Buch lesen: «A Noble Name; or, Dönninghausen», Seite 14

CHAPTER XIX
PROFESSIONAL ENTHUSIASM

The Freiherr had bought Tannhagen, and had acceded to Otto's entreaty that the marriage might take place at the end of May. There was much to do before then to make the 'old barracks,' as the Freiherr called the farm-house, habitable. There was no end of consultations with builders and workmen. Hangings and carpets were ordered. Löbel Wolf, who had been taken into favour again, ransacked the country round for old furniture to suit Johanna's taste; Aunt Thekla contributed chests full of linen, and Otto was perpetually going to and fro urging the workmen at Tannhagen to greater speed and keeping his grandfather informed of all that was doing.

The Freiherr seemed to grow younger and more cheerful every day amid these constant calls upon his interest. They helped him to forego the usual Christmas gathering this year, and to bear the absence of Johann Leopold. Hedwig could not, of course, travel with her new-born baby, and Hildegard's children had the measles, – very fortunately for their mother, who was reluctant to witness the happiness of the betrothed pair. Magelone also was away. She had developed a tender affection for Hedwig's boys, and begged her grandfather to allow her to spend her Christmas with them.

It was a great pleasure, shortly before Christmas-day, to receive a letter from Johann Leopold. It was plain, however, from its contents that a previous packet, containing a letter from Ludwig Werner in answer to the announcement of Johanna's betrothal, had been lost. This time only Johann Leopold wrote. Ludwig had been absent from him for a while upon an expedition to the interior, which the writer did not feel strong enough to join. He said nothing special about his health, but from several of his expressions it seemed plain that the hopes he had entertained as to the effect of his travels had not been confirmed, and, in spite of the pleasure and interest they had afforded him, there might be read between the lines of his letter a certain desire for home, the longing of an invalid to be once more living quiet days amid familiar scenes. Still, he did not seem inclined to hasten his return. He wrote that the work of the expedition to which Ludwig Werner belonged would hardly be finished before the end of the summer, so that he could not expect to see Dönninghausen again before the autumn. He was, of course, all the more anxious for a detailed account of all that passed there, and asked particularly concerning the plans of the betrothed pair, whom he cordially begged to rely upon his brotherly aid whenever they might require it. Sympathy with their happiness, he added, should cheer his own life of renunciation.

"Poor Magelone!" thought Otto, when he heard this portion of the letter. "How can she depend for future happiness upon such a shadow of a man?" But the old Freiherr declared that it was all hypochondriacal nonsense, and that when the bustle of the outfit and the wedding were over at Tannhagen, the same thing should be begun at Dönninghausen.

"You will see, Thekla," he said to his sister, "when it comes to seriously building his nest, Johann Leopold will be just as sensible as Otto has become. I never should have believed that the lad could be so practical and industrious. It gives me the greatest pleasure to see it."

Even Johanna was surprised at Otto's unwearied zeal, but she could not help thinking that in his care for outward circumstances, the frame of life, he was overlooking the life itself, and his ardent tenderness could not indemnify her for the want of that congeniality of mind and thought which she had hoped for from her lover, and for which she longed daily. Otto declared that there would be time enough for philosophizing when they were settled in their Tannhagen solitude; at present it seemed to him best to discuss the alterations in the house, the laying out of the garden, the carpets, and the furniture. And since Johanna's taste differed widely from his own, which was all for the modern, the elegant, and the graceful, while she would have had her furniture in artistic harmony with her house, there was no end to discussions upon household matters, which left Otto no time for what interested Johanna more deeply.

