The Ghost Feeler (4 page)

‘Thereat, Nencia said (who was standing by), the Duchess flushed wonderfully red and waved him out of the room; and then “Quick!” she cried to my grandmother (who was too glad to run on such errands). “Call me Antonio, the gardener's boy, to the box-garden; I've a word to say to him about the new clove-carnations ...”

‘Now I may not have told you, sir, that in the crypt under the chapel there has stood, for more generations than a man can count, a stone coffin containing a thigh-bone of the blessed Saint Blandina of Lyons, a relic offered, I've been told, by some great Duke of France to one of our own dukes when they fought the Turk together; and the object, ever since, of particular veneration in this illustrious family. Now, since the Duchess had been left to herself, it was observed she affected a fervent devotion to this relic, praying often in the chapel and even causing the stone slab that covered the entrance to the crypt to be replaced by a wooden one, that she might at will descend and kneel by the coffin. This was matter of edification to all the household, and should have been peculiarly pleasing to the chaplain; but, with respect to you, he was the kind of man who brings a sour mouth to the eating of the sweetest apple.

‘However that may be, the Duchess, when she dismissed him, was seen running to the garden, where she talked earnestly with the boy Antonio about the new clove-carnations, and the rest of the day she sat indoors and played sweetly on the virginal. Now Nencia always had it in mind that her Grace had made a mistake in refusing that request of the chaplain's; but she said nothing, for to talk reason to the Duchess was of no more use than praying for rain in a drought.

‘Winter came early that year, there was snow on the hills by All Souls, the wind stripped the gardens, and the lemon-trees were nipped in the lemon-house. The Duchess kept her room in this black season, sitting over the fire, embroidering, reading books of devotion (which was a thing she had never done), and praying frequently in the chapel. As for the chaplain, it was a place he never set foot in but to say mass in the morning, with the Duchess overhead in the tribune, and the servants aching with rheumatism on the marble floor. The chaplain himself hated the cold, and galloped through the mass like a man with witches after him. The rest of the day he spent in his library, over a brazier, with his eternal books ...

‘You'll wonder, sir, if I'm ever to get to the gist of the story; and I've gone slowly, I own, for fear of what's coming. Well, the winter was long and hard. When it fell cold the Duke ceased to come out from Vicenza, and not a soul had the Duchess to speak to but her maid-servants and the gardeners about the place. Yet it was wonderful, my grandmother said, how she kept her brave colours and her spirits; only it was remarked that she prayed longer in the chapel, where a brazier was kept burning for her all day. When the young are denied their natural pleasures they turn often enough to religion; and it was a mercy, as my grandmother said, that she, who had scarce a live sinner to speak to, should take such comfort in a dead saint.

‘My grandmother seldom saw her that winter, for though she showed a brave front to all, she kept more and more to herself, choosing to have only Nencia about her, and dismissing even her when she went to pray. For her devotion has that mark of true piety, that she wished it not to be observed; so that Nencia had strict orders, on the chaplain's approach, to warn her mistress if she happened to be in prayer.

‘Well, the winter passed, and spring was well forward, when my grandmother one evening had a bad fright. That it was her own fault I won't deny, for she'd been down the lime-walk with Antonio when her aunt fancied her to be stitching in her chamber; and seeing a sudden light in Nencia's window, she took fright lest her disobedience be found out, and ran up quickly through the laurel-grove to the house. Her way lay by the chapel, and as she crept past it, meaning to slip in through the scullery, and groping her way, for the dark had fallen and the moon was scarce up, she heard a crash close behind her, as though some one had dropped from a window of the chapel. The young fool's heart turned over, but she looked round as she ran, and there, sure enough, was a man scuttling across the terrace; and as he doubled the corner of the house my grandmother swore she caught the whisk of the chaplain's skirts. Now that was a strange thing, certainly; for why should the chaplain be getting out of the chapel window when he might have passed through the door? For you may have noticed, sir, there's a door leads from the chapel into the saloon on the ground floor; the only other way out being through the Duchess's tribune.

