Chapter VII: A Glance

When the Princess of Palmarosa appeared at the top of the stairs, Michel thought that he saw before him a girl of fifteen, she was so lithe and slender in figure and in attitude; but, at each stair that she descended, he discovered an additional year upon her brow; and when he saw her near at hand, he concluded that she was about thirty. That did not prevent her from being beautiful; not resplendent and superb, but pure and sweet, like the bunch of white cyclamen she carried in her hand. She had a reputation for grace and charm rather than for beauty; for she had never been a coquette, and did not seek to create a sensation. Many much less beautiful women had kindled passions because they had chosen so to do. Princess Agatha had never furnished food for gossip, and if there had ever been any profound emotion in her life, society had never had any positive knowledge of it.

She was very charitable, indeed, it might be said that her only occupation was the distribution of alms; but it was done without parade or ostentation, and she was not called the mother of the poor. In a majority of cases the people whom she assisted did not know the source of the assistance they received. She was not a very regular attendant at church, although she did not avoid religious services. She had artistic tastes, and surrounded herself most discerningly with the most beautiful objects and the noblest minds. But she did not shine in the centre of her social system, nor did she make a pedestal of her connections or her wealth. In everything it seemed that she preferred to do as all the world did, and that, whether from apathy, from good taste, or from inward timidity, she had made it an object in life never to attract notice. There never was a more inoffensive woman. People esteemed her, loved her without enthusiasm, appreciated her worth without jealousy. But was she appreciated at her true worth? That is something that it would have been difficult to say. She was not supposed to have a great intellect. The highest praise that her oldest friends bestowed upon her was to say that she was an absolutely reliable person and of a very even disposition.

All this could be readily seen in the first glance that one cast upon her, and young Michel, as he watched her descend the staircase with careless grace, felt his aversion vanish with his dread. It was impossible to retain a feeling of irritation in presence of so pure, and calm, and sweet a face. But, as he had prepared, in his anger, to defy the awe-inspiring glance of a domineering and splendid beauty, he felt as if his mind were relieved of a great weight when he saw an ordinary woman. He had an instinctive feeling that, even if she came to scold, she would have neither the energy, nor, perhaps, the spirit to be insulting. His heart became calmer, and he gazed at her with increasing tranquillity, as if the refreshing fluid emanating from a serene mind had found its way from her to him.

She was richly but simply dressed in a heavy silk gown of a dull milky white, without ornament. A small circle of diamonds embellished her glossy black hair, parted in bands over a smooth, pure forehead. Doubtless she could have worn richer jewels, but her coronet was a work of art of most excellent workmanship, and did not weary her small, admirably poised head with a dragging weight. Her shoulders, half bare, had lost the interesting thinness of early youth, and had not yet attained the luxuriant rotundity of the third or fourth youth. There were still some delicate lines in her figure, and in her every movement a careless suppleness, which seemed to be unaware of its own existence and to pose for no one.

With the end of her fan she slowly waved aside the footman and the majordomo, who were exerting themselves to make room for her, and passed before them, stepping easily and without awkward haste over the boards and rolls of carpet which still lay in her path; and with a sort of heedlessness, humble or lordly, as you please, allowing the long folds of her beautiful white silk dress to drag in the dust left by the feet of the mechanics. With no sign of repugnance, perhaps without observing them, she brushed against the perspiring workmen, who could not step aside quickly enough. She passed through a group of gardeners, who were moving huge boxes, and did not seem to notice or to be disturbed by the danger of being crushed or wounded. She returned the salutations of those who saluted her, without the slightest assumption of superiority or patronage, and when she was in the midst of the swarm of men, boards, ladders, and canvas, she halted very calmly, looked about to see what was finished and what was not, and said in a mild and encouraging voice:

"Well, _gentlemen_, do you hope to have everything finished in time? We have barely half an hour."

"I will answer for everything, my dear princess," replied Pier-Angelo, approaching her with a cheerful air; "don't you see that I am putting my hand to everything?"

