Rensselaer Republican, Volume 25, Number 37, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 11 May 1893 — The Yellow Mask [ARTICLE]

The Yellow Mask

BY WILKIE COLLINS.

PART FIRST.

CHAPTER - About a century ago there lived in the ancient city of Pisa a famous Italian milliner, who. by way of vindicating to all customers her familiarity with Paris fashions, adopted a French title,'““and call herself the Demoiselle Grifoni. She was a wizen little woman, with a mischievous face, a quick tongue, a nimble foot, a talent for business, and an uncertain disposition. Rumor hinted that she was immensely rich, and scandal suggested that, she would do anything for money. The oiie undeniable good quality whicii raised Demoiselle Grifoni abeve al 1 her rivafs in- the trade was* her inexhaustible fortitude. She was never known to yield an inch under any pressure of adverse cir ioumstanees. Thus the memorable occasion of her life on winch she was .threatened with ruin was also the occasion on which she most triumphantly asserted the energy and decision of her character. At the height of the demoiselle’s prosperity, her skilled forewoman and cutterout basely married and started in business as her rival. Such a calamity as this would have ruined an ordinary milliner; but the invincible Grifoni rose superior to it almost without an effort, and proved incontestably that it was impossible for hostile Fortune to catch her at the end of he.r resources. While the minor milliners were .prophesying that she wpuld shut up shop, she was quietly carrying on a private correspondence with an agent in Paris. Nobody knew what these letters were about until a few weeks had elapsed, and then circulars were received by all the ladies in Pisa, announcing that the best French forewoman who could be got for money was engaged to superintend the great Grifoni establishment. This master-stroke decided the victory. All the domoiselle’s customers declined giving orders elsewhere until the forewoman from Paris nad exhibited to the natives of Pisa the latest fashions from the metropolis of the world of dress. The Frenchwoman arrived punctual to the appointed day —glib and emt, smiling and flippant, tight of face and supple of figure Her name was Mademoiselle Virginie, and her family had inhumanly deserted her. She was sot to work the moment she was inside the doors of the Grifoni establishment. A room was devoted to her own private use; magnificent materials iii velvet, silk and satin, with due accompaniment of muslins, iaces and ribbons,' were placed at her disposal; she was told to spare no expense and to produce in the shortest possible time the finest and newest specimen dresses for exhibition in the show-room. Mademoiselle Virginie undertook to do everything required of her, produced her portfolios and patterns and her book of colored designs and asked for one assistant who could speak French enough to interpret’ her orders to the Italian girls in the work room. “1 have the very person you want,” cried Demoiselle Grifoni. “A workwoman we call Brigida here —the idlest slut in Pisa, but as sharp as a needle—she has boon in France and 6peaks the language like a native. I’ll send her to you directly.” Mademoiselle Virginie was not left long alone with her patterns and silks. A tall woman, with bold, black eyes, a reckless manner and a step as firm as a man's, stalked into the room with the gait of a tragedy queen crossing the stage. The instaDt her eyes fell on the French forewoman she stopped, threw up her hands in astonishment and exclaimed; ‘’Finette!”

“Teresa!" cried the Frenchwoman, casting her scissors on the tableand advancing a few steps. “Husht call me Brigida. '’ “Hush! call me Virginie.” These two exclamations were uttered at the same moment, and then the two women scrutinized each other in silence- The swarthy cheeks of Italian turned a dull yellow and the voice of the French woman trembled a little when she spoke again. “How in the name of Heaven have }rou dropped down in the world so ow as this?” she asked. “I thought you were provided for when—” “Silence!” intemipted Brigida.