She would not admit to herself that he lacked interest in everything save what was superficial, and after he had left her in the evening she made every effort to banish the feeling of discontent that assailed her. She sought refuge more and more continually at her writing-table. The impression produced upon her imagination by Tannhagen at her first visit had not faded. She still in fancy saw the old house peopled with shapes upon whom, involuntarily, she bestowed the very life of her life, whom she caused to ask and answer, to love, to suffer, to hope, and to grieve, according to her own mood. And each of these phantoms had an individual existence, to which she felt forced – she knew not why – to give expression in words. She did it with mingled delight and pain. Form and colour would sometimes elude her, or the shape which she had thought stable would fade and vanish, while at other times, without the slightest effort on her part, her brain would be crowded with clear and lovely images, whose very being she could understand and interpret. What would come of all this she never asked herself. She believed that in writing she was but obeying an impulse to reveal herself absolutely to Otto. She called these outpourings of her very self 'apocryphal love-letters,' and she wrote herself to rest, as some sing themselves to sleep.

Thus the winter passed. It was unusually stormy and severe, even for these mountains. All the more welcome to Johanna were the first spring breezes, the coming of the first birds of passage, and the bursting of the sheaths of the first blossoms. Her rides and walks with her grandfather were not long enough. Elinor was saddled for her in the early morning, and it was sometimes hard to turn back in time for breakfast.

One morning she had started earlier than usual. The eager March air and the sunshine blended harmoniously. A lark poured his 'full heart' 'from heaven or near it.' With Leo barking about her, she turned her mare into the woodland path leading to the 'Forest Hermitage.'

It was long since she had seen her protégés. The Freiherr had not forbidden her to visit them, but it vexed him to hear them mentioned. Therefore, when she crossed the forest path upon her road home from Tannhagen with her grandfather, she did not venture to turn into it. She learned from Otto, who now and then brought her a greeting from Christine, that the couple were content and happy, and she should be glad to hear this from Christine herself.

But she found an invalid. An old woman opened the door for her, with a curtsey. The young wife lay on the sofa, propped with pillows, her face pale and wan, her eyes dim, and the hand she held out to Johanna burned with fever.

"Christine, what has been the matter?" Johanna exclaimed, in dismay. "When Herr Otto saw you a week ago he brought me such good news of you!"

Christine's eyes wore an anxious, terrified expression. "I was taken ill just afterwards," she answered, in a weak voice. "But please, Fräulein, say nothing about it now: I hear Jakob coming; he is too anxious, and I am a great deal better."

Her husband entered. Johanna was startled by his gloomy, haggard looks.

"The gracious Fruleen!" he cried, and tore off his hat.

Johanna thought she detected a shade of reproach in his tone. "I did not know that Christine was ill, or I should have come long ago," she said. "Why did you not send me word? I should have been so glad to do something for her."

"Thanks, gracious Fruleen," he replied; "she has wanted for nothing. The Klausenburg doctor has been here every day, and she has had plenty of medicine, – there, little one, is a fresh bottleful, – and she shall have whatever she wants to eat and drink, if I have to run miles for it." He laughed, and ran his fingers through his bushy red hair, so that it stood out all over his head.

Christine looked at him beseechingly. "Yes, yes, Fräulein," she said, "he has tended me as if I were a princess. He is on his feet day and night."

"That's the part you tell!" he interrupted her; "but that it is all my fault – "

"Jakob, what did you promise me?" the sick woman implored him, lifting her clasped hands.

"That I would not speak evil of any one," he answered, gloomily, "and I won't. But I may tell of what I have done myself. Yes, gracious Fruleen, it is my fault, the fault of my bad temper, that the poor little thing is lying there, disappointed of her pleasure in soon having a child again. And when I see her, as patient as a lamb – But if she dies – " He raised his sound arm and shook his clinched fist. "If she dies – God in heaven!"

With this cry he sank back into a chair, covered his face with his hands, and sobbed aloud.

Christine half arose. "Let me! let me!" she begged, trying to resist Johanna's efforts to detain her.

"See now, I always do her harm," he said, gently putting her back among the pillows. "Be good, child, and reasonable for both of us. I cannot be, for I have nothing but you; and whoever takes you from me, whether it be a man or God Almighty – "

She pressed her hand upon his lips. "Hush, hush!" she said, "do not blaspheme. I am better. We shall stay with each other for a while yet. Let us pray for it; try to, for my sake."

He turned away. "Whatever you please for your sake, but I cannot pray any more."

