I knew this mood was a bad one, and would have sought cheerful society to drive away the evil spirit had I known where to seek it. But there were no English at my hotel, and, in the present state of affairs, the Casa Angello was not particularly cheerful, so as I did not care about spending a lonely evening, I methought myself of my intention to go to the Teatro Ezzelino. On glancing at the paper I saw that the opera for the night was "Lucrezia Borgia;" and this name gave me a renewed sensation of horror. The lady of the sepulchre had taken in my imagination the semblance18 of Ferrara's Duchess, and the memory of the terrible daughter of Pope Alexander seemed never to leave me. She had come from the graveyard19, she had supped in the fatal chamber17, she had murdered her lover; and now, when she had vanished into thin air, I was to see her represented on the stage in all her magnificent wickedness. I had a good mind not to go, but seeing that there was a ballet after the opera, I thought I would brave this phantom15 of the brain, and find in the lightness of the dancing an antidote20 to the gloomy terrors of the lyrical drama.
The cooking at my hotel was somewhat better than the usual run of Italian culinary ideas, so I made an excellent dinner, drank some Asti Spumati, an agreeable wine of an exhilarating nature, and felt much better when I started for the Ezzelino.
It was one of those perfect Italian evenings such as one sees depicted21 by the glowing brush of Turner, and there yet lingered in the quiet evening sky a faint purple reflection of the sunset glories. No moon as yet, but here and there a burning star throbbing22 in the deep heart of the sky, and under the peaceful heavens the weather-worn red roofs and grey walls of antique Verona mellowed23 to warm loveliness in the twilight24 shadows. Beautiful as it was, however, with the memory of that eerie25 night still on me, I had no desire to renew my moonlight wanderings, so, without pausing to admire the enchanting26 scene, I hastened on to the theatre to be in time for the first notes of Donnizetti's opera.
The Teatro Ezzelino is a very charming opera-house, built in a light, airy fashion, with plenty of ventilation, a thing to be grateful for on hot summer nights. All the decorations are white and gold, so that it has a delightfully27 cool appearance; nevertheless, what with the warmth of the season without, and the glaring heat of the gas within, I felt unpleasantly hot. The gallery and stalls were crowded, but as it was only eight o'clock, most of the boxes were empty, and I knew would not be filled until late in the evening by those who, tired of the well-known music of "Lucrezia," wanted to see the new ballet.
Having glanced round the theatre, I bought a book of the words, hired an opera-glass from an obsequious29 attendant, and settled myself comfortably for the evening. The orchestra--a very excellent one, directed by Maestro Feraldi, of Milan--played the prelude30 in a sufficiently31 good style, and the pictured curtain arose on the well-known Venetian scene which I had so often beheld32. The chorus, in their heterogeneous33 costumes of no known age, wandered about in their usual aimless fashion, shouted their approval of smiling Venice in the ordinary indifferent style; and a very good contralto who sang Orsini, having delivered her first aria34 with great dramatic fervour, they all vanished from the stage, leaving the sleeping Genaro to be contemplated35 by Lucrezia Borgia.
I was disappointed with the Duchess when she arrived, and I must say that my majestic36 evil lady of the sepulchre looked far more like the regal sister of C?sar Borgia than this diminutive37 singer with the big voice, who raged round the stage like a spitfire, and gave one no idea of the terrible Medusa of Ferrara, whose smile was death to all, lovers and friends alike. The tenor38 was a long individual, and Lucrezia being so small, their duets, in point of physical appearance, were sufficiently ridiculous; but as they sang well together, their rendering39 of the characters, artistically40 speaking, was enjoyable. The chorus entered and discovered Lucrezia with Genaro; the prima-donna defied them all with the look and ways of a cross child; there was the usual dramatic chorus, and the curtain fell on the prologue41 with but slight applause. I did not go out, as I felt very comfortable, so amused myself with looking round the house, when, during the first act of the opera, two officers entered the theatre and took their seats in front of mine; They were two gay young men, who talked a great deal about one thing and another in such raised voices that I could hear all they said, some of which was not particularly edifying42.
During the first act which succeeds the prologue they were comparatively quiet, but when Lucrezia entered in the second to sing the celebrated43 duet with Alfonso, they were loud in their expressions of disapproval44 concerning her appearance. The music of this part of the opera is particularly loud and noisy, but even through the crash of the orchestra I could hear their expressions of disapproval.