‘Well, my grandmother turned the matter over, and next time she met Antonio in the lime-walk (which, by reason of her fright, was not for some days) she laid before him what had happened; but to her surprise he only laughed and said: “You little simpleton, he wasn't getting out of the window, he was trying to look in”; and not another word could she get from him.

‘So the reason moved on to Easter, and news came the Duke had gone to Rome for that holy festivity. His comings and goings made no change at the villa, and yet there was no one there but felt easier to think his yellow face was on the far side of the Apennines, unless perhaps it was the chaplain.

‘Well, it was one day in May that the Duchess, who had walked long with Nencia on the terrace, rejoicing at the sweetness of the prospect and the pleasant scent of the gillyflowers in the stone vases, the Duchess towards mid-day withdrew to her rooms, giving orders that her dinner should be served in her bedchamber. My grandmother helped to carry in the dishes, and observed, she said, the singular beauty of the Duchess, who in honour of the fine weather had put on a gown of shot-silver and hung her bare shoulders with pearls, so that she looked fit to dance at court with an emperor. She had ordered, too, a rare repast for a lady that heeded so little what she ate – jellies, game-pasties, fruits in syrup, spiced cakes and a flagon of Greek wine; and she nodded and clapped her hands as the women set it before her, saying again and again, “I shall eat well today.”

‘But presently another mood seized her, she turned from the table, called for her rosary, and said to Nencia: “The fine weather has made me neglect my devotions. I must say a litany before I dine.”

‘She ordered the women out and barred the door, as her custom was; and Nencia and my grandmother went downstairs to work in the linen-room.

‘Now the linen-room gives on the courtyard, and suddenly my grandmother saw a strange sight approaching. First up the avenue came the Duke's carriage (whom all thought to be in Rome), and after it, drawn by a long string of mules and oxen, a cart carrying what looked like a kneeling figure wrapped in death-clothes. The strangeness of it struck the girl dumb, and the Duke's coach was at the door before she had the wit to cry out that it was coming. Nencia, when she saw it, went white and ran out of the room. My grandmother followed, scared by her face, and the two fled along the corridor to the chapel. On the way they met the chaplain, deep in a book, who asked in surprise where they were running, and when they said to announce the Duke's arrival, he fell into such astonishment, and asked them so many questions, and uttered such Ohs and Ahs, that by the time he let them by the Duke was at their heels. Nencia reached the chapel-door first, and cried out that the Duke was coming; and before she had a reply he was at her side, with the chaplain following.

‘A moment later the door opened and there stood the Duchess. She held her rosary in one hand and had drawn a scarf over her shoulders; but they shone through it like the moon in a mist, and her countenance sparkled with beauty.

‘The Duke took her hand with a bow. “Madam,” he said, “I could have had no greater happiness than thus to surprise you at your devotions.”

‘“My own happiness”, she replied, “would have been greater had your Excellency prolonged it by giving me notice of your arrival.”

‘“Had you expected me, Madam,” said he, “your appearance could scarcely have been more fitted to the occasion. Few ladies of your youth and beauty array themselves to venerate a saint as they would to welcome a lover.”

‘“Sir,” she answered, “having never enjoyed the latter opportunity, I am constrained to make the most of the former. — What's that?” she cried, falling back, and the rosary dropped from her hand.

‘There was a loud noise at the other end of the saloon, as of a heavy object being dragged down the passage; and presently a dozen men were seen hauling across the threshold the shrouded thing from the οχ-cart. The Duke waved his hand toward it. “That,” said he, “Madam, is a tribute to your extraordinary piety. I have heard, with peculiar satisfaction of your devotion to the blessed relics in this chapel, and to commemorate a zeal which neither the rigours of winter nor the sultriness of summer could abate, I have ordered a sculptured image of you, marvellously executed by the Cavaliere Bernini, to be placed before the altar over the entrance to the crypt.”

