Historical fiction; Italy -- History -- Revolution of 1848 -- Fiction; War stories
Beppo thereby receiving the cue he had commenced beating for, swore to
its truth profoundly, and straightway directed his statement to prove
that his mistress had not been politically (or amorously, if the
suspicion aimed at her in those softer regions) indiscreet or blameable
in any of her actions. The signorina, he said, never went out from her
abode without the companionship of her meritorious mother and his own
most humble attendance. He, Beppo, had a master and a mistress, the
Signor Mertyrio and the Signorina Vittoria. She saw no foreigners:
though--a curious thing!--he had seen her when the English language was
talked in her neighbourhood; and she had a love for that language: it
made her face play in smiles like an infant's after it has had suck and
is full;--the sort of look you perceive when one is dreaming and hears
music. She did not speak to foreigners. She did not care to go to
foreign cities, but loved Milan, and lived in it free and happy as
an earwig in a ripe apricot. The circumvallation of Milan gave her
elbow-room enough, owing to the absence of forts all round--'which knock
one's funny-bone in Verona, signora.' Beppo presented a pure smile upon
a simple bow for acceptance. 'The air of Milan,' he went on, with less
confidence under Laura's steady gaze, and therefore more forcing of his
candour--'the sweet air of Milan gave her a deep chestful, so that she
could hold her note as long as five lengths of a fiddle-bow:--by the
body of Sant' Ambrogio, it was true!' Beppo stretched out his arm,
and chopped his hand edgeways five testificatory times on the
shoulder-ridge. 'Ay, a hawk might fly from St. Luke's head (on the
Duomo) to the stone on San Primo over Como, while the signorina held
on her note! You listened, you gasped--you thought of a poet in his
dungeon, and suddenly, behold, his chains are struck off!--you
thought of a gold-shelled tortoise making his pilgrimage to a beatific
shrine!--you thought--you knew not what you thought!'
Here Beppo sank into a short silence of ecstasy, and wakening from it,
as with an ardent liveliness: 'The signora has heard her sing? How to
describe it! Tomorrow night will be a feast for Milan.'
'You think that the dilettanti of Milan will have a delight to-morrow
night?' said Laura; but seeing that the man's keen ear had caught note
of the ironic reptile under the flower, and unwilling to lose further
time, she interdicted his reply.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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