CHAPTER XII.
[CONFESSIONS.]
"When you receive these lines," wrote Giulia, "I shall have left Kulmitten with Beate, and all traces of me, it is to be hoped, will be lost to you and to the world. I take nothing with me, save the remembrance of your goodness and love, and they shall support me in my forsakenness, and render it possible for me to endure life.
"What else can it be to me, but an atonement of the past, but a prayer, a prayer for forgiveness? I shall never learn if it be fulfilled, but in my best hours I shall comfort myself with it, I shall hope and believe in it, as we believe in one only happiness!
"And I dare believe and hope, because the crime that I committed was committed only through boundless love for you, through passion that gives up and sacrifices everything for the possession of the beloved one, even its duty, its honour--at least that which before law and the world passes for such. I had hoped to be able to preserve my secret, and at the same time untroubled happiness for you, even although mine was ever disturbed by pangs of conscience; it has been ordained differently, the veil has suddenly fallen. I stand as a criminal before your eyes. If you, too, measure me with the measure of others, then there is no absolution for me, but you, whom I loved most deeply, will also be more capable than all others of forgiveness.
"The whole history of my sorrow is connected with a man who has now met with so terrible an end, he was fatal to my life. I may regret that a low mind made him an unsettled, unhappy wanderer upon earth, but I cannot weep for him, because tears are too precious to be wasted upon what is ignoble. Others may, perhaps, think the same of me, but every great passion has an atoning power. The story of my life is short, but eventful.
"My parents possessed a small estate near Bergamo; they exchanged it for another in the Italian Tyrol, but they were unfortunate, their affairs went wrong. Young as I was, I had to think of earning something for myself, and as I was esteemed tolerably good looking, and my voice melodious and strong, it was determined that I should devote myself to the stage. Influential friends provided for my education, so that I might enter the chorus at the Pergola, in Florence.
"I was eighteen years old, I did not know life. In my dreams I might sketch a brilliant future for myself: the present was poor enough, it did not satisfy the ambition of artistic struggles, it barely yielded daily bread. Gradually, however, I began to receive subordinate parts, in which, if not by my singing, yet by my voice, my whole manner, I could rouse people's attention.
"At that time I became acquainted with Baluzzi; he was twenty years older than I, and also a chorus singer, but for him the chorus was only a place of refuge, as it seemed, the sad close to a mysterious life. He was considered to be a handsome man, all my friends were proud when he paid them any little attention. Soon he began to distinguish me especially, which roused my companions' jealousy, made me, however, the more susceptible of the tokens of his favour. He understood how to win a young heart; he surrounded himself with the charm of recklessness; here and there he allowed a reminiscence of his past, a picture to gleam shedding around him the halo of a bold, daring man. Being a member of the chorus appeared to us as a disguise which he had assumed in his momentary need.
"Unacquainted with life, captivated by Baluzzi's fiery glances, and the power of his language, I was soon beneath his spell. I loved him with inexperienced, ardent love. An event also occurred that showed me his uncontrolled feelings, it is true, but also the strength of his passion. I had inspired a Florentine noble with one of those transient affections which the stage so easily ignited. I had treated him politely, and he looked upon me as an easy prey. Late one evening he came to me. I bade him leave, he became more importunate. Baluzzi had watched for him, came to me, drew out his dagger, and wounded the nobleman. The wound was not dangerous and my well-born friend deemed it best to observe silence. I, however, could gauge Baluzzi's love for me by the measure of his savage jealousy.