The Contessa's Vendetta (35 page)

“
I apologize for the display—”

“
Say nothing, contessa,” he interrupted me with a disapproving gesture. “It is quite unnecessary. To mock a religious man is a common amusement for young boys and men of the world. I am accustomed to it, though I feel its cruelty more than I ought to. Men like Signore Gismondi think that because monks have embraced God instead of women, we cannot understand love, tenderness or passion. They fail to realize that we, too, have our pasts. Pasts that would make angels weep for pity.” He placed his hand on his heart. Then, composing himself, he returned to his neutral stance. “The rule of our convent, contessa, permits no visitor to remain longer than one hour. That hour has expired. I will summon a monk to show you the way out.”

“
Wait one instant, please,” I said, feeling that to enact my part convincingly, I must attempt to defend Dario’s conduct. “My betrothed can be thoughtless at times. I really do not think that his parting kiss to me was meant to purposely annoy you.”

The
monk glanced at me. Disdain flashed in his eyes. “No doubt you think that was a show of his affection for you, contessa. A very natural conclusion, and I am very sorry to enlighten you to the truth.” He paused to gather the appropriate words. “You seem to be a sincere woman. Maybe you are the one destined to save Signore Gismondi. I could say much, yet it is wiser for me to be silent. If you love him do not flatter him. His arrogance and vanity are his ruin. With him you must always be firm and wise. Perhaps this may lead him to change. Who knows.” He hesitated then sighed. “
Arrivederci
, contessa!
Benedicite
!” He made the sign of the cross as I respectfully bent my head to receive his blessing before he left the room as noiselessly as he had entered it.

A
moment later, a lame and aged lay-brother came to escort me to the gate. As I made my way down the stone corridor, a side door opened a little and two young faces peered out at me. For an instant I saw four laughing bright eyes. I heard a smothered voice say, “Oh, it’s only an old woman!”

My
guide, though lame, was not blind. He noticed the opened door and shut it with an angry bang, which did not drown the ringing laughter that echoed from within.

On reaching the gates
, I turned to my venerable companion and handed him twenty pieces of silver in his shriveled palm. “Take these to the father superior for me, and ask that Mass may be said in the chapel tomorrow for the repose of the soul of the person whose name is written here.” I handed him Beatrice Cardano’s visiting-card. “She met with a sudden and unprepared death, and please also pray for the woman who killed her.”

The old
lay-brother looked startled, and crossed himself devoutly, but promised that my wishes would be fulfilled.

I bade him
farewell and departed, the monastery gates closing with a dull clang behind me.

Venice

I adored
Venice; a dreamy, picturesque city where one can dream while enjoying the unusual, beautiful surroundings. To this splendid spot I came, glad for a rest away from my plot of vengeance, glad to lay down my burden of bitterness for a brief time, and feel human again.

I took
residence in a humble lodging, living simply, and attended only by Paolo and Santina. I was tired of the luxury and ostentation I had been forced to practice in Vicenza and was relieved to live more simply for a while. The house in which I rented rooms was a large, picturesque home, and the woman who owned it was charismatic. Pride over her Roman background flashed in her dark eyes and was evident in her strong features, her statuesque dignity, and her free, firm tread which was swift without being hasty. She told me her history in a few words and with such eloquence that she seemed to live through it again as she spoke.

“My
husband had been a worker in a marble quarry when a fellow worker had let a huge piece of the rock fall on him. My poor Antonio was crushed to death. I know the man killed my husband on purpose, because he was in love with me,” she confided. “But I am a virtuous woman, and I refused to pay him any attention. When my dear Antonio’s body was scarcely buried, that miserable murderer offered marriage to me. I accused him of his crime, but he denied it. He said the rock slipped from his hands. I cursed him, struck him hard on the mouth and cheek, and then screamed at him to leave my sight. He is dead now, and if the saints heard my curses, his soul is not in heaven!”

Her eyes flashed as she spoke. With her
strong brown arms she threw open the wide casement of the sitting-room I had rented. She bade me view her orchard, a small strip of verdure and foliage.

S
he smiled, displaying her white teeth. “Venice has wonderful markets with spices and foods brought in by ships from all over the world. The rental of rooms from this house produces enough for my daughter and I to live on, but I am very careful to whom I rent my space. To common persons I would not open my door. When one has a girl, one cannot be too careful.”

“
You have a daughter, then?”

Her
eyes softened. “One—my Lilla. I call her my blessing, and she is too good for me. She tends the garden well. When she brings the few vegetables we grow to market, it seems to me that her face and smile brings luck to the sale. She is past marriageable age, but she is reluctant to leave me, a poor widow, alone.”

I smiled at
her motherly pride and sighed. I had no faith in humanity left. I could not even believe in Lilla’s innocence. My landlady, Signora Monti as she was called, saw that I looked fatigued, and left me to myself.

During my
stay, I saw very little of her. Paolo and Santina took care of everything for me, always meticulous over the smallest details to ensure my comfort. They attended to my wishes with such care. I was truly grateful and counted myself blessed to have found such loyal servants.