‘The Duchess, who had grown pale, nevertheless smiled playfully at this. “As to commemorating my piety,” she said, “I recognize there one of your Excellency's pleasantries—”

‘“A pleasantry?” the Duke interrupted; and he made a sign to the men, who had now reached the threshold of the chapel. In an instant the wrappings fell from the figure, and there knelt the Duchess to the life. A cry of wonder rose from all, but the Duchess herself stood whiter than the marble.

‘“You will see,” says the Duke, “this is no pleasantry, but a triumph of the incomparable Bernini's chisel. The likeness was done from your miniature portrait by the divine Elisabetta Sirani, which I sent to the master some six months ago, with what results all must admire.”

‘“Six months!” cried the Duchess, and seemed about to fall; but his Excellency caught her by the hand.

‘“Nothing,” he said, “could better please me than the excessive emotion you display, for true piety is ever modest, and your thanks could not take a form that better became you. And now,” says he to the men, “let the image be put in place.”

‘By this time, life seemed to have returned to the Duchess, and she answered him with a deep reverence. “That I should be overcome by so unexpected a grace, your Excellency admits to be natural; but what honours you accord it is my privilege to accept, and I entreat only that in mercy to my modesty the image be placed in the remotest part of the chapel.”

‘At that the Duke darkened. “What! You would have this masterpiece of a renowned chisel, which, I disguise not, cost me the price of a good vineyard in gold pieces, you would have it thrust out of sight like the work of a village stonecutter?”

‘“It is my semblance, not the sculptor's work, I desire to conceal.”

‘“If you are fit for my house, Madam, you are fit for God's, and entitled to the place of honour in both. Bring the statue forward, you dawdlers!” he called out to the men.

‘The Duchess fell back submissively. “You are right, sir, as always; but I would at least have the image stand on the left of the altar, that, looking up, it may behold your Excellency's seat in the tribune.”

‘“A pretty thought, Madam, for which I thank you; but I design before long to put my companion image on the other side of the altar; and the wife's place, as you know, is at her husband's right hand.”

‘“True, my Lord – but, again, if my poor presentment is to have the unmerited honour of kneeling beside yours, why not place both before the altar, where it is our habit to pray in life?”

‘“And where, Madam, should we kneel if they took our places? Besides,” says the Duke, still speaking very blandly, “I have a more particular purpose in placing your image over the entrance to the crypt; for not only would I thereby mark your special devotion to the blessed saint who rests there, but, by sealing up the opening in the pavement, would assure the perpetual preservation of that holy martyr's bones, which hitherto have been too thoughtlessly exposed to sacrilegious attempts.”

‘“What attempts, my Lord?” cries the Duchess. “No one enters this chapel without my leave.”

‘“So I have understood, and can well believe from what I have learned of your piety; yet at night a malefactor might break in through a window, Madam, and your Excellency not know it.”

‘“I'm a light sleeper,” said the Duchess.

‘The Duke looked at her gravely. “Indeed?” said he. “A bad sign at your age. I must see that you are provided with a sleeping-draught.”

‘The Duchess's eyes filled. “You would deprive me, then, of the consolation of visiting those venerable relics?”

‘“I would have you keep eternal guard over them, knowing no one to whose care they may more fittingly be entrusted.”

‘At this the image was brought close to the wooden slab that covered the entrance to the crypt, when the Duchess, springing forward, placed herself in the way.

‘“Sir, let the statue be put in place tomorrow, and suffer me, tonight, to say a last prayer beside those holy bones.”

‘The Duke stepped instantly to her side. “Well thought, Madam; I will go down with you now, and we will pray together.”

‘“Sir, your long absences have, alas! given me the habit of solitary devotion, and I confess that any presence is distracting.”

‘“Madam, I accept your rebuke. Hitherto, it is true, the duties of my station have constrained me to long absences; but henceforward I remain with you while you live. Shall we go down into the crypt together?”