"The voice is not bad, but the appearance--the acting--oime!"
"Eh, Teodoro, what would you? Donna Lucrezia is not on the stage."
"Not on the stage!" said Teodoro in an astonished tone. "Ebbene! where is she?"
"Look at the box yonder!"
"Per Bacco! the Contessa Morone."
I started as I heard this name, and, looking in the same direction as the young men, saw a woman seated far back in the shadow of a box, the fourth or fifth from the stage. She was talking to three gentlemen, and her face was turned away so that I could not see her features; but, judging from the glimpse I caught of her head and bust13, she seemed to be a very majestic woman.
The Contessa Morone! She was then in Verona after all. This discovery removed all my doubts concerning the identity of the ghoul. She was the woman who had left the vault45 in the burial-ground. She was the woman who had slain46 Guiseppe Pallanza in the secret chamber of the deserted47 palace, and she was the woman seated in the shadow of the box, talking idly as though she had no terrible crime to burden her conscience. If I could only see her face I would then recognise her; but, as if she had some presentiment48 of danger, she persistently49 looked everywhere but in my direction. As I gazed she moved slightly, the bright light of a lamp shone on her neck, and I saw a sudden tongue of red flame flash through the semi-twilight of the box, which at once reminded me of the necklace of rubies50 worn by that terrible vampire51 of the graveyard.
Eager to know all about this woman, whom I felt sure was the murderess of Pallanza, I listened breathlessly to the two officers who were still talking about her.
"It is a year since Morone died," said Teodoro, lowering his opera-glass, "and she has lived since at Rome, where I met her. Why has she returned here?"
"Eh, who knows! Perhaps to reside again at the Palazzo Morone."
"That tomb. Diamine! She must become a ghost to live there."
"Ebbene, Teodoro! the ghost of Lucrezia Borgia! Why does she not marry again?"
"Who knows! I wouldn't like to be her husband in spite of her money. Corpo di Bacco! a woman who sees in the dark like a cat."
"The evil eye!"
"Yes! and everything else that's wicked. I do not like that Signora at all."
"Che peccato! you might marry her."
"Or her money! Ecco!"
They both laughed, and, the act being ended, left their seats. I also went out into the corridor for a smoke and a breath of fresh air, feeling deeply sorry that this interesting conversation had been interrupted. From what one of the officers had said she was evidently a nyctalopyst, and could see in the dark, which accounted at once for the unerring way in which she had threaded the dark streets, and was also the reason that she now remained secluded52 in the shadow of her box, preferring the darkness to the light. Puzzling over these things, and wondering how I could get a glimpse of her face, I lighted a cigarette and strolled about in the vestibule of the theatre with the rest of the crowd.
There were a goodly number of civilians53 of all sizes, ages, and complexions54, while the military element was represented by a fair sprinkling of officers in the picturesque55 uniforms of the Italian army. The air was thick with tobacco-smoke there was a clatter56 of vivacious57 voices, and the great doors of the theatre were thrown wide open to admit the fresh night air into the overpoweringly hot atmosphere. Being wrapt up in my ideas about the Contessa Morone and her extraordinary behaviour, I leaned against a pillar and took no notice of any one, when suddenly a tall officer stopped in front of me and held out his hand.
"What! Is it you, Signor Hugo? Come sta!"
"Beltrami! You here! I am surprised!"
"Ma foi," replied Beltrami, who constantly introduced French words into his conversation; "you are not so surprised as I am. I thought you were in your foggy island, and behold58 you appear at Verona. How did you come here? What are you doing? Eh! Hugo, tell me all."
I do not think I have mentioned Beltrami before, which is curious, considering I have been talking so much about Italy and the Italians; but the fact is, my friend the Marchese only now enters into this curious story I am relating, so thus being introduced in due season I will tell all I know about him.
