he repelled with an energetic dig of the elbow the indiscreet hand that had touched him.

"What are you doing here, Master Michel?" said the indignant majordomo in his ear.

"What business is it of yours?" he replied, turning his back and shrugging his shoulders.

"You ought not to be here," replied Barbagallo, on the point of losing patience, but restraining himself sufficiently to speak in a low tone.

"It is all right for you to be here, I suppose!" replied Michel, glaring at him with eyes inflamed with wrath, hoping to get rid of him by intimidation.

But Barbagallo had a certain courage of his own; he would have submitted to be spat upon rather than fail in the smallest degree in what he conceived to be his duty.

"I am doing my duty," he said; "go and do yours. I am sorry to disturb you; but everyone must keep in his place. Oh! don't be insolent! Where is your card of admission? You haven't one, I know. If you are allowed to see the fête, it is only on condition that you look after the buffet or the lights, like your father; let us see, what were you told to do? Go and find the butler, and he will tell you what to do; and if he doesn't need you, go away, instead of staring ladies out of countenance."

Master Barbagallo continued to speak so low that nobody could hear him save Michel; but his wrathful eyes and his convulsive gestures were eloquent enough, and people were already beginning to look at them. Michel had fully determined to retire, for he knew that he had no way of resisting the order. The idea of striking an old man was most distasteful to him, and yet never before had the blood of the common people itched more fiercely in the hollow of his hand. He would have yielded smilingly to an impertinence couched in polite phraseology; but, not knowing what to do to rescue his dignity from that absurd attack, he felt as if he should die of rage and shame.

Barbagallo was already threatening, under his breath, to call for help to overcome his resistance. The persons who were nearest them glanced with an expression of satirical surprise at this strange young man at odds with the majordomo of the palace. The ladies gathered up their skirts and drew back into the crowd, to be farther away from him. They thought that he might be a pickpocket who had found his way into the ball-room, or some insolent intriguer who was about to cause a scandal.

But just as poor Michel was on the point of swooning with wrath and shame, for the blood was already roaring in his ears, and his legs were giving way, a faint cry, not two yards away, drove all the blood back to his heart. It seemed to him that he had heard that cry before, a cry of grief, surprise and affection, all in one, in the midst of his sleep on the evening of his arrival at the palace. Obeying an instinctive impulse of confidence and hope, which he could not explain to himself, he turned in the direction of that friendly voice and darted forward at random, as if to seek refuge on the breast from which it issued. Suddenly he found himself close beside the princess, with his hand in hers, which pressed it tremblingly but warmly. That movement and that expression of their mutual emotion were as rapid as the lightning flash. The amazed spectators opened a passage for the princess, who walked across the hall, leaning upon Michel, leaving her partner in the middle of his final bow, the majordomo in utter dismay, wishing that he could sink through the floor, and the spectators laughing at the good man's discomfiture, and concluding that Michel was some young foreigner of distinction recently arrived at Catania, to whom the princess made haste to atone, with graceful tact and without useless words, for her majordomo's blunder.

_When Signora Agatha reached the foot of the great staircase, where there were few people, she had recovered her tranquillity; but Michel was trembling more than ever._]

When Signora Agatha reached the foot of the great staircase, where there were few people, she had recovered her tranquillity; but Michel was trembling more than ever.

"Doubtless she is going to show me the door herself," he thought, "without allowing anyone to divine her purpose. She is too great and too kind not to rescue me from the insults of her servants and the contempt of her guests; but the advice she is going to give me will be none the less deadly. This probably means the ruin of all my future prospects, and the wreck of the life I have dreamed of will lie here on the threshold of her palace."

"Michelangelo Lavoratori," said the princess, putting her bouquet to her face to deaden the sound of her voice, which might have reached some ear on the alert with curiosity, "I have discovered to-day that you are a genuine artist, and that a noble career lies open before you. A few more years of earnest work, and you may become a master. Then the world will receive you, as you deserve to be received to-day, for the man who has nothing more than well-founded hopes of his personal glory is at least the equal of those who have only the memory of the glory of their ancestors. But tell me if you are in haste to make your appearance in this society which you have seen to-night, and whose spirit you can already divine? If you wish it, I have but to say a word, to raise my hand. All the connoisseurs here noticed your figures, and asked me your name, your age, and your antecedents. I have only to present you to my friends, to declare that you are an artist, and from this day you will be so considered, and practically emancipated from your present social position. Your father's humble profession, far from injuring you, will be an added source of interest; for the world is always surprised to see a poor man born with genius, as if artistic genius had not always sprung from the common people, and as if our caste were still fruitful in superior men. Answer me, Michel; do you wish to sup to-night at my table, by my side, or do you prefer to sup in the buttery, beside your father?"

