About a century ago, there lived in the ancient city of Pisa a famous Italian milliner, who, by way of vindicating1 to all customers her familiarity with Paris fashions, adopted a French title, and called herself the Demoiselle Grifoni. She was a wizen little woman with a mischievous2 face, a quick tongue, a nimble foot, a talent for business, and an uncertain disposition3. Rumor4 hinted that she was immensely rich, and scandal suggested that she would do anything for money.
The one undeniable good quality which raised Demoiselle Grifoni above all her rivals in the trade was her inexhaustible fortitude5. She was never known to yield an inch under any pressure of adverse6 circumstances. Thus the memorable7 occasion of her life on which she was threatened with ruin was also the occasion on which she most triumphantly8 asserted the energy and decision of her character. At the height of the demoiselle’s prosperity her skilled forewoman and cutter-out basely married and started in business as her rival. Such a calamity9 as this would have ruined an ordinary milliner; but the invincible10 Grifoni rose superior to it almost without an effort, and proved incontestably that it was impossible for hostile Fortune to catch her at the end of her resources. While the minor11 milliners were prophesying12 that she would shut up shop, she was quietly carrying on a private correspondence with an agent in Paris. Nobody knew what these letters were about until a few weeks had elapsed, and then circulars were received by all the ladies in Pisa, announcing that the best French forewoman who could be got for money was engaged to superintend the great Grifoni establishment. This master-stroke decided13 the victory. All the demoiselle’s customers declined giving orders elsewhere until the forewoman from Paris had exhibited to the natives of Pisa the latest fashions from the metropolis14 of the world of dress.
The Frenchwoman arrived punctual to the appointed day—glib and curt15, smiling and flippant, tight of face and supple16 of figure. Her name was Mademoiselle Virginie, and her family had inhumanly17 deserted18 her. She was set to work the moment she was inside the doors of the Grifoni establishment. A room was devoted19 to her own private use; magnificent materials in velvet20, silk, and satin, with due accompaniment of muslins, laces, and ribbons were placed at her disposal; she was told to spare no expense, and to produce, in the shortest possible time, the finest and nearest specimen21 dresses for exhibition in the show-room. Mademoiselle Virginie undertook to do everything required of her, produced her portfolios22 of patterns and her book of colored designs, and asked for one assistant who could speak French enough to interpret her orders to the Italian girls in the work-room.
“I have the very person you want,” cried Demoiselle Grifoni. “A work-woman we call Brigida here—the idlest slut in Pisa, but as sharp as a needle—has been in France, and speaks the language like a native. I’ll send her to you directly.”
Mademoiselle Virginie was not left long alone with her patterns and silks. A tall woman, with bold black eyes, a reckless manner, and a step as firm as a man’s, stalked into the room with the gait of a tragedy-queen crossing the stage. The instant her eyes fell on the French forewoman, she stopped, threw up her hands in astonishment23, and exclaimed, “Finette!”
“Teresa!” cried the Frenchwoman, casting her scissors on the table, and advancing a few steps.
“Hush! call me Brigida.”
“Hush! call me Virginie.”
These two exclamations24 were uttered at the same moment, and then the two women scrutinized25 each other in silence. The swarthy cheeks of the Italian turned to a dull yellow, and the voice of the Frenchwoman trembled a little when she spoke26 again.
“How, in the name of Heaven, have you dropped down in the world as low as this?” she asked. “I thought you were provided for when—”
“Silence!” interrupted Brigida. “You see I was not provided for. I have had my misfortunes; and you are the last woman alive who ought to refer to them.”
“Do you think I have not had my misfortunes, too, since we met?” (Brigida’s face brightened maliciously27 at those words.) “You have had your revenge,” continued Mademoiselle Virginie, coldly, turning away to the table and taking up the scissors again.
Brigida followed her, threw one arm roughly round her neck, and kissed her on the cheek. “Let us be friends again,” she said. The Frenchwoman laughed. “Tell me how I have had my revenge,” pursued the other, tightening28 her grasp. Mademoiselle Virginie signed to Brigida to stoop, and whispered rapidly in her ear. The Italian listened eagerly, with fierce, suspicious eyes fixed29 on the door. When the whispering ceased, she loosened her hold, and, with a sigh of relief, pushed back her heavy black hair from her temples. “Now we are friends,” she said, and sat down indolently in a chair placed by the worktable.