After
we had been there for three days, Paolo tried to strike up a conversation with me. He had noticed that I always sought to be alone; that I took long, solitary rambles through narrow streets, over small bridges that crossed over the canals. As I listened, I kept my silence, making it difficult for him to continue the conversation. Not daring to break through my reserve, he let the matter drop and continued his work in silence.

One afternoon,
after clearing away what remained of my midday meal, he lingered in the room. “The contessa has not yet seen Lilla Monti?” he asked with hesitation.

I looked at him in surprise. There was a blush on his olive-tinted cheeks and an unusual sparkle in his
eyes. For the first time I realized that he was still quite young, and very handsome, a man not much more than forty years.

“
Seen Lilla Monti?” I repeated, half absently. “Oh, you mean the landlady’s daughter? No, I have not seen her. Why do you ask?”

Paolo
smiled. “Pardon, contessa, but she is beautiful. There is a saying where I come from:
Be the heart heavy as stone, the sight of a fair face will lighten it
.”

I gave an impatient gesture.
“All folly, Paolo! Beauty is the curse of the world. Read a few history books you will will find the greatest conquerors ruined and disgraced by its snares.”

He nodded gravely.

He probably
recalled the betrothal announcement I had made at my banquet and strove to reconcile it with the inconsistency of what I had just said, but he was too discreet to utter his thoughts aloud.

“
No doubt you are right, contessa. Still, one is glad to see the roses bloom, and the stars shine, and the foam sparkle on the waves, so one is glad to see Lilla Monti.”

I turned round in my chair to observe him more closely—the flush deepened on his
face as I regarded him. I laughed with a bitter sadness. “In love, are you? So soon? We have been here only three days and you have fallen prey to Lilla’s smile. I am sorry for you.”

He interrupted me eagerly.
“The contessa is wrong. I would not dare. She is too innocent. She is like a little bird in the nest, so soft and tender. A word of love would frighten her; I should be a coward to utter it.”

Well, well! I thought, what was the use of sneering at the poor fellow
just because my own love had turned to ashes in my grasp. I should not mock those who believed themselves in love. Paolo, once a soldier, now half courier, half valet, was something of a romantic at heart. Beneath his mask of formality, an amorous fire lay hidden.

I
forced myself to appear interested. “I see, Paolo, that the sight of Lilla Monti has smitten you,” I said kindly. “But why do you wish me to see this paragon of a woman, I do not know? Do you want me to regret my own lost youth?”

A perplexed expression flitted over his face
“The contessa must pardon me for seeing what perhaps I ought not to have seen, but—”

“
But what?” I asked.

“
Contessa, you have not lost your youth.”

I turned my head toward him again
. He was looking at me with a bit of alarm, as if he feared an outburst of anger from me.

“
Why do you think so?” I asked calmly.

“
Contessa, I caught a glimpse of you without your spectacles the day Signorina Cardano died. Your eyes were beautiful; the eyes of a young woman, though your hair is white.”

Quietly I took off my glasses and laid them on the table
beside me. “As you have seen me once without them, you can see me again,” I observed, gently. “I wear them for a special purpose. Here in Venice the purpose does not hold. Now that I have confided in you, beware you do not betray my confidence.”

“
Contessa, I would never do such a thing,” Paolo said in a truly pained voice and a grieved look.

I rose and laid my hand on his arm.

“I was wrong,
perdonami
. You are an honest man and have served your country well enough to know the value of fidelity and duty. But when you say I have not lost my youth, you are wrong, Paolo! I have lost it. It has been killed within me by a great sorrowfulness. My strength, my suppleness of limb, my bright eyes, all these are outward things, but in my heart and soul lives the chill and bitterness of old age. In that way, I am very old; so old that I am tired of my life. But I do value and appreciate you, my friend.” I forced a smile. “When I see Lilla, I will tell you honestly what I think of her.”

Paolo
stooped his head, caught my hand in his own, and kissed it, then left the room abruptly, to hide the tears that my words had brought to his eyes. He was sorry for me, I could see, and I judged him rightly when I thought that the mystery surrounding me had only enhanced his attachment to me. On the whole, I was glad he had seen me undisguised. I felt relieved to be without my smoked glasses for a time. For the remainder of my stay in Venice, I never wore them again.

Not long after our conversation,
I saw Lilla. I had strolled up to a quaint church with a fresco inside rumored to have been the work of artist Paolo Veronese. The sanctuary was quite deserted when I entered, and I paused on the threshold, touched by the simplicity of the place and soothed by the intense silence. I walked on tiptoe to the picture I had come to see. As I did so a girl passed me carrying a basket of fragrant winter narcissi and maiden-hair fern. Something in her graceful, noiseless movements caused me to look at her, but she had turned her back to me and was kneeling at the shrine of the Virgin, having placed her flowers on the lowest step of the altar. She was dressed in a simple brown skirt with matching bodice and a white veil surrounding her rich chestnut hair that was coiled in thick shining braids.