“You see I was not provided for. I have had my misfortunes, and you are the last woman alive who ought to refer to them.” “Do you think I have not had my misfortunes, too, since we met?” (Brigida’s face brightened malicious ly at those words.) “You have had your revenge," continued Mademoiselle Virghiie, coldly, turning away to the table and taking up the scissors again. Brigida followed her, threw onei arm roughly around her neck and] kissed her on the cheek. “'‘Let us be friends again, ’’shesaid. TbeFrepchwojnan laughed, ‘.‘Tell me how I have had my revenge,” pursued the <other, tightening her grasp, itade'moiselle Virginie signed to Brigida to stoop and whispered rapidly in her ear. The Italian listened eagerly, with fierce, suspicious eyes fixed on the door. When the whispering ceased, she loosened her hold, and, .with a sigh of relief, pushed back ‘her heavy black hair from her temp es. “Now ws are friends,” she

-xai&ambsat dow ni ndolcnt-ly in a chair placed by the work-table. “Friends.” repeated Mademoiselle Virginie. with another laugh. “And now for business.” she continued, getting a row of pins ready for use by putting them between her teeth. ‘‘l am here, I believe; for the purpose of ruining-the late forewoman, who has set up in opposition to us? Good! T will ruin her. Spread out the yellow brocaded silk, my dear, and pin that pattern on at vour end, while I pin at mine. And what are your plans, Brigida? (Mind you don’t forget that Finette is dead, and that Virginie has risen from her ashes.) You can't possibly intend -to stop here ati your fife? (Leave an inch outside the paper all round.) You have projects? What are' they?” “Look at my figure,” said Brigida, placing herself in an attitude in the middle of the room. “Ah,” rejoined the other, “it's not what it was. There’s too much of it. You wan t diet, walking, and a French stay - maker,” muttered Mademoiselle Virginie through her ehevaux-de-frise of pins. “Did the goddess Minerva walk, and employ a French stay-maker? I thought she rode upon clouds, and lived at a period before waists were invented.” “What do you mean?” “This—that my present project is to try if I can’t make my fortune by sitting as a model for Minerva in the studio of the best sculptor in Pisa.” “And who is he? (Unwind me a yard or two of that black lace.)” “The master-sculptor, Luca Lomi —an. old family, once noble, but down in the world now. The master is obliged to make statues to get a living for his daughters arid himself ” “More of the lace —double it over the bosom of the dress. And how is sitting to this needy sculptor to make your fortune?” “Wait a minute. There are other sculptors besides him in the studio. There is, first, his brother, the priest—Father Rocco, who passes all his spare time with the master He is a good sculptor in his way—has cast statues and made a font for his church—a holy man, who devotes all his work in the studio to the cause of piety.” “Ah, bah! we should think him a droll priest in France. You don’t expect him to put money in your pocket, surely?” “Wait, I say again. There is a third sculptor in the studio —actually a nobleman! His name is Fabio d’ Ascoli. He is rich, young, handsome, an only child, and little better than a fool. Fancy his working at sculpture, as if he had his bread to get by it—and thinking that an amusement! Imagine a man belonging to one of the best families in Pisa mad enough to want to make a reputation as an artist! Wait! wait! the best is to come. His father and mother are dead; he has no near relations in the world to exercise authority over him; he is a bachelor, and his fortune is all at his own disposal—going begging, my friend —absolutely going begging for want of a clever woman to hold out her hand and take it from him.” “Yes, yes; now I understand. The goddess Minerva is a clever woman, and she will hold out her hand and take his fortune from him with the utmost docility.”

“The first thing is to get him to offer it. I must tell you that lam not going to sit to him, but to his 1 master, Luca Lomi, who is doing the statue of Minerva. The face is modeled from his daughter, and now he wants somebody to sit for the bust and arms. Maddalena Lomi and I are as nearly, as possible the same height, I hear—the difference between us being that I have a good figure and she has a bad one. I have offered to sit, through a friencl who is employed in the studio. If the master accepts, I am sure of an introduction to our rich young gentleman; and then leave it to my good looks, my various accomplishments, and my ready tongue, to clothe rest/’ “Stop! I won’t have the- lace doubled, on second thoughts. I’ll have it single, and running all round the dress in curves—so. Well, and who is this friend of yours employed in the studio? A fourth sculptor?” “No, no; the sti’angest, simplest