“Friends,” repeated Mademoiselle Virginie, with another laugh. “And now for business,” she continued, getting a row of pins ready for use by putting them between her teeth. “I am here, I believe, for the purpose of ruining the late forewoman, who has set up in opposition30 to us? Good! I will ruin her. Spread out the yellow brocaded silk, my dear, and pin that pattern on at your end, while I pin at mine. And what are your plans, Brigida? (Mind you don’t forget that Finette is dead, and that Virginie has risen from her ashes.) You can’t possibly intend to stop here all your life? (Leave an inch outside the paper, all round.) You must have projects? What are they?”
“Look at my figure,” said Brigida, placing herself in an attitude in the middle of the room.
“Ah,” rejoined the other, “it’s not what it was. There’s too much of it. You want diet, walking, and a French stay-maker,” muttered Mademoiselle Virginie through her chevaus-defrise of pins.
“Did the goddess Minerva walk, and employ a French stay-maker? I thought she rode upon clouds, and lived at a period before waists were invented.”
“What do you mean?”
“This—that my present project is to try if I can’t make my fortune by sitting as a model for Minerva in the studio of the best sculptor31 in Pisa.”
“And who is he! (Unwind me a yard or two of that black lace.)”
“The master-sculptor, Luca Lomi—an old family, once noble, but down in the world now. The master is obliged to make statues to get a living for his daughter and himself.”
“More of the lace—double it over the bosom32 of the dress. And how is sitting to this needy33 sculptor to make your fortune?”
“Wait a minute. There are other sculptors34 besides him in the studio. There is, first, his brother, the priest—Father Rocco, who passes all his spare time with the master. He is a good sculptor in his way—has cast statues and made a font for his church—a holy man, who devotes all his work in the studio to the cause of piety35.”
“Ah, bah! we should think him a droll36 priest in France. (More pins.) You don’t expect him to put money in your pocket, surely?”
“Wait, I say again. There is a third sculptor in the studio—actually a nobleman! His name is Fabio d’Ascoli. He is rich, young, handsome, an only child, and little better than a fool. Fancy his working at sculpture, as if he had his bread to get by it—and thinking that an amusement! Imagine a man belonging to one of the best families in Pisa mad enough to want to make a reputation as an artist! Wait! wait! the best is to come. His father and mother are dead—he has no near relations in the world to exercise authority over him—he is a bachelor, and his fortune is all at his own disposal; going a-begging, my friend; absolutely going a-begging for want of a clever woman to hold out her hand and take it from him.”
“Yes, yes—now I understand. The goddess Minerva is a clever woman, and she will hold out her hand and take his fortune from him with the utmost docility37.”
“The first thing is to get him to offer it. I must tell you that I am not going to sit to him, but to his master, Luca Lomi, who is doing the statue of Minerva. The face is modeled from his daughter; and now he wants somebody to sit for the bust38 and arms. Maddalena Lomi and I are as nearly as possible the same height, I hear—the difference between us being that I have a good figure and she has a bad one. I have offered to sit, through a friend who is employed in the studio. If the master accepts, I am sure of an introduction to our rich young gentleman; and then leave it to my good looks, my various accomplishments39, and my ready tongue, to do the rest.”
“Stop! I won’t have the lace doubled, on second thoughts. I’ll have it single, and running all round the dress in curves—so. Well, and who is this friend of yours employed in the studio? A fourth sculptor?”
“No, no; the strangest, simplest little creature—”
Just then a faint tap was audible at the door of the room.
Brigida laid her finger on her lips, and called impatiently to the person outside to come in.
The door opened gently, and a young girl, poorly but very neatly40 dressed, entered the room. She was rather thin and under the average height; but her head and figure were in perfect proportion. Her hair was of that gorgeous auburn color, her eyes of that deep violet-blue, which the portraits of Giorgione and Titian have made famous as the type of Venetian beauty. Her features possessed41 the definiteness and regularity42, the “good modeling” (to use an artist’s term), which is the rarest of all womanly charms, in Italy as elsewhere. The one serious defect of her face was its paleness. Her cheeks, wanting nothing in form, wanted everything in color. That look of health, which is the essential crowning-point of beauty, was the one attraction which her face did not possess.
She came into the room with a sad and weary expression in her eyes, which changed, however, the moment she observed the magnificently-dressed French forewoman, into a look of astonishment, and almost of awe43. Her manner became shy and embarrassed; and after an instant of hesitation44, she turned back silently to the door.