During my narrative59 I fancy I have mentioned that I spoke60 and understood Italian tolerably for an Englishman. Well, I did not learn my Italian in Italy--no, indeed! Foggy London saw my maiden61 efforts to acquire that soft bastard62 Latin which Byron talks of, and the Marchese Luigi Beltrami gave me my first lessons in his melodious63 language. He had come to England some years before with a card of introduction to my father from a friend in Florence, and on being introduced to our household we had taken a great fancy to one another. Even in those days, perhaps as a premonitory symptom of my operatic leanings, I was mad on all things Italian, and discoursed64 about art, raved65 of Cimabue and Titian, and quoted Dante, Ariosto, and Alfieri until every one of my friends were, I am sure, heartily66 wearied of my enthusiasm. Beltrami appeared, and feeling flattered by my great admiration67 for his country, advised me to learn Italian. I did so, and with his help soon became no mean proficient68 in the tongue which the Marchese, being a Florentine, spoke very purely69. In return I taught him English; but either I was a bad master, or Beltrami was an idle scholar, for all the English he ever learned consisted of two sentences: "You are a beautiful miss," and "I love you," but with these two he got along comparatively well, particularly with woman.
English ladies at first were indignant at this outspoken70 admiration, but Beltrami was so good-looking, and apparently71 so sincere in his use of these two English sentences, that they usually ended by pardoning him; nevertheless the Marchese found that if he wanted to get on in society he would have to moderate his transports. Ultimately, if I remember rightly, he took refuge in French, and said a great many pretty things in that very pretty tongue.
My friend Beltrami and myself were the antithesis72 of one another in character, as he had a great deal of the subtle craft of the old Italian despot about him; yet somehow we got on capitally together, perhaps by the law of contrast, and when he returned to Italy I was sorry to see the last of him. I promised to some day visit him at his palazzo in Florence, and fully28 intended to do so before leaving Italy; but here was Verona, and here, by the intervention73 of chance, was the Marchese, as suave74, as subtle-faced, and as handsome as ever. He appeared to be delighted to see me, and as I was a stranger in a strange land, I was glad to find at least one familiar face.
In response to his request I told him about the death of my father, of my determination to study singing, and the circumstances which had led me to Verona, to all of which Beltrami listened attentively75, and at the conclusion of my story shook hands with me again.
"Ebbene! my friend Hugo, I am glad to see you in our Italy. As you see, I serve the King and am stationed in his dismal76 palace, so while you are here I will make things pleasant. Ecco!"
"No, no! my dear Marchese, I know what you mean by making things pleasant. I have come here to work, not to play."
"Dame77, mon ami! too much work is bad."
"Eh, Marchese, and too much play is worse; but tell me how have you been since I saw you last?"
"Oh, just the same; I am as poor as ever, but soon I will be rich!"
"Bravo, Beltrami! Is your uncle, the Cardinal78, dead?"
"My uncle, the Cardinal, is immortal," replied the Marchese cynically79. "No, he still lives in the hope to succeed to the Fisherman's Chair. I am going to be married!"
"I congratulate you."
"Eh, Hugo, I think you will when you see the future Marchesa! She is in the theatre to-night. I am engaged to marry her, and as she takes my friends for her own, come with me and I will introduce you."
I drew back, as I wanted to watch the Contessa Morone, and if I went to Beltrami's box I would perhaps lose sight of her.
"You must excuse me, Signor Luigi, because--because you see I am not in evening dress."
It was the best excuse I could think of, but, being a very weak one, Beltrami laughed, and, slipping his arm into mine, dragged me along the corridor.
"Sapristi! you talk like a child. You are my friend. Signora Morone will be delighted to see you. She adores the English."
"Madame Morone!" I exclaimed, thunderstruck.
"Yes, the Contessa! Do you know her by sight? Mon Dieu! is she not beautiful? You shall speak the English to her. She loves your foggy islanders."
I was so bewildered by the chance thrown in my way of finding out if the Contessa Morone had anything to do with the burial-ground episode, that I only replied to Beltrami's chatter80 by an uneasy laugh, and suffered myself to be led unresistingly along.
The Marchese did not take me into the box itself, but into one of those small ante-rooms, on the opposite side of the corridor, which are used by Italian ladies as reception saloons for their friends when at the theatre. I heard the loud chatter of many voices as Beltrami opened the door, and there, standing81 under the glare of the gas-lamp, with the wicked smile on her lips, the pearls in her hair, the ruby82 necklace round her throat, I saw the woman who had come from the vault, the woman who had poisoned Pallanza in the secret room, the phantom of Lucrezia Borgia.