-17 o 7 x little creature—” Just then a faint tap was audible at the door of the room. Brigida laid her finger on her Ups, and called impatiently to the person outside to come in. The door opened gently, and a young girl, poorly but neatly attired, entered the room. She was rather thin and under the average height; but her head and figure were in perfect proportion. Her hair was of that gorgeous auburn color, her eyes of that deep violet blue, which the portraits of Giorgione and Titan have made famous as the type of Venetian beauty. Her features possessed the definiteness and regularity, the “good modeling” (to use an artist’s term), which is the rarest of all womanly charms, in Italy as elsewhere. The one serious defect of her face was its paleness. Her cheeks, wanting nothing in form, ■wanted everything in color. That look of health, which is the essential crowning point of beauty, was the one attraction which her face did not possess. She came into the room

Iwittrasad #d wgarv expression in fiher 'em s. whiqh changed, however, I the &<J|ent gse dSkfirved | nifioenffy dneßsedl||ench fore#ori&n.. pwtfeb-ft fdok of astomshment. “araPSaJ-S ] most of awe. Her manner became shy and embarrassed; and after an instant of hesitation, she turned back silently to the door. “Stop, stop, Nanina,” Said Brigida. Italian.. “Do .’t be afraid of that lady. She is our new forewoman; and she has it in her power to do all sorts of kind things for you. Look up. and tell us what you want. You were sixteen last birthday. Nanina. and you behave like a baby of two years old!” “I only came to know-if there was any work for me to-day,” said the girl, in a very sweet voice, that trembled a little as she tried to facb the fashionable French forewoman again. "No work, child, that is easy enough for you to do,” said Brigida. “Are you going to the studio today?” Some of the. color that Nanina’s cheeks wanted began to steal over them as she answered. “Yes.” “Don’t forget my message, darling. And if Master Luca Lomi asks where I live, answer that you are ready to deliver a letter to me, but that you are forbidden to enter into any particulars at first about who I am. or where I live. ” , “Why am I forbidden?” inquired Nanina innocently. “Don’t ask questions, babyl Do as you are told. Bring me back a nice note or message to-morrow from the studio, and I will intercede with this lady to get you some work. You are a foolish child to want it, when you might make more money here and at Florence, by sitting to painters and sculptors; though what they can see to paint or model in you I never could understand.” “I like working at home better than going abread to sit,” said Nanina, looking very much abashed as she faltered out the answer, and escaping from the x-oom with a terrified farewell obeisance, which was an eccentric compound of a start, a bow, and a courtesy: “That awkward child would be pretty,” said Mademoiselle Virginie, making rapid progress with the cut-ting-out of her dress, “if she knew how to give herself a complexion, and had a presentable gown on her back. Who is she?” ‘ ‘The friend who is to get me into Master Luca Lomi’s studio,” replied Brigida, laughing. “Rather a curious ally for me to take up with, isn’t she?” “Where did you meet with her?” “Hei’e, to be sure, she hangs about this plae e for any plain work she can get to do, and takes it home to the oddest little room in a street near the Campo Santo. I had the curiosity to follow her one day, and knocked at her door soon after she had gone in, as if I was a visitor. She answered my knock in a great flurry and 'fright, as you may imagine. I made myself agreeable, affected immense interest in her affairs, and so got into her room. Such a place! A mere• cor-. ner curtained off to make a bedroom. One chair, one stool,one saucepan on the fire. Before the hearth the most grotesquely hideous unshaven poodle-dog you ever saw; and on the stool a fair little girl plaiting dinnermats. Such was the household — furniture and all included. ‘Where is your father?’ I asked. ‘Htf ran away and left us years ago,’ answers my awkward little friend who has just loft the room, speaking in that simple way of hers, with all the composure in the world. ‘And your mother?’ ‘Dead.’ She went up to the little mat-plaiting girl as she made that answer and began playing with’ her long flaxen hair. ‘Your sister, I suppose,’ said I. ‘What is her name?’ ‘They call me Laßiondella,’ says the child, looking up from her mat (La Biondella, Virginia, means Tito Fair). ‘And why do you lot that great, shaggy, illlooking brute lie before your fire-, place?* I asked. ‘Qh!’cried the little iriat-plaiter, ‘that is our dear old dog, Scaramuccia. He takes care of the house when Nanina is not at liome. He dances on his hind legs, and jumps through a hoop, and turn* hies down dead when I cry Bang! Scaramuccia followed us home one night, years ago, and he has lived with us ever since. He goes out every day by himself, we can’t tell where, and generally returns licking his chops, which makes us afraid that he is a thief; but nobody finds him out, because he is the cleverest dog that ever lived!’ The child ran on in this way about the great beast by the fireplace, till I was obliged to stop her; while that simpleton Nani-