This last question was put so concisely that Michel thought that he could read his sentence in it. "This is either a delicately administered but most severe lesson that I am receiving," he thought, "or else it is a test. I will come forth pure!"--And at once recovering his wits, which had been violently agitated a moment before, he replied proudly:

"Signora, most fortunate are they who sit at your side and whom you treat as friends! But the first time that I sup with persons in aristocratic society, it will be at my own table, with my father sitting opposite me. That is equivalent to saying that it will never happen, or that, in any event, many years still separate me from glory and wealth. Meanwhile, I will sup with my father in the buttery of your palace, to prove to you that I am not proud and that I accept your invitation."

"Your reply gratifies me," said the princess; "continue to be a man of spirit, Michel, and destiny will smile upon you; remember that I predict it!"

As she spoke, she looked him in the face, for she had dropped his arm and was about to leave him. Michel was dazzled by the flames that gushed from her eyes, usually so soft and dreamy, but animated for him alone--that was certain now--with an irresistible affection. And yet he was not disturbed by it as before. Either it was a different expression, or he had misunderstood it at first. What he had taken for passion was affection, rather, and the desire which had swept over him like a flood changed to a sort of enthusiastic adoration, as chaste as she who inspired it.

"But listen," added the princess, motioning to the Marquis della Serra, who passed at that moment, to give her his arm, and thus admitting him to a share in the conversation: "although there is nothing humiliating to a sagacious mind in eating in the buttery, and although there is nothing intensely exhilarating in supping in the salon, I desire that you should do neither. I have reasons for that which are entirely personal to you, and which your father must have explained to you. You have already attracted attention to-day by your work. Avoid showing yourself freely for a few days more, but without concealing yourself with an affectation of mystery, which course would have its dangers. I could have wished that you had not come to this fête. You should have understood why I did not order a card of admission to be given to you; and your father tried to remove any desire that you might have to be present by telling you that, if you remained, you would be charged with some duty which would not suit you. Why did you come? Tell me frankly: are you very fond of spectacles like this? You must have seen as beautiful ones at Rome?"

"No, signora, I have never seen any that were beautiful at all, for you were not present."

"He wishes to make me believe," said the princess, with a smile of the utmost amiability, addressing the marquis, "that he came to the ball on my account. Do you believe it, marquis?"

"I am sure of it," replied the marquis, pressing Michel's hand affectionately. "Let us see, Master Michelangelo, when are you coming to see my pictures and dine with me?"

"He also declares," said the princess, hastily, "that he will never dine with people of our sort without his father."

"Why this exaggerated timidity, pray?" said the marquis, fixing his eyes upon Michel's with an expression of penetrating intelligence, in which a touch of severity was mingled with kindliness; "can it be that Michel is afraid that you or I would make him blush because he is not yet as respectable as his father? You are young, my boy, and no one can expect to find in you the virtues for which the noble-hearted Pier-Angelo is admired and loved; but your intelligence and your excellent sentiments are enough to justify you in going anywhere with confidence, without being compelled to efface yourself in your father's shadow. However, have no fear; your father has already promised to come to dine with me the day after to-morrow. Will it be convenient for you to accompany him on that day?"

Michel having accepted, struggling the while to conceal his confusion and surprise beneath an affected ease of manner, the marquis added:

"Now allow me to tell you that we shall dine together on the sly: your father was accused of conspiracy long ago; I am an object of suspicion to the government; we still have enemies who may accuse us again of conspiring."

"Well, good-night, Michelangelo, we shall meet again soon," said the princess, observing Michel's bewilderment; "be charitable enough to believe that we know how to appreciate real merit, and that we did not wait for yours to be revealed before discovering your father's. Your father has been our friend for many years, and if he does not eat at my table every day, it is because I fear to expose him to persecution by his enemies by making him conspicuous."

Michel was perturbed and out of countenance, although he would not for anything in the world have given the impression that he was dazzled by the sudden favors of fortune; but at heart he felt humiliated rather than overjoyed by the affectionate lesson he had received. "For it was a lesson," he said to himself, when the princess and the marquis, being accosted by other guests, had walked away, after bidding him good-night with a friendly nod; "these wise and philosophical grandees gave me to understand clearly enough that their affability is a mark of homage bestowed upon my father rather than myself. I am invited on his account, not he on mine; so that it is not my merit which procures me these marks of distinction, but my father's virtuous qualities. O God! forgive me for the proud thoughts that led me to desire to enter upon my career apart from him! I was mad, I was wicked; I have received a most useful lesson from these great nobles, upon whom I sought to impose respect for my origin, and who have, or pretend to have, a more heartfelt respect for it than I have myself."

But the young artist's wounded pride soon recovered from this blow. "I have it!" he cried, after musing a few moments. "These people are deep in politics. They are still conspiring. Probably they did not even take the trouble to look at my paintings, or else they know nothing about art. They pet and flatter my father, who is one of their tools, and they are trying to gain possession of me, too. Ah well! if they wish to arouse Sicilian patriotism in my bosom, let them go about it in a different way and not attempt to exploit my youth without advantage to my reputation! I see their object; but they shall learn to know me. I am willing to be the victim of a noble cause, but not the dupe of other people's ambition."