The Contessa's Vendetta (37 page)

I rose from my seat
. It was growing late in the afternoon. From the little church below me soft bells rang out. When the bells ceased ringing, I returned homeward through the shady streets.

On reaching the gate of the Signora Monti
’s humble yet picturesque dwelling, I heard the sound of laughter. In the shady orchard, I saw Paolo hard at work, his shirt-sleeves rolled up to the shoulder, splitting logs while Lilla and Santina stood beside him, encouraging his efforts. He seemed in his element, and wielded his ax with a regularity and vigor I did not expect from a man whom I was accustomed to see performing somewhat effeminate duties in attending me. I watched him and the young women for a few moments unnoticed.

I
f this budding romance were left alone it would ripen into a flower, and Paolo would be happier than I had ever been in my entire life. From the way he handled his wood-ax, I could see that he loved the hills and fields, the life of a simple farmer and fruit-grower, full of innocent enjoyments as sweet as the ripe apples in my orchards. I could foresee his future with Lilla beside him. Santina seemed to like Lilla too. Together, they would be content, living hale lives made all the more beautiful by the fresh air and the fragrance of flowers. Their evenings would slip softly by to the tinkle of the mandolin, and the sound of his family’s singing.

What
better future could a man desire? What more certain way to keep health in the body and peace in the mind? Could I not help him be happy, I wondered? I, who had grown severe because of brooding too long upon my vengeance, could I not bring joy to others? If I could, my mind would be lightened of its burden; a burden grown heavier since Beatrice’s death. From her death, a new fury had been unleashed inside me, twice as wrathful. But if I could do one good act, it might help ease my soul’s stormy darkness.

Just
then Lilla laughed. What amused her now? I looked and saw that she had taken the ax from Paolo, and lifting it in her hands, was attempting to imitate his strong stroke. He stood aside with a look of admiration for her. The warm rays of late afternoon sun rained down on the tender scene. Poor Lilla. A knife would have made as much impression as her valorous blows on the knotty old stump she was trying to split. Flushed and breathless with her efforts, she looked more beautiful than ever, and at last, baffled, she handed the ax back to Paolo, laughing at her incapacity for wood-cutting. She shook her apron free from the chips and dust. A call from her mother caused her to run swiftly into the house, and Santina followed her inside. Paolo remained alone, working away at his task. 

I
walked to him.

When he saw me approaching, he
paused with a look of slight embarrassment.

“
You like this sort of work?” I said, gently.

“
An old habit, contessa, nothing more. It reminds me of my boyhood days when I worked for my mother. My old home was a pleasant place.” His eyes grew pensive and sad. “It is all gone now, finished. That was before I became a soldier. But one thinks of it sometimes.”

“
I understand. And no doubt you would be glad to return to the life of your boyhood?”

He looked a little startled.

“Not to leave you, contessa!”

I smiled rather sadly.
“Not to leave me? Not even if you wedded Lilla Monti?”

His cheek
s flushed, but he shook his head. “I do not think such a thing possible.”

“
She is a grown woman, past marrying age. But there is plenty of time. She is beautiful, as you said, and something better than that, she is honest. Think of that, Paolo! Do you know how rare a thing honesty is? Respect it as you respect God; let her life be sacred to you.”

He glanced upward reverently.
“Contessa, would that I had a chance.”

I smiled and said no more, but turned into the house. From that moment I
was determined to give this love of Paolo’s a chance at success.

So, I
remained in Venice longer than I intended, not for my own sake, but for Paolo’s. He had served me faithfully; he should have his reward. I took a pleasure in seeing my efforts to promote his cause succeed. I spoke with Lilla often on insignificant matters and watched her constantly when she was unaware of my gaze. With me she was frank and fearless, but soon I found that she grew shy of mentioning Paolo’s name, that she blushed when he approached her, that she was timid of asking him to do anything for her. By her reactions, I knew what was in her mind and heart. 

One afternoon I called Signora Monti to my room.

She entered, surprised and a little anxious. “Is anything wrong with the service?”

I reassured her
that everything had been impeccable and came to the point at once. “I would like to speak to you about your daughter, Lilla,” I said, kindly. “Have you ever thought that she might wish to marry one day?”

Her dark bold
eyes filled with tears and her lips quivered. “I have, but I have prayed, perhaps foolishly, that she would not leave me yet. I love her so much. I would be distraught if she married and moved away from me.”

“
I understand,” I said. “Still, suppose your daughter wedded a man who would be like a son to you and who would not part her from you? For instance, let us say Paolo?”

Signora Monti smiled through her tears.
“Paolo! He is a good man and I like him, but he does not think of Lilla. Rather, he seems very devoted to you, contessa.”

