“My Leonora!” exclaimed the father, in a tone of anxious apprehension. The young girl opened languidly a pair of beautiful dark eyes, started up, gazed with an expression of surprise upon the young student who had been supporting her, then threw herself into her father’s arms. With an expression of joy that she had recovered from her fright, the gentleman ordered his servants, who had returned when the danger was over, to procure another conveyance. This was immediately done; and turning to Giuseppe, he thanked him with lofty courtesy for the service he had rendered, and invited him to call next day at the house of the Count di Cornaro, in the Prado della Valle.
All night wild thoughts were busy in the brain of the young student. Never had such a vision of loveliness dawned upon him. And who was she? One elevated by fortune and rank so far above him that she would regard him but as the dust beneath her feet. As he had seen her in her delicate white drapery, like floating silver, her hair bound with pearls, she had moved, in some princely palace, among the nobles of the land. Many had worshipped; many had doubtless poured forth vows at her feet. How would she look upon one so poor and lowly? Giuseppe heaved a bitter sigh, but he resolved nevertheless to love her, and only her, for the rest of his life. A new sensation was born within him. He had hitherto cared only for frolic and revel and fighting; had been known only as Giuseppe, the mad student; the mover and leader in all mischief; a perfect master of his weapon, and the most skilful fencer in Padua. So great was his passion for fencing, and so astonishing the skill he had acquired in the art, that the most finished adepts in that noble science were frequently known to resort to him for lessons. So fond was he, moreover, of exhibiting this accomplishment, that he shunned no opportunity of exercising it at the expense of his acquaintances. Many were the duels in which he had been engaged; whether on his own account or for the sake of his friends, it mattered little. His love of fighting was as well known as the fact that few could hope to come off victorious in a strife with him; and this may account for the ascendancy he evidently had over his companions, their unwillingness to chafe his humor, and submission to the imperious tone in which he was wont to address them.
Of late, disgusted with the study of law, to which he had been consigned by his parents as a last resort—their first wish having been that he should embrace a monastic life—he had adopted the resolution of leaving Padua, of taking up his abode in one of the great capitals, and pursuing the profession of a fencing-master. Thus he would have opportunity for the cultivation of his favorite science, and at the same time would be unfettered by the control of others, a yoke galling beyond measure to his impatient spirit. Already he had announced this determination to his fellow students, and waited only a favorable opportunity to effect his escape from the University.
How often are the plans of a human mind changed by the slightest accident! How many fortunes have been made or marred by occurrences so trivial that they would have passed unnoticed by ordinary observation! How many events of importance have depended on causes at the first view scarce worth the estimation of a hair! In the present instance, the Count di Cornaro’s horses taken fright cost a capital fencing-master, and gave the world—a Tartini!
In due time next day, Giuseppe appeared in the Prado della Valle. As he was about to ascend the steps of the noble mansion belonging to the Count di Cornaro, a window above was hastily thrown open, and a rose fell at his feet. Glancing upward, he caught a glimpse of the bright face of Leonora; she smiled, and vanished from the window. The youth raised the flower, pressed it to his lips, and hid it in his bosom.
At the door, the porter received him as one who had been expected, and ushered him into a splendidly furnished apartment. The marble tables were covered with flowers; a lute lay on one of them; the visitor took it up, not doubting that it belonged to the beautiful Leonora, and while waiting for the Count, played several airs with exquisite skill.
“By my faith! you have some taste in music!” cried Cornaro, who had entered unperceived, as he finished one of the airs. The young man laid down the instrument, embarrassed, and blushing deeply, stammered an apology for the liberty he had taken.
“Nay, I excuse you readily, my young friend,” said the Count, cordially—extending his hand. Then motioning him to a seat, he asked his name.
“Giuseppe Tartini.”