"He will learn how to again," Johanna interposed. "But now, Christine, you must not worry, – for Jakob's sake you must not. To lie still and be nursed is all you have to do. I am sorry I must go now, but I will come soon again, and send to you meanwhile – Jakob will let me send you something to strengthen you."

Again the terrified look appeared in Christine's eyes. "Dear Jakob, Hanna ought to make my gruel," she said. And when he had left the room to see that it was done, she seized Johanna's hand, and whispered, "Ah, it is such a pleasure to have you come, Fräulein, but please – don't take it amiss – please don't let Squire Otto bring me anything. It is best he should not come here; while I am sick, at all events. Jakob is so hasty, and I am so distressed."

Her hands trembled, and her breath came quick and short.

"He shall not come, be sure, Christine," Johanna replied.

"But please don't tell the Squire I said it. You will promise me this?" the poor child went on; and before Johanna could reply, Jakob returned, and Johanna took her leave. To-day she shook hands with Jakob. She pitied the savage fellow as much as she did the weak little wife who loved him so tremblingly. What could have occurred between Otto and himself? Otto had spoken of his visits to the Forest Hermitage with the utmost frankness. Probably he had no suspicion of having aroused Jakob's anger; the poor embittered creature was so easily offended. Perhaps it might all be made right by a word from her, but it was just as likely that she might cause a fresh outbreak, and the invalid must not be exposed to such a peril; all explanations must be deferred, at least until her recovery.

Absorbed in thoughts such as these, Johanna pursued her way home through the forest. Suddenly she heard the Klausenburg clock strike eight. She was startled. If she would not spoil her grandfather's humour for the day, she must be ready for breakfast at half-past; and that seemed scarcely possible if she should continue upon this path, which wound in and out by long detours among the rocks. But here was a path to the left which seemed to lead directly down the steep declivity into the valley. "Elinor, shall we venture?" Johanna asked, patting the mare's slender neck. The creature seemed by a proud toss of its head to answer yes, and the rider turned into the steep, slippery pathway. With the greatest caution, and perfectly sure of foot, Elinor performed her task, and at the end of ten minutes the borders of the forest in the valley were reached. "Brava, Elinor! Now for a gallop as a reward." And away flew horse and rider along the narrow road which, intersected by numerous ditches, led through the fields to the Dönninghausen park.

The park on this side was bounded by a brook, which, rushing from the mountains over its stony bed, united far below in the valley with the Dönninghausen mill-stream. The little river there made a sudden turn to the south, while the village road, which up to this point wound along beside it, crossed it by a bridge, and, keeping on in its former direction, led straight to Klausenburg.

A carriage was crossing this bridge, coming from the village of Klausenburg; its occupants saw the rider bound forth from the forest and dash along the meadow-path, followed by Leo.

"By Jove, she can ride!" exclaimed a black-haired man sitting on the back seat. "She has her horse well in rein, and the brute is not to be despised either. Aha! see her take that ditch! And, by Jove, there she goes at another! Brava, brava!"

"That must be Johanna!" the woman beside him remarked. And the little girl opposite her leaned forward and cried, "Johanna! Oh, I want to go to her!"

The man did not hear her. The black eyes in his brown, eager face sparkled. "Now the brook!" he went on. "Aha! I thought so. The horse refuses to leap! The water tumbles and foams too much. But his rider chooses to do it. Hurrah! there she goes! Brava, bravissima!" he shouted, and waved his hat in the air. The little girl, too, waved her pocket-handkerchief, and joined her childish voice to the man's loud applause. Johanna did not hear them, – the wind and the rushing water drowned their voices, – but she saw the hat and the handkerchief waved in the air, and, mortified at having made a show of herself, she rode on quietly to the castle.

She was in time for breakfast, and was doubly glad to be so, since her grandfather's mood was evidently not a cheerful one. Magelone had again put off her oft-postponed return to Dönninghausen.