na stood ‘by, laughing and encouraging her. tasked them a few more questions, which produced more strange answers. They did not seem to know of any relations of theirs in the world. The neighbors in the house had helped them, after their father ran away, until they were old enough to help themselves; and they did not seem to think there was anything in the least wretched or pitiable in their way of living. The last thing I heard, when I left them that day, was La Biondella crying ‘Bang!’ —then a bark, a thump on the floor, and a scream of laughter. If it was not for their dog, I should go and see theih oftener. But the ill-condi- ! tioned beast has taken a dislike to me, and growls and shows his teeth whenever I come near him.” “The girl looked sickly when she came in here. Is she always like that?” -“No. She has altered within the last month. 1 suspect our interesting young nobleman has produced an impression. The oftener the girl

has sat to him lately, the paler and more out spirits She b&s become. "> “ph! Pe has s# she?” > jf ] “She ia sitting tohun nowU He 13 doing a bust of some pagan nymph or other, and prevailed on Nanina to let him copy froni her head and face. According to her own 'account, the little fool was frightened at first and before she would consent. ” “And now she has consented, don’t yon think it likely she may turn out rather a dangerous rival? Many are such fools and take such fancies into their heads.” “Ridiculous! A thread-paper of a girl like that, who has no manner, no talk, no intelligence; who has nothing to recommend her ‘but an awkward, babyish prettiuess! Dangerous to me? No; no! If there is danger at all, I have to dread it from the sculptor’s daughter. I don’tmiud confessing that I am anxious to see Maddalena Lomi. But as for Nanina, she willsimply be of use to me.- Ail I know already about the: studio arid the artist in it I know through her.- She will deliver pay message and procure me my duction; and when we have got so far I shall give her an old gown and a shake of the hand, and then goodbye to our little innocent. ” “Well, for your sake I hope you are the wiser of the two in this matter. For my part, I always distrust innocence. Wait one moment and I shall have the body and sleeves of this dress ready for the needlewomen. There, ring the bell and order them up, for I have directions to give and you must interpret for me.” While Brigida went to to the bell the energetic Frenchwoman began planning out the skirt of the new 1 dress. She laughed as she measured off yard after yard of the silk. -“What are you laughing about?” asked Brigida. opening the door arid ringing a hand-bell in the passage. “I can’t help fancying, death in spite of her innocent face and her artless ways, that your young friend is a hypocrite. ” “Ana I am quite certain, love, that she is only a simpleton.” CHAPTER 11. The studio of master sculptor Luca Lomi was composed of two large rooms unequally divided by a wooden partition, with an arched doorway cut in the middle of it. While the milliners in the Grifoni establishment were industriously shaping dresses the sculptors in Luca Lomi’s workshop were, in their way, quite as hard at woi-k shaping mai’ble and clay. In the smaller of the two rooms the young -nobleman (only addressed in the studio by his Christian name of Fabio) was busily engaged on his bust, with Nliiina sitting before him as a model. His was not one of those traditional Italian faces from which subtlety and suspicion are supposed to look darkly on the world. Both countenance and expression proclaimed his character frankly and freely to all who saw him. Quick intelligence looked brightly from his eyes, and easy good humor laughed out pleasantly in the rather quaint curve of his lips. For the rest, his face expressed the defects as well as the merits of his character, showing that he wanted resolution and perseverance just as plainly as it showed also that he possessed amiability and intelligence. At the end of the large room nearest to the street dear Lucca Lomi was standing by his life-size statue of Minerva, and issuing directions from time to time to some of his workmen, who were roughly chiseling the drapery of another figure; at the opposite side of the room, nearest to the. partition, his brother, Father Rocco, was taking a cast from a statuette Of the Madonna; while Maddalena Lomi, thesculptox-’s daughter, released from sitting for Minerva’s face, walked about the two rooms and watched what' was going on in them. There was a strong family likeness of a certain kind between father, brother and daughter. All three were tall, handsome, dark-haired and dark-eyed; nevertheless, they differed in expression, strikingly as they resembled One another In feature. Maddalena Lomi’s face, betrayed strong passion, but not an ungenerous nature. Her father, with the same indications of a violent temper, had some sinister lines about his mouth and forehead which suggested anything rather than an open disposition. Father Rocco’s countenance, on the other hand, looked like the personification of absolute calmness and invincible moderation; and his manner, which, in a very firm way; was singularly quiet and deliberate,