“
I am aware of his devotion to me,” I answered. “Still, I believe you will find out soon that he loves Lilla. At present he says nothing and is afraid to offend you, but his eyes speak, and so do hers. You are a good woman, a good mother. Watch them both and you will see for yourself that they love each other.” I handed her a pouch I had filled with gold coins. “Inside you will find enough to cover Lilla’s dowry.”

She uttered a little cry of amazement.

“It is for whoever she marries, though I think she will marry Paolo. Giving you these coins is the only pleasure I have had for many weary months. Think well of Paolo, for he is an excellent man. And all I ask of you is, that you keep this dowry a secret till the day your daughter marries.”

Before I could
stop her, she seized my hand and kissed it. Then she lifted her head with the proud dignity of a Roman matron. Her broad bosom heaved and her strong voice quivered with suppressed emotion. “I thank you, contessa, for Lilla’s sake! Not that my daughter needs more than what my hands can give her; I thank the blessed saints who have watched over us. But this is a special blessing God sent to me through your hands, and I would be unworthy of it, were I not grateful. Contessa, pardon me, but I can see that you have suffered much sorrow. Good actions lighten grief! We will pray for your happiness, Lilla and I, till the last breath leaves our lips. Believe it. We will lift your name to the saints night and morning, and who knows but good may come of it.”

I smiled faintly
and sighed. “I am certain much good will come of your prayers, signora, though I am unworthy of them. Rather pray for the dead that that they may be freed from their sins.”

The good woman looked at me with
kind pity mingled with awe. Murmuring her thanks and a blessing once more, she left the room.

A few minutes
later, Paolo entered. “Absence is the best test of love, Paolo. Prepare everything for our departure. We will be leaving Venice the day after tomorrow.”

And so we did. Lilla looked downcast, but
Paolo seemed satisfied, and I knew from their expressions and from the mysterious smile of Signora Monti, that all was going well.

I left
La Serenissimma
with regret, knowing I should see it no more. I gave Lilla a smile when we parted and took what I knew was my last look of her. Yet the knowledge that I had done some good gave my tired heart a sense of satisfaction and repose—a feeling I had not experienced since I died and rose again from the dead.

On the last day of January
, after an absence of more than a month, I returned to Vicenza. My many acquaintances and friends welcomed me back. Gilda D’Avencorta informed me the affair over Beatrice’s death was a thing of the past—an almost forgotten circumstance. The carnival was in full riot, the streets were scenes of revelry. There was music and dancing, masquerading and feasting. But I ignored all the merriment and instead absorbed myself in preparing for my marriage.

Basilica Palladiana

When I look
back over those frantic weeks preceding my wedding-day, they seemed like the dreams of a dying woman. Shifting colors, confused images, moments of clear light, hours of long darkness. All things coarse, cultured, material, and spiritual were blending into ever-changing new forms and bewildering patterns. My mind was clear, yet I often questioned whether I was not going mad; whether all the careful, methodical plans I formed were but the hazy wishes of a disordered mind? But no. Each detail of my scheme was too complete, too consistent, too organized.

I forgot nothing
. I had the composed exactitude of a careful banker who balances his accounts with elaborate regularity. I can laugh to think of it all now; but then? Then I moved, spoke, and acted as if pushed by a force stronger than my own.

A few days after I returned from Venice, m
y coming marriage with Dario Gismondi was announced. Two days after it had been made public, while sauntering across the Piazza Castello, I encountered Gilda D’Avencorta. I had not seen her since Beatrice’s death. She was cordial, though slightly embarrassed. “So your marriage will positively take place?” she asked nervously after several commonplace remarks.

I forced a laugh.
“
Ma! certamente!
Do you doubt it?”

Her lovely face
clouded and her manner grew still more constrained. “No, but I thought, I had hoped—”

“
Carissima,
” I said, airily, “I perfectly understand to what you allude; the love letters between Dario and Beatrice. I know better than to pay any heed to the foolish behavior of a man before his marriage, so long as he does not trick me afterward. The letters you sent me were mere trifles. In wedding the Signore Gismondi, I assure you I believe I secure the most honorable as well as the most handsome man in all of Veneto!” And I laughed again heartily.

Gilda l
ooked puzzled, but she was a conscientious woman, and knew to steer clear of this delicate subject. She smiled. “Then I wish you joy with all my heart! You are the best judge of your own happiness.”

And with a
wave she left me. No one else in my circle of friends appeared to share her foreboding scruples about my forthcoming marriage to Dario. It was talked of with much interest and expectation. Among other things, I earned the reputation of being a most impatient bride-to-be, for now I would consent to no delays. I hurried all the preparations on with feverish anticipation. I had no difficulty in persuading Dario that the sooner our wedding took place the better. He was as eager as I was, ready to rush toward his own destruction as Beatrice had been. His chief passion was greed, and the rumors of my fabulous wealth had aroused his hunger for it from the very moment he had first met me as Contessa Corona.