"There must be an end of it!" said the Freiherr, after he had informed his sister and Johanna of Magelone's letter. "I will write to her to-day. She will get the letter to-morrow, – to-morrow evening at the latest, – and the day after to-morrow she will please to come home. I cannot endure this modern habit of vagabondage! It's been hard enough not to be able to forbid it to the boys, but you women will please to stay where the Lord has provided still waters and green pastures for you!"

With these words he got up from table and walked to the door. At the same moment a servant brought Johanna a note. "The messenger is waiting for an answer," he said.

The Freiherr came back. "Read it, child," he said. "If Otto is going to Tannhagen to-day, we can meet him there."

Johanna mechanically obeyed, although, with a mixture of terror and delight, she had seen at a glance that the note was from her step-mother. She opened it and read:

"Dear Johanna, – As I do not know whether we ought to come unannounced, we have stopped at the village inn, and beg you to let us know when you can see us. Do not keep us waiting too long. Lisbeth is crying with impatience. With much love, yours, Helena."

Johanna summoned up all her courage. "The note is not from Otto, grandfather," she said, in a faltering voice. "My step-mother and my little sister are here. At the village inn," she added, as she observed the Freiherr's start.

He controlled himself with an effort. "At the village inn!" he repeated, after a pause. "Well, you can go to them there if you really wish to see them." With these words he turned to go; Aunt Thekla followed him. "Dear Johann," she said, in her low, pleading voice, "it looks so unkind. Could not Johanna have the woman and the little girl in her own – "

Her brother's eyes flashed so that she paused in terror.

"Thekla!" he exclaimed, "think what you are saying. Rope-dancers and mountebanks here in my house! Never!" With these words he left the room, and the door crashed to after him.

CHAPTER XX
AN EQUESTRIAN ARTIST

Johanna accompanied Helena's messenger to the village. Her longing to see Lisbeth lent wings to her feet, and thrust into the background all questions as to how she should conduct herself towards her step-mother. And when, as soon as the inn garden was reached, the pretty little figure came flying towards her, and Lisbeth's arms were round her neck, while she loaded her sister with caresses, calling her by all the old childish terms of endearment, Johanna forgot to be anything save grateful to Helena for affording her such a pleasure, and she held out her hand to her with emotion.

Helena clasped her in her arms. "Dear Johanna! how glad I am!" she said. "But here is some one, too, who longs to see you. My husband. Receive him kindly, I pray you."

With these words she led Johanna into the inn parlour. "Dear Carlo, here she is," she added, with evident anxiety in her voice.

A broad-shouldered, middle-aged man, with a dark complexion, sparkling brown eyes, black hair, and a thick black moustache, arose from the window-seat. "Most happy, most happy!" he cried, in ringing tones, taking Johanna's hand and shaking it without more ado. "I have heard much that is fine about you, and have seen even more, for I think you were the horsewoman we watched this morning, eh?"

"And you were the spectator who waved his hat?" said Johanna.

"Rather say admirer," Carlo Batti interrupted her. "Admirer! By Jove! you know how to manage a horse! Where in all the world, Fräulein, did you learn to ride so famously?"

"Dear Carlo, had we not better sit down before we plunge into an artistic discussion?" Helena asked, with some asperity. "Come, Johanna, there is a sofa. Although it is a hard one – "

"Yes, yes, come!" Lisbeth exclaimed, drawing her sister towards it. "We will sit down together, as we used to do in the twilight when you told me stories."

"Do you remember them still?" Johanna said, gently. "I thought you would forget me." And, seating herself on the sofa, she took the child into her lap, and the little head was laid, as formerly, upon her shoulder.

"Forget!" Helena repeated, as she sank down in the other corner of the sofa. "Forget you! That would be inexcusable, after all that you did for her. No; she is a good, grateful little thing. She has talked of you every day."

These were strange words from the lips of this woman. Lisbeth solved the riddle. "Yes, my dear, good old darling, I talked of you all the time; I wanted to come to you, and now I am not going away again. Mamma says that she and Uncle Carlo do not need me now, and will leave me with you."

Helena looked embarrassed. "How naughty, Lisbeth!" she cried. "And why do you say 'Uncle Carlo'? He is papa."

