Vendetta! | Page 7

home," with their fat wives and ever-spreading families? Truly, yes!
But they are too cautious to say so.
I need not relate the story of my courtship--it was brief and sweet as a
song sung perfectly. There were no obstacles. The girl I sought was the
only daughter of a ruined Florentine noble of dissolute character, who
gained a bare subsistence by frequenting the gaming- tables. His child
had been brought up in a convent renowned for strict discipline--she
knew nothing of the world. She was, he assured me, with maudlin tears
in his eyes, "as innocent as a flower on the altar of the Madonna." I
believed him--for what could this lovely, youthful, low-voiced maiden
know of even the shadow of evil? I was eager to gather so fair a lily for
my own proud wearing--and her father gladly gave her to me, no doubt

inwardly congratulating himself on the wealthy match that had fallen to
the lot of his dowerless daughter.
We were married at the end of June, and Guido Ferrari graced our
bridal with his handsome and gallant presence.
"By the body of Bacchus!" he exclaimed to me when the nuptial
ceremony was over, "thou hast profited by my teaching, Fabio! A quiet
rogue is often most cunning! Thou hast rifled the casket of Venus, and
stolen her fairest jewel--thou hast secured the loveliest maiden in the
two Sicilies!"
I pressed his hand, and a touch of remorse stole over me, for he was no
longer first in my affection. Almost I regretted it--yes, on my very
wedding-morn I looked back to the old days--old now though so
recent--and sighed to think they were ended. I glanced at Nina, my wife.
It was enough! Her beauty dazzled and overcame me. The melting
languor of her large limpid eyes stole into my veins--I forgot all but her.
I was in that high delirium of passion in which love, and love only,
seems the keynote of creation. I touched the topmost peak of the height
of joy--the days were feasts of fairy-land, the nights dreams of rapture!
No; I never tired! My wife's beauty never palled upon me; she grew
fairer with each day of possession. I never saw her otherwise than
attractive, and within a few months she had probed all the depths of my
nature. She discovered how certain sweet looks of hers could draw me
to her side, a willing and devoted slave; she measured my weakness
with her own power; she knew--what did she not know? I torture
myself with these foolish memories. All men past the age of twenty
have learned somewhat of the tricks of women--the pretty playful
nothings that weaken the will and sap the force of the strongest hero.
She loved me? Oh, yes, I suppose so! Looking back on those days, I
can frankly say I believe she loved me--as nine hundred wives out of a
thousand love their husbands, namely--for what they can get. And I
grudged her nothing. If I chose to idolize her, and raise her to the
stature of an angel when she was but on the low level of mere
womanhood, that was my folly, not her fault.
We kept open house. Our villa was a place of rendezvous for the

leading members of the best society in and around Naples. My wife
was universally admired; her lovely face and graceful manners were
themes of conversation throughout the whole neighborhood. Guido
Ferrari, my friend, was one of those who were loudest in her praise, and
the chivalrous homage he displayed toward her doubly endeared him to
me. I trusted him as a brother; he came and went as pleased him; he
brought Nina gifts of flowers and fanciful trifles adapted to her taste,
and treated her with fraternal and delicate kindness. I deemed my
happiness perfect--with love, wealth, and friendship, what more could a
man desire?
Yet another drop of honey was added to my cup of sweetness. On the
first morning of May, 1882, our child was born--a girl-babe, fair as one
of the white anemones which at that season grew thickly in the woods
surrounding out home. They brought the little one to me in the shaded
veranda where I sat at breakfast with Guido--a tiny, almost shapeless
bundle, wrapped in soft cashmere and old lace. I took the fragile thing
in my arms with a tender reverence; it opened its eyes; they were large
and dark like Nina's, and the light of a recent heaven seemed still to
linger in their pure depths. I kissed the little face; Guido did the same;
and those clear, quiet eyes regarded us both with a strange
half-inquiring solemnity. A bird perched on a bough of jasmine broke
into a low, sweet song, the soft wind blew