"In that case, I have no fear," said she, "and I rely also upon everybody here. It would be a pity to leave such a beautiful piece of work unfinished. I am exceedingly pleased. It is all conceived with taste and executed with great care. I thank you very much for the pains you have taken to do the work well, _gentlemen_, and this fête will redound to your glory."

"My son Michel will have his share in it, I trust," rejoined the old decorator; "will your ladyship deign to permit me to present him to you? Come, Michel, come and kiss the princess's hand, my son; she is a kind princess, you see!"

Michel did not move a muscle to approach them. Although the way in which the princess had _scolded_ his father had touched him and won his heart, he was by no means inclined to humble himself before her. He was well aware that the Italian custom of kissing a lady's hand denotes either the respectful homage of a friend or the prostration of an inferior, and, having no right to claim the former title, he did not choose to descend to the other. He removed his velvet cap and stood erect, affecting to look the princess in the face with perfect self-possession.

Thereupon she fixed her eyes upon him, and, whether because her features wore an expression of kindness and cordiality in contrast to the careless good-nature of her manners, or because Michel was assailed by a strange hallucination, he was stirred to the lowest depths of his being by that unexpected glance. It seemed to him that a searching flame, intense and penetrating, entered his very soul from the great lady's soft eyes; that an ineffable affection, coming forth from that unknown heart, had taken possession of his whole being; in short, that the Princess Agatha said to him in language more eloquent than any human words: "Come to my arms, come to my heart!"

Michel, bewildered, fascinated, beside himself, shuddered, turned pale, approached with an involuntary, convulsive movement, tremblingly took the princess's hand, and, as he was about to put it to his lips, raised his eyes once more to hers, thinking that he had been mistaken, and that he could in that way put an end to a dream that was at once painful and delicious. But those pure and limpid eyes expressed a love so absolute and so trustful that he lost his head, felt that his senses were leaving him, and fell as if crushed at the signora's feet.

When he recovered his presence of mind, the princess was already several steps away. She walked on, followed by Pier-Angelo, and when they were alone at the farther end of the room, they seemed to be discussing some detail of the fête. Michel was ashamed; his emotion rapidly vanished in face of the thought that he had presented to all his companions a spectacle of incredible weakness and presumption; but, as the princess's kind words had electrified them all, and as they had all resumed their labor with a sort of joyful frenzy, they sang and hammered, and bustled about him, and his adventure was a mere incident, lost, or at least not understood, in the crowd. Some had noticed, with a smile, that he bowed lower than he needed to do, and that it was apparently an aristocratic and gallant habit which he had brought from abroad with his haughty air and his fine clothes. Others thought that he had stumbled over a board when he was about to bow, and that his awkwardness had caused his confusion.

Magnani alone had watched him closely and half guessed the truth.

"Michel," he said, after a few moments, when their work had brought them together once more, "you seem very timid, but I believe that you are insanely bold. It is certain that the princess thought you a handsome fellow, and that she looked at you in a certain way which might have meant something very different on the part of any other woman; but do not be too presumptuous, my boy; this excellent princess is a virtuous lady; she has never been known to have a lover, and if she chose to take one, it isn't at all likely that she would begin with a little painter in distemper, when so many illustrious noblemen ----"

"Hush, Magnani," said Michel, vehemently; "your jests wound me, and I have never given you the right to laugh at me in this way; I won't endure it."

"Come, no temper," rejoined the young journeyman; "I have no intention of offending you, and when a man has arms like mine, he would be a coward to insult a boy like you. Besides, I am not naturally unkind, and as I told you before, if I speak frankly to you, it is because I am inclined to like you. I feel that you have a mind superior to mine, which attracts and charms me. But I also feel that you have a weak character and a wild imagination. If you have more intelligence and more refinement, I have more common sense and experience. Do not take my reflections in bad part. You have no friends among us as yet, and you could already reckon more than one enmity prepared to break out, if you should incline to see what is going on around you. I may be able to be of service to you in some way, and if you listen to my warning, you will avoid many vexations which you do not foresee. Come, Michel, do you scorn me, and reject my friendship?"

