Of the Marchese Beltrami and his wife I heard but little, save through the medium of the papers, as except one letter announcing his marriage with the Contessa, and thanking me for my attention to his interests, this ungrateful Luigi had not written to me. I consoled myself with philosophical reflections on the hollowness of friendship, when one day, towards the end of July, I was astonished to receive a visit from the Marchese.
Pallanza and his wife had returned to Milan, and were making preparations for their departure, which was now near at hand. I had just come back from a visit to the Maestro with whom they were staying, and was writing letters in my bedroom, when Beltrami's card was brought to me, upon which I ordered him to be shown into the room in which I was scribbling, so as to secure perfect privacy during our conversation.
In those days of poverty I lived like a cat on the tiles, up four flights of stairs just under the roof, and my one room served me for everything,--that is, as dining-room, reception-salon, and sleeping chamber. I took my meals at a sufficiently good restaurant near at hand, but otherwise the whole of my indoor life was bounded by the four walls of that small apartment, which contained an ingenious bed made to look like a sofa during the day, a wardrobe, a wash-stand, and a diminutive piano of German manufacture hired by myself. Yet, as Beranger sings, "One is happy in a garret at twenty years of age," and I think the days spent in that dingy Milanese eyry were among the most delightful of my life. I was young, enthusiastic, not badly off for a poor man, and devoted to my art, so I used to strum chords on that small piano while I practised my voice, act operatic scenes in front of the looking glass, and dream impossible dreams of applausive multitudes, of recklessly-generous impresarios, and of a career like that of the kings of song.
Then I had a view--a delightful view--of the red-roofed houses of Milan, seen from the window, with here and there a tall factory chimney, the slender tower of a church from whence sounded the jangling bells which used to irritate me, at least, every quarter of an hour, and just a glimpse of the white miracle of the great Duomo, rising like a fairy creation of milky lacework against the deeply blue sky. Even a vision of green trees I obtained by craning my head round the corner of the window, and when it was fine weather I looked at my roof-top view while enjoying a pipe, but when it rained--oh! heavens, Milan was as dreary as London in a fog, and the blue skies of Italy became a fable of inventive minds. The intense heat changed to humid cold, and then I used to shut out this deceptive city of the Visconti by closing my window, and, retreating to the piano, practise exercises with a voice rendered, I am afraid, rather gruff by the chill terra-cotta floor and the damp atmosphere.
It was in this poor but honest abode, as the novelists say, that I received Beltrami, who entered gaily in civilian dress with outstretched hands, looking exactly the same as when I had last seen him at Verona. Marriage evidently had not changed him, as he had the same subtle smile on his dark face, talked in the same vein of cynicism, and interlarded his conversation with his usual number of French ejaculations.
"Eh! Hugo, mon ami," shaking both my hands heartily, "you are astonished to see me!"
"Considering you have never written me a line since your marriage, Beltrami, I certainly am."
I suppose I spoke with a certain bitterness, for the Marchese shrugged his shoulders, with a slight flush reddening his cheeks, and sat down on the bed--I mean, seeing it was daytime--the sofa.
"Ma foi! I am a newly-married man, Hugo!" he said, in an apologetic tone, "I have forgotten everything in the delightful society of that dear Contessa. But you are right to reproach me; I ought to have written, only I am so terribly negligent."
"And fickle; don't forget that trait of your character, Luigi. However, I'm glad to see you, fickle friend as you are."