“Stop, stop, Nanina,” said Brigida, in Italian. “Don’t be afraid of that lady. She is our new forewoman; and she has it in her power to do all sorts of kind things for you. Look up, and tell us what you want. You were sixteen last birthday, Nanina, and you behave like a baby of two years old!”
“I only came to know if there was any work for me to-day,” said the girl, in a very sweet voice, that trembled a little as she tried to face the fashionable French forewoman again.
“No work, child, that is easy enough for you to do,” said Brigida. “Are you going to the studio to-day?”
Some of the color that Nanina’s cheeks wanted began to steal over them as she answered “Yes.”
“Don’t forget my message, darling. And if Master Luca Lomi asks where I live, answer that you are ready to deliver a letter to me; but that you are forbidden to enter into any particulars at first about who I am, or where I live.”
“Why am I forbidden?” inquired Nanina, innocently.
“Don’t ask questions, baby! Do as you are told. Bring me back a nice note or message to-morrow from the studio, and I will intercede45 with this lady to get you some work. You are a foolish child to want it, when you might make more money here and at Florence, by sitting to painters and sculptors; though what they can see to paint or model in you I never could understand.”
“I like working at home better than going abroad to sit,” said Nanina, looking very much abashed46 as she faltered47 out the answer, and escaping from the room with a terrified farewell obeisance48, which was an eccentric compound of a start, a bow, and a courtesy.
“That awkward child would be pretty,” said Mademoiselle Virginie, making rapid progress with the cutting-out of her dress, “if she knew how to give herself a complexion49, and had a presentable gown on her back. Who is she?”
“The friend who is to get me into Master Luca Lomi’s studio,” replied Brigida, laughing. “Rather a curious ally for me to take up with, isn’t she?”
“Where did you meet with her?”
“Here, to be sure; she hangs about this place for any plain work she can get to do, and takes it home to the oddest little room in a street near the Campo Santo. I had the curiosity to follow her one day, and knocked at her door soon after she had gone in, as if I was a visitor. She answered my knock in a great flurry and fright, as you may imagine. I made myself agreeable, affected50 immense interest in her affairs, and so got into her room. Such a place! A mere51 corner of it curtained off to make a bedroom. One chair, one stool, one saucepan on the fire. Before the hearth52 the most grotesquely53 hideous54 unshaven poodle-dog you ever saw; and on the stool a fair little girl plaiting dinner-mats. Such was the household—furniture and all included. ‘Where is your father?’ I asked. ‘He ran away and left us years ago,’ answers my awkward little friend who has just left the room, speaking in that simple way of hers, with all the composure in the world. ‘And your mother?’—‘Dead.’ She went up to the little mat-plaiting girl as she gave that answer, and began playing with her long flaxen hair. ‘Your sister, I suppose,’ said I. ‘What is her name?’—‘They call me La Biondella,’ says the child, looking up from her mat (La Biondella, Virginie, means The Fair). ‘And why do you let that great, shaggy, ill-looking brute55 lie before your fireplace?’ I asked. ‘Oh!’ cried the little mat-plaiter, ‘that is our dear old dog, Scarammuccia. He takes care of the house when Nanina is not at home. He dances on his hind56 legs, and jumps through a hoop57, and tumbles down dead when I cry Bang! Scarammuccia followed us home one night, years ago, and he has lived with us ever since. He goes out every day by himself, we can’t tell where, and generally returns licking his chops, which makes us afraid that he is a thief; but nobody finds him out, because he is the cleverest dog that ever lived!’ The child ran on in this way about the great beast by the fireplace, till I was obliged to stop her; while that simpleton Nanina stood by, laughing and encouraging her. I asked them a few more questions, which produced some strange answers. They did not seem to know of any relations of theirs in the world. The neighbors in the house had helped them, after their father ran away, until they were old enough to help themselves; and they did not seem to think there was anything in the least wretched or pitiable in their way of living. The last thing I heard, when I left them that day, was La Biondella crying ‘Bang!’—then a bark, a thump58 on the floor, and a scream of laughter. If it was not for their dog, I should go and see them oftener. But the ill-conditioned beast has taken a dislike to me, and growls59 and shows his teeth whenever I come near him.”
“The girl looked sickly when she came in here. Is she always like that?”
“No. She has altered within the last month. I suspect our interesting young nobleman has produced an impression. The oftener the girl has sat to him lately, the paler and more out of spirits she has become.”
“Oh! she has sat to him, has she?”