"On the contrary, I request it," replied Michel, moved and completely conquered by Magnani's frankness; "and I propose to show myself worthy of it by justifying myself. I know nothing, I believe nothing, I think nothing of the princess. For the first time in my life I see so great a lady at close quarters, and ----. But why do you smile?"

"You stop to ask about my smile to avoid finishing your sentence. I will finish it for you. You find that a great lady is something divine, and you fall madly in love with her. You love grandeur! I understood that perfectly the first time I saw you."

"No, no!" cried Michel, "I have not fallen in love; I do not know this woman, and, as for her grandeur, I do not know in what it consists. You might as well say that I am in love with her palace, her dress, or her diamonds, for thus far I have seen no other signs of superiority, except excellent taste, in which we assist her materially, it seems to me, as well as her jeweller and her dressmaker."

"As you know nothing more of her, that is well said," rejoined Magnani; "but in that case will you explain to me why you nearly fainted when you kissed her hand?"

"Do you explain it to me, if you can; for my part, I have no idea. I knew that ladies had a way of using their eyes which was bolder than that of a courtesan, and at the same time more contemptuous than that of a nun. Yes, I had noticed that; and that blending of seduction and pride drove me wild when I happened, against my will, to touch elbows with any of them in a crowd. And that is why I hated great ladies. But this one has a glance which resembles no other woman's. I could not undertake to say whether it is voluptuous languor or good-humored torpor; but no woman ever looked at me so, and ---- what can you expect, Magnani? I am young and impressionable, and it gave me the vertigo; that is all. I am not intoxicated with vanity, I swear, for I am perfectly certain that she would have looked at you in the same way if chance had placed your face before her instead of mine."

"I don't believe it," replied Magnani, pensively.

He had dropped his hammer and seated himself on a bench. He seemed to be struggling painfully to solve a problem.

"Ah! young men!" exclaimed old Pier-Angelo, as he passed them; "you are chattering and not working; only the old men know how to work fast."

Touched by the rebuke, Michel hastened to assist his father, after whispering to his new friend that they would resume their conversation later.

"Your best course," said Magnani, in an undertone, with a strange expression, "will be to think as little as possible about it."

Michel loved his father fervently, and with good reason. Pier-Angelo was a man of spirit, of courage, and of sound sense. An artist in his way, he followed the good old traditions in his work, and was not irritated by the innovations that he saw all about him. On the contrary, he very quickly assimilated such progressive ideas as he was made to understand. He was an easy-going, jovial mortal, optimistic in general, tolerant in particular cases, almost never ascribing evil intentions, but never paltering with them when it was no longer possible for him to entertain his generous illusions. A straightforward, simple, unselfish soul, content with little, entertained by everything, loving work for himself, and money for others, that is to say, living from day to day, and unable to deny his neighbor anything.

Providence had given the impulsive Michel the only guide he could ever have accepted; for that young man was entirely different from his father in several respects. He was restless, suspicious, slightly egotistical, with a decided tendency toward ambition, instability and anger. And yet his also was a noble nature, because it was sincerely in love with the noble and the great, and surrendered enthusiastically when its confidence was justified. But it is beyond question that his temperament was less happy than it might have been, that his active and inquisitive intellect often fed upon itself; and that his sensitive and excitable mind sometimes made a desperate onslaught on the tranquillity of his heart.

If a rough hand, the heavy hand of a mechanic desperately bent upon money-making, or subject to all the jealous indignation peculiar to the republican spirit, had undertaken to mould young Michel's mobile nature and discontented mind, it would have driven them to exasperation and would speedily have shattered or destroyed them. The improvident and cheerful temper of Pier-Angelo had acted as a counterpoise and sedative upon his passionate instincts. He rarely talked the language of cold reason to him, and never thwarted his fickle inclinations. But the fearless heedlessness of certain natures has a sympathetic effect which makes us blush for our weaknesses, and acts upon us more powerfully by example, by precepts nobly and simply put in execution, than all the speeches and sermons in the world could do. It was by this means that Pier-Angelo, while seeming to accede to Michel's desires and caprices, still exerted the only ascendancy to which he could have been induced to submit.