Christabel Coleridge - Hugh Crichton's Romance

“Don’t be silly,” said poor Rosa, irritated both by the smile and the sentiment. “Is that all?”

“He told me of his home – he said we should be friends – he asked me for a rose, and kissed my hand for it – he said he thought it was Italian fashion.”

“Oh, Violante, why didn’t you tell me before?”

“Oh,” with a funny little air of superiority, “one does not think of telling.”

Rosa pressed Violante tight in her arms, and set her lips hard, and when she spoke it was very low and steadily.

“My child, you know how I love you, that I only think how to make you happy. Mr Crichton had no right to play with you so; but it was my fault for letting you be thrown in his way. Young men will do those things, just to amuse themselves.”

“Some will.”

“ Some ?” said Rosa bitterly. “You little foreign girl – he would think of you just as of a pretty flower, to please him for a time, and then he will go home and leave you to repent that you have ever known him!”

“Never – never,” cried Violante, clasping her hands. “Never – if my heart should break.”

Rosa stamped her foot, and hot, cruel tears, that burnt as they fell, half choked her.

“I dare say he has never thought that you would take what he said seriously. If he likes you, he could not marry you – he must marry some English girl of his own rank. You must put him out of your head, and I must take better care of you.”

Violante’s views of the future were scarcely so definite as these words implied, but she shivered, and a chill fell on her spirits.

“Now,” said Rosa, “I believe Signor Vasari does really care for you.”

“Signor Vasari! I hate him!” cried Violante. “Rosa, I will be good – I will act – I will sing – but I will not hear of Signor Vasari. If he kissed me, I would kill him!”

“For shame, Violante, that is a very improper way of speaking. Oh, my child, will you promise me to be good?”

Violante did not answer. Was there a secret rebellion in the heart that had always given Rosa back love for love?

“Violante mia – you don’t think me unkind to you?”

Violante looked up and smiled, and taking Rosa’s face between her two little hands, covered it with sweet, fond kisses.

“Rosa, carissima mia, shall you do anything?”

“No,” said Rosa, considering. “I think not. If you will be a good child, and steady – now father will be coming back.”

“Oh, you will not tell him?”

“No, no – certainly not; but you have not practised.”

“I could not sing a note!”

“No, not now,” said Rosa steadily. “You must drink some coffee, and go and lie down for a little. And then you must bathe your eyes, and put up your hair, and come and sing for as long as father wishes.”

Violante obeyed, and Rosa having administered the coffee, and seen that no more tears were likely to result from solitude, left her to rest, and came back to await her father and consider the situation. She did not like the look of it at all. Violante was a good, obedient child, who tried to do as she was told, and had no power to rebel against fate. But she knew nothing of self-conquest or of self-control, and when she was unhappy had no thought but to cling to Rosa, and cry till she was comforted; while under all her timidity lay the power of a certain fervour of feeling against which she had never dreamed of struggling. Sweet and humble, innocent and tender, yet with a most passionate nature, how could she contend with feelings which were more

how endure the pangs of disappointment, added to the strain of an uncongenial life?

“I think she will break her heart,” thought Rosa to herself. But then arose the consolatory thought that a life which seemed attractive to herself could not be so painful to her sister, and the probability that Violante’s feeling for her lover had not gone beyond the region of sentimental fancy.

Rosa, being naturally of a sanguine temperament, inclined to the latter opinion, and rose up smiling as her father came in.

“Well, and where is Violante – has she practised yet?” demanded Signor Mattei.

“No, father; she was too tired, she will come directly and sing for as long as you like.”

“The child is possessed,” muttered Signor Mattei.

“Now, father,” said Rosa, in a tone rather too decided to be quite filial, “you must leave Violante to me. I will manage her, and take care that she sings her best on Tuesday. But if she is scolded and frightened, she will break down. I know she will.”

“Well, figlia mia,” said Signor Mattei, somewhat meekly, for Rosa was the domestic authority, and was at that moment chopping up an excellent salad for him, and pouring on abundance of oil with her own hands. “But it is hard that my daughter should be such a little fool.”

“So it is,” said Rosa laughing, “but she will be good now. Now then, Violante,” opening the bedroom door.

There lay Violante, her sweet round lips smiling, her soft eyes serene, her own fears and Rosa’s warnings driven into the back-ground by the excitement of her confession, and by the thought of how Hugh had thanked her for her song.

She threw her arms round Rosa with a hearty, girlish embrace, quite different from the despairing clinging of an hour before.

“Yes, I am coming. My hair? Oh, father likes it so,” brushing it out into its native ripples. “There, my red ribbon. Now I will be buona – buonissima figlia.” And she ran into the sitting-room and up to her father, pausing with a full, sweeping curtsey.

“Grazie – mille grazie – signore e signori,” she said. “Is that right, padre mio?”

And her father, seeing her with her floating hair, her eyes and cheeks bright with the excitement that was making her heart beat like a bird in its cage, might well exclaim – “Child, you might bring the house down if you would. Come and kiss me, and go and sing ‘Batti batti,’ before you have your supper.”

“My dearest Hugh, —

“I write at once to tell you our good news. The class lists are out, and Arthur has got a second. I am sure he deserves it, for he has worked splendidly, and I always thought he would do well. I hope his success will not alter his wishes with regard to the bank where your dear father so much wished to see him take a place; but the life may seem rather hum-drum, and Arthur is naturally much flattered at all the things that have been said to him at Oxford. The girls are delighted. I am so glad you are enjoying yourself, but how much time you have spent at Civita Bella! When do you think of returning? I am going to give some parties as a sort of introduction for Mysie. The Clintons are coming. I don’t know if you admire Katie Clinton; she is a very nice girl, and she is thought a beauty. That fence by the oak copse is in a sad state; do you think James Jennings ought to mend it? We have a very good hay crop. I have had a rapturous letter from Jem, but you say less about your delights. I wish you would choose a present for me for each of the girls from Italy, and I should like to give Arthur something on his success, but I dare say he would rather choose some books for himself.

“Ever my dearest boy, —

“Your loving mother, —

“L. Spencer Crichton.”

Redhurst House, Oxley.

This letter was brought to Hugh Crichton as he was dressing for the performance of “Don Giovanni,” at which “Mademoiselle Mattei” was to make her first appearance before the public of Civita Bella. The Tollemaches were full of interest in her success; and Hugh and James had selected the bouquets which were to be thrown to her, with both the ladies to help them, and Hugh’s choice of white and scented flowers was declared by Emily to be remarkably appropriate to Violante.