The child sat upright in Johanna's lap. "But he is not my papa," she said, waywardly. "Is he, Johanna?"

"Be quiet, you little mouse," Carlo Batti interposed, having drawn up a chair beside Johanna and seated himself in it. "Dear Helena, do not tease her; we can be just as good friends if she calls me Uncle Carlo." And turning to Johanna, he continued: "Permit me to repeat my question, 'Of whom did you learn to ride?' Here are not only strength, security, elegance, but also, if I do not mistake, a grand method – "

"Which I owe partly to my grandfather and partly to old Martin, his groom," was Johanna's smiling reply.

"Genius, then! pure genius!" cried Carlo Batti, and his bronze face flushed and his eager brown eyes sparkled. "I'll tell you what! Come to us; put yourself in my hands, and, by Jove! I'll promise that in a year you shall be as famous as – as – "

"Don't trouble yourself, dear Carlo," said Helena. "Johanna, as you know, is about to marry a Herr von Dönninghausen."

"To be sure; I had forgotten. These infernal grand matches!" he exclaimed, with a comical expression of despair. "You might search the length and breadth of the country and not find such a talent as yours. And you think of marriage, an irksome marriage! No, no! come to us. Just try it!" And he seized Johanna's hand in a clasp from which it cost her repeated efforts to withdraw it, and went on with enthusiasm: "I need not tell you what it is to have under perfect control a horse, – a strong, proud, noble creature; but you do not yet know what it is to feel a thousand eyes riveted upon you in admiration, to hear a thousand voices shouting applause. Try it; let me adjure you, try it! and I'll be d – d if you do not say Carlo Batti is right – 'the world belongs to the artist, and it shall belong to me!' It belongs even more to a woman than to one of us, especially when she looks like – " He laughed, and his glance completed his sentence. "I cannot understand, Helena, how you could tell me that Fräulein Johanna was not beautiful. A brilliant apparition for the ring, – entirely too brilliant. It would outshine all others."

Johanna laughed; the man's coarse admiration was expressed with such good-humoured simplicity that she could not resent it.

But Helena said, half irritated and half confused, "You forget entirely that Johanna has arranged her future very differently." Then, smiling sweetly, she added, in a sentimental tone, "You men never appreciate the delight with which a true woman relinquishes art, even when she has tasted its raptures and its triumphs, for the sake of her love. You, indeed, dear Carlo, ought to know this."

He shrugged his shoulders, and his mobile features betrayed mingled derision and impatience. "I had no objection to your remaining on the stage, – but the grapes were sour!" he said. And, rising, he went to the window, where he stood drumming on the pane, while Helena, who had flushed crimson, said, with a forced smile, "Men are all alike, dear Johanna, as you will learn. Carlo is one of the best of them."

Johanna made no reply. What a contrast there was between her father's noble, intellectual personality and this good-humoured boor! But Helena deferred to him, excused his lack of consideration, endured his rude conduct, hung upon his words, and followed his every motion with loving looks. The girl's heart was filled with bitterness and disgust, and involuntarily she clasped Lisbeth closer in her arms, as if she could shield the little one from such contact.

Helena stroked the child's curls caressingly. "You cannot think how good Carlo is to Lisbeth!" she went on, in an undertone. "Because she was continually begging for her Johanna, he did what I have never known him to do before – sent on the baggage-train, and we do not follow it before night by the express – "

Lisbeth sprang up. "Kind Uncle Carlo!" she cried, running to the window.

He turned round. "Come!" he said, kindly; and stooping, he stiffly held out to her his open right hand. With a jump Lisbeth stood erect upon it, and, holding by his raised left hand, was carried back thus to the sofa.

The sight gave pain to Johanna. She arose and took the child from its step-father.

"An ungrateful public, – not even one round of applause!" He said, laughing. "But never mind, you shall have a better some day." And, turning to Johanna, he added, "She has made her appearance once, with great applause and self-satisfaction. Hey, little mouse?"

