“Yes,” the nightingale replied to me, “but it is not what you imagine. My wife bores me, I do not love her at all; I am in love with the rose; Sadi the Persian has mentioned it. I sing myself hoarse for her all night long, but she sleeps and does not hear me. Her chalice is shut at the present moment: she is nursing an old beetle in it—and to-morrow morning, when I reach my bed worn out with suffering and fatigue, then she will spread herself out to let a bee devour her heart!”
VANINA VANINI;
OR, PARTICULARS OF THE LAST LODGE
OF CARBONARI DISCOVERED IN THE PAPAL STATES
“STENDHAL” (HENRY BEYLE)
One evening in the spring of 182-all Rome was in a stir: the Duke of B——, the famous banker, was giving a ball at his new palace in the Piazza Venezia. The utmost magnificence that the arts of Italy and the luxury of Paris and London could produce had been brought together to embellish the palace. The throng was immense. The blonde, reserved beauties of noble England had solicited the honour of being present at this ball; they arrived in crowds. The handsomest women in Rome disputed the prize of beauty with them. A young girl, whom the brilliance of her eyes and her ebon hair proclaimed a Roman, entered escorted by her father; all eyes followed her. A singular pride shone in all her movements.
The strangers as they entered were visibly impressed by the magnificence of the ball. “None of the fêtes of the kings of Europe comes anywhere near this,” they said.
The kings have not a palace of Roman architecture: they are obliged to invite the great ladies of their courts; the Duke of B—— only invites pretty women. That evening he had been happy in his invitations; the men seemed dazzled. Among so many remarkable women the difficulty was to decide who was the handsomest. The choice for some time remained undecided; but at last the Princess Vanina Vanini, the young girl with the black hair and the eye of fire, was proclaimed queen of the ball. At once the strangers and the young men of Rome, abandoning all the other saloons, formed a crowd in the one where she was.
Her father, Prince Asdrubale Vanini, had wished her to dance first with two or three German sovereigns. After that she accepted the invitations of some Englishmen, very handsome and very noble; their air of solemnity wearied her. She evidently found more pleasure in tormenting young Livio Savelli, who seemed deeply in love. He was the most magnificent young man in Rome, and, what was more, he too was a prince; but, if you had given him a novel to read, he would have thrown the volume away after twenty pages, saying that it gave him a headache. That was a disadvantage in Vanina’s eyes.
About midnight a piece of news spread through the ball and produced a great stir. A young carbonaro, who had been confined in the Castle of Sant’ Angelo, had just escaped that very night by means of a disguise; and, with an excess of romantic daring, on arriving at the last ward of the prison, he had attacked the soldiers with a poniard; but he himself had been wounded; the police were tracking him through the streets by his blood, and they hoped to find him.
As this anecdote was being told, Don Livio Savelli, dazzled by the graces and the triumphs of Vanina, with whom he had just been dancing, said to her as, almost beside himself with love, he led her back to her place:
“But, really, who could please you?”
“That young carbonaro who has just escaped,” Vanina answered him; “he at least has done something more than take the trouble of being born.”