“She is sitting to him now. He is doing a bust of some Pagan nymph or other, and prevailed on Nanina to let him copy from her head and face. According to her own account the little fool was frightened at first, and gave him all the trouble in the world before she would consent.”
“And now she has consented, don’t you think it likely she may turn out rather a dangerous rival? Men are such fools, and take such fancies into their heads—”
“Ridiculous! A thread-paper of a girl like that, who has no manner, no talk, no intelligence; who has nothing to recommend her but an awkward, babyish prettiness! Dangerous to me? No, no! If there is danger at all, I have to dread60 it from the sculptor’s daughter. I don’t mind confessing that I am anxious to see Maddalena Lomi. But as for Nanina, she will simply be of use to me. All I know already about the studio and the artists in it, I know through her. She will deliver my message, and procure61 me my introduction; and when we have got so far, I shall give her an old gown and a shake of the hand; and then, good-by to our little innocent!”
“Well, well, for your sake I hope you are the wiser of the two in this matter. For my part, I always distrust innocence62. Wait one moment, and I shall have the body and sleeves of this dress ready for the needle-women. There, ring the bell, and order them up; for I have directions to give, and you must interpret for me.”
While Brigida went to the bell, the energetic Frenchwoman began planning out the skirt of the new dress. She laughed as she measured off yard after yard of the silk.
“What are you laughing about?” asked Brigida, opening the door and ringing a hand-bell in the passage.
“I can’t help fancying, dear, in spite of her innocent face and her artless ways, that your young friend is a hypocrite.”
“And I am quite certain, love, that she is only a simpleton.”
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1
vindicating
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| v.澄清（某人/某事物）受到的责难或嫌疑( vindicate的现在分词 )；表明或证明（所争辩的事物）属实、正当、有效等；维护 | |
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mischievous
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| adj.调皮的，恶作剧的，有害的，伤人的 | |
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disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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rumor
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| n.谣言，谣传，传说 | |
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fortitude
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| n.坚忍不拔；刚毅 | |
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adverse
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| adj.不利的；有害的；敌对的，不友好的 | |
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memorable
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| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
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triumphantly
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| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
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calamity
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| n.灾害，祸患，不幸事件 | |
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invincible
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| adj.不可征服的，难以制服的 | |
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minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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prophesying
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| v.预告，预言( prophesy的现在分词 ) | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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metropolis
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| n.首府；大城市 | |
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curt
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| adj.简短的，草率的 | |
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supple
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| adj.柔软的，易弯的，逢迎的，顺从的，灵活的；vt.使柔软，使柔顺，使顺从；vi.变柔软，变柔顺 | |
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inhumanly
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| adv.无人情味地，残忍地 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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specimen
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| n.样本，标本 | |
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portfolios
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| n.投资组合( portfolio的名词复数 )；（保险）业务量；（公司或机构提供的）系列产品；纸夹 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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exclamations
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| n.呼喊( exclamation的名词复数 )；感叹；感叹语；感叹词 | |
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scrutinized
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| v.仔细检查，详审( scrutinize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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maliciously
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| adv.有敌意地 | |
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tightening
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| 上紧，固定，紧密 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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sculptor
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| n.雕刻家，雕刻家 | |
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bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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needy
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| adj.贫穷的，贫困的，生活艰苦的 | |
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sculptors
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| 雕刻家，雕塑家( sculptor的名词复数 )； [天]玉夫座 | |
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piety
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| n.虔诚，虔敬 | |
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droll
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| adj.古怪的，好笑的 | |
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docility
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| n.容易教，易驾驶，驯服 | |
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bust
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| vt.打破；vi.爆裂；n.半身像；胸部 | |
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accomplishments
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| n.造诣；完成( accomplishment的名词复数 )；技能；成绩；成就 | |
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neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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regularity
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| n.规律性，规则性；匀称，整齐 | |
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awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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intercede
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| vi.仲裁，说情 | |
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abashed
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| adj.窘迫的，尴尬的v.使羞愧，使局促，使窘迫( abash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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47
faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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obeisance
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| n.鞠躬，敬礼 | |
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complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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grotesquely
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| adv. 奇异地,荒诞地 | |
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hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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hind
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| adj.后面的，后部的 | |
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57
hoop
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| n.（篮球）篮圈，篮 | |
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58
thump
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| v.重击，砰然地响；n.重击，重击声 | |
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growls
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的第三人称单数 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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60
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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procure
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| vt.获得，取得，促成；vi.拉皮条 | |
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innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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