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1
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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harp
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| n.竖琴；天琴座 | |
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bias
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| n.偏见，偏心，偏袒；vt.使有偏见 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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highland
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| n.(pl.)高地，山地 | |
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superstition
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| n.迷信，迷信行为 | |
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superstitions
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| 迷信，迷信行为( superstition的名词复数 ) | |
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weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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ballads
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| 民歌，民谣，特别指叙述故事的歌( ballad的名词复数 )； 讴 | |
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faculty
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| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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wanes
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| v.衰落( wane的第三人称单数 )；（月）亏；变小；变暗淡 | |
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bustle
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| v.喧扰地忙乱，匆忙，奔忙；n.忙碌；喧闹 | |
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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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phantoms
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| n.鬼怪，幽灵( phantom的名词复数 ) | |
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phantom
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| n.幻影，虚位，幽灵；adj.错觉的，幻影的，幽灵的 | |
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chambers
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| n.房间( chamber的名词复数 )；（议会的）议院；卧室；会议厅 | |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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semblance
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| n.外貌，外表 | |
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graveyard
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| n.坟场 | |
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antidote
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| n.解毒药，解毒剂 | |
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depicted
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| 描绘，描画( depict的过去式和过去分词 )； 描述 | |
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throbbing
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| a. 跳动的,悸动的 | |
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mellowed
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| （使）成熟( mellow的过去式和过去分词 )； 使色彩更加柔和，使酒更加醇香 | |
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twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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eerie
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| adj.怪诞的；奇异的；可怕的；胆怯的 | |
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enchanting
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| a.讨人喜欢的 | |
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delightfully
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| 大喜，欣然 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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obsequious
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| adj.谄媚的，奉承的，顺从的 | |
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prelude
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| n.序言，前兆，序曲 | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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heterogeneous
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| adj.庞杂的；异类的 | |
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aria
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| n.独唱曲，咏叹调 | |
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contemplated
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| adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
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majestic
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| adj.雄伟的，壮丽的，庄严的，威严的，崇高的 | |
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diminutive
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| adj.小巧可爱的，小的 | |
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tenor
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| n.男高音（歌手），次中音（乐器），要旨，大意 | |
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rendering
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| n.表现，描写 | |
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artistically
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| adv.艺术性地 | |
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prologue
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| n.开场白，序言；开端，序幕 | |
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edifying
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| adj.有教训意味的，教训性的，有益的v.开导，启发( edify的现在分词 ) | |
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celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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disapproval
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| n.反对，不赞成 | |
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vault
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| n.拱形圆顶，地窖，地下室 | |
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slain
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| 杀死，宰杀，杀戮( slay的过去分词 )； (slay的过去分词) | |
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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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presentiment
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| n.预感，预觉 | |
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persistently
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| ad.坚持地；固执地 | |
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rubies
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| 红宝石( ruby的名词复数 )； 红宝石色，深红色 | |
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vampire
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| n.吸血鬼 | |
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secluded
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| adj.与世隔绝的；隐退的；偏僻的v.使隔开，使隐退( seclude的过去式和过去分词) | |
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civilians
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| 平民，百姓( civilian的名词复数 )； 老百姓 | |
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complexions
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| 肤色( complexion的名词复数 )； 面色； 局面； 性质 | |
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picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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clatter
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| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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vivacious
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| adj.活泼的，快活的 | |
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behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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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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61
maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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bastard
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| n.坏蛋，混蛋；私生子 | |
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melodious
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| adj.旋律美妙的，调子优美的，音乐性的 | |
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discoursed
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| 演说（discourse的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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raved
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| v.胡言乱语( rave的过去式和过去分词 )；愤怒地说；咆哮；痴心地说 | |
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66
heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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68
proficient
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| adj.熟练的，精通的；n.能手，专家 | |
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69
purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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70
outspoken
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| adj.直言无讳的，坦率的，坦白无隐的 | |
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71
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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72
antithesis
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| n.对立；相对 | |
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intervention
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| n.介入，干涉，干预 | |
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74
suave
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| adj.温和的；柔和的；文雅的 | |
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75
attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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76
dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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77
dame
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| n.女士 | |
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78
cardinal
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| n.(天主教的)红衣主教；adj.首要的，基本的 | |
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79
cynically
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| adv.爱嘲笑地，冷笑地 | |
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80
chatter
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| vi.／n.喋喋不休；短促尖叫；(牙齿)打战 | |
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81
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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82
ruby
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| n.红宝石，红宝石色 | |
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