French fiction -- Translations into English; Short stories
At that name all was made clear. In spite of her pallor the young lady
did not look like a ghost; she lowered her eyes, a thing ghosts never
do, and held her hands clasped in a modest attitude before her girdle,
which made me think that my friend Don Ottavio was not so much of a
politician as I had imagined. In short, it was high time to take
Lucrezia away; and, unfortunately, the role of confidant was the only
one deputed to me in this adventure.
A moment after Don Ottavio arrived, disguised. The horses came too; and
we set off. Lucrezia had no passport; but a woman, especially a pretty
one, raises no suspicions. One gendarme, however, raised difficulties. I
told him he was a hero, and had assuredly served under the great
Napoleon. He acknowledged the fact, and I offered him a portrait of that
great man on a golden coin, telling him that it was my habit to travel
with a lady friend to keep me company; and that, as I very frequently
changed them, I did not think it any use to put their names on my
passport.
"This one," I added, "leaves me at the next town. I am told that I
shall find many others there who could take her place."
"You would do wrong to change her," said the gendarme, as he
respectfully shut the carriage door.
To tell you the truth, Madam, this rascal of a Don Ottavio had entered
upon terms of friendship with a lovely young lady. She was the sister of
a certain wealthy planter named Vanozzi, who earned a bad name for
himself for being very stingy, and carrying on illicit trade. Don
Ottavio knew very well that, even if his family had not intended him for
the Church, they would never have consented to let him marry a girl so
much lower in social position than himself.
Love is ingenious. The Abbé Negroni's pupil succeeded in holding a
secret correspondence with his beloved. Every night he escaped from the
Aldobrandi palace, and, as he had not dared to scale the walls of
Vanozzi's house, the two lovers arranged to meet in Madam Lucrezia's
house, which was protected by its ill-repute. A little door hidden by a
fig tree communicated between the two gardens. They were young and in
love, and Lucrezia and Ottavio did not complain of the paucity of
furnishing, which consisted, as I think I have already pointed out, of
an old leather-covered armchair.
One night, when waiting for Don Ottavio, Lucrezia mistook me for him,
and made me the present which I received in his place. There was
certainly some resemblance between Don Ottavio's figure and appearance
and my own, and some scandal-mongers, who knew my father in Rome,
maintained that there were reasons for this likeness. In course of time
the accursed brother discovered their meetings; but his threats did not
make Lucrezia reveal her seducer's name. We know how he took vengeance
and how I was to pay their debt. It is needless to tell you how the two
lovers took steps respectfully to set themselves free.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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