assisted in carrying out the impression produced by his face. The daughter seemed as though she copld fly into a passion at a moment’s notice, and forgive also at a moment’s notice. The father, appearing to be just qs irritable, had something in his face which said, as plainly as if in words, “Anger me, and I never pardon.” The priest looked as if he need never be called on either to ask forgiveness or to grant it. for the double reason that he could irritate nobody else; rind that npbody else could irritate him. “Rocco," said Luoca, looking at the face of his Minerva, which was now finished, “this statue of mine (vill make a sensation.” 1 1 “I am glad to hear it,” rejoined the priest dryly. “It’s a new thing in aft,” continued Lucca enthusiastically. “Other sculptors, with a classical subject like mine, limit themselves to the ideal classical face, and never think of aiming at individual character. Now I do precisely the reverse of

that. I get my handsome daughter, Maddalena. U s|T W eraji likgifesf;; of 4'"“ I prihy lose Una ideal?' beauty, gain in todmduaT character. . People may accuse me of disregarding established-rules; but my answer is, that I make my own rules. My daughter looks like a Minerva, and there she -4s exactly asahe looks.” - “It is certainly a wonderful likeness,” said Father Rocco, approach* ing the statue. “It is the girl herself,” cried the other. “Exactly her expression, and exactly her features. Measure Maddalena, and measure Minerva, and, from forehead to chin, you won’t find a hair-bieadth of difference between them.” “But how about the bust and arms, of the figure, now the face is done?” asked the priest, returning as he spoke to his own wox*k. “I may have the very model I want for them to-morrow. Little Nanina has just given me the strangest message. What do you think of a mysterious lady admirer -wfa»offers to~sit for the bust and arms of my Minerva?” “Are you going to accept the the offer?” inquired the priest. “I am going to receive her to-mor-row; and if I really find that she is the same height as Maddalena, and has a bust and arms worth modeling, of course I shall offer; for she will be the very sitter I have been looking after for weeks past. Who Can she be? For that is the mystery I want to find out. Which do you say, Rocco—an enthusiast or or an adventuress?” “I do not presume to say, for I have no mearis of knowing.” “Ah, there you are with your moderation again. Now, I do presume to assert that she must be either one or the other, or she would not have forbidden Nanina to say anything about her in answer to all my first natural inquiries. Where is Maddalena? I thought she was here a minute ago?” “She is in Fabio’s room,’’ answered Father Rocco softly. “Shall I call her? 1 ’