Stradella | Page 5

of the introduction,
but said nothing. She saw, however, that Stradella had already noticed
the manuscript of his own music on the stool beside her.
'You may sing "Amor mi dice" to the Maestro,' said the Senator, taking

a seat. 'A little composition of my own,' he added, with a self-satisfied
smile, for the musician's information. 'I have taught it to my niece
myself.'
For one instant Stradella's eyes met the young girl's and she returned
their glance. It was enough; they already understood each other.
Doubtless the composer had met his patron more than once and knew
his weakness and what to expect now. Ortensia resumed her seat, and
drew her full skirt into folds on her knee, for her lute to rest on.
Stradella sat down at a little distance and looked at the Persian carpet,
and she could not help seeing that he had remarkably well-turned legs
and ankles, and wore very well-made shoes of soft purple leather with
handsome chiselled silver buckles. She felt inclined to raise her eyes to
his face again, but resisted the temptation, and turned resolutely
towards her uncle as she struck the opening chords of the
accompaniment.
The musician now looked up and watched her. At first he put on the
amiable smile which professionals keep especially for amateurs, and as
a matter of politeness he listened attentively, till he had convinced
himself that the song, as he had expected, belonged to that large class
of which the chief characteristic is a general resemblance to everything
of the kind that was ever written before, and will ever be written
hereafter. This being settled after hearing a few bars, Stradella quietly
gave himself up to the pleasure of looking at the young girl, though he
often turned towards the Senator, who expected admiration at every full
close, and meant to get it.
He thought he did; for the effect of watching Ortensia was to bring to
the musician's own face an expression of such genuine delight that
Pignaver could not fail to be pleased, since he attributed it to the charm
of his composition. He was in the seventh heaven. Here, at last, was a
true genius, able to appreciate his talent as it deserved. Here was a
master fit to teach such noble music, as it should really be sung.
Ortensia should profit by the opportunity, even if Stradella asked a
silver ducat for each lesson. For once, money was no object to the
Senator. The triumph his young bride would certainly bring him, in

singing his songs after being taught by Alessandro Stradella, would be
worth much more than gold.
She sang the stuff as creditably as it deserved, her voice was fresh and
true, and her touch on the lute was at once light and sure. With such a
face, what did it matter that the song was exactly like a thousand others?
The musician praised it so enthusiastically that the Senator was almost
satisfied for once.
'You flatter me,' he said, bowing a little in his chair, spreading out his
hands in a gesture of deprecation and grinning like a pleased monkey.
'Not in the least, my lord, I assure you,' answered Stradella with great
emphasis. 'If I were capable of flattering you, I should not deserve the
confidence you place in me, in desiring me to give this gifted young
lady a few lessons.'
Ortensia pretended to be busy with her lute, bending over it and softly
trying the upper strings, though they were already perfectly in tune. But
she was listening to the young master, and she thought she had rarely
heard a voice that had more winning tones in speaking, or an accent
that pleased her better. And as she bent down she could just see his
well-turned ankles and purple leather shoes.
'It would be my wish,' the Senator said, 'that you should give her some
hints as to the performance of a number of my songs. Yes, I have
devoted much time to your art as well as to poetry. Hitherto I have
written ninety-seven songs, both words and music. Yes, I have been
industrious. If my niece had my industry she would know them all by
this time.'
Ortensia bent still lower, till her face almost touched the frets of the
instrument, and she was biting her lip; but Stradella was imperturbable.
'I trust you may be spared to contribute many more beautiful
compositions to the art treasures of our country,' he said politely.
'I hope so,' answered Pignaver with gravity.

And then--Ortensia looked up, and for the second time her eyes met the
musician's, and she felt that he and she already understood each other.
With many patronising smiles on the Senator's part, and many flattering
expressions of admiration and respectful salutations from Stradella,