"Oh, it was beautiful!" Lisbeth cried, with sparkling eyes. "Everything I had on was pink and silver, – even my stockings; and I had silver wings on my shoulders – "

Johanna closed her lips with a kiss. Her father's child in a circus!

Carlo Batti misunderstood her. "Yes, yes," he went on, with a conceited smile, "you may well be proud of your little sister, and of her advantages. Race – artist blood – and Carlo Batti to the fore, – the devil must be in it if something does not come of all that."

"If it is not too much for her," Helena interposed. "Only see, Johanna, how pale the little face is, now that the excitement of seeing you again is over! That is Carlo's fault. He never knows when to stop!"

"Stuff!" he said, laughing. "The little lady grows too fast, – that's why she is pale and tired sometimes. Say yourself, little mouse, which tires you the most, I or your leather school-books?"

"Oh, the books, the horrid books!" cried the child, taking his outstretched hand, and dancing about him like a little ballet-girl, while he slowly turned round and round.

"So it goes all day long," Helena complained. "No need to hope for the quiet ordered by the doctor when those two are together. Moreover, she ought to have country air – " She broke off and looked inquiringly at her step-daughter.

Johanna's face flushed; she felt that it was best to be frank. "How gladly I would ask you to leave the child with me!" she replied. "But, kind and generous as my grandfather is, he has not yet forgiven my mother's marriage, and detests anything that can remind him of my father."

"You see, Helena, it is just as I told you," Batti interrupted her; adding, with a burst of rude laughter, "I know it – this aristocratic rubbish, stupid, haughty, narrow-minded – "

"Carlo!" Helena whispered, with a glance towards Johanna.

He was not to be deterred, however. "What the deuce are you grimacing about?" he asked. "She" – and he indicated Johanna – "is her father's daughter, and proud of her name, is she not?"

"Indeed I am; but I prize my grandfather too, and love him dearly, dearly!" she replied, and her eyes flashed.

He made a face, then held out to her his brown hairy hand. "You're the girl for me!" he exclaimed, seizing and almost crushing her fingers in his grasp. "Out with whatever is in your heart! A great pity that you're going to marry. A God-gifted creature like yourself belongs on horseback. And – down with the world!" He swung his arm as if it held a riding-whip, by way of completing his sentence.

"Dear Johanna, you must not take amiss what he says," Helena began, with a furtive smile.

"Let us alone, we understand each other!" he interrupted her. And turning to Johanna, he continued: "Let us talk together like friends. If your father, the actor, is unpopular up there," – pointing with his thumb over his shoulder towards the castle, – "I, the equestrian artist, must be still more so. You need not reply: I know the talk. 'Players, strollers, vagabonds,' that is the verdict passed upon us by the aristocracy and the respectable public, the devil fly away with them!"

"Carlo!" cried Helena.

His eyes flashed. "Am I to take it all quietly when such a stuck-up set turn me out of doors? Me, Carlo Batti, renowned in Paris, in Berlin, in St. Petersburg, as well as in Vienna!" he shouted, angrily. "Come, we can stay here no longer. I must go to Remmingen to look for some horses. You will drive there with me."

"You said we might stay here, Uncle Carlo!" cried the child. "I want to see the castle where my Johanna lives. Mamma promised me I should."

Carlo laughed scornfully. "The castle, – yes, you shall see it, if only the outside," he said. Taking the child to the window, he continued: "Do you see that ugly old barn up there? They call that the castle, and it is full of ugly old cats who would eat you up, poor little mouse!"

His joke seemed to restore his good humour. He turned to Johanna and said, "Drive with us to Remmingen. I am sorry I have not my Mustapha here; we might have a ride together. But we must content ourselves with the hack. 'Need drives the devil to eat flies.'"

Johanna hesitated to accept the invitation; but Lisbeth hung upon her arm and begged so hard, "Come with us, do!" that her sister could not resist her.

There was no opportunity, however, for any quiet, uninterrupted talk. While they were driving to Remmingen, Carlo Batti held forth himself; and when he left them in the inn there while he went to inspect some horses, Helena fell upon Johanna's neck, exclaiming that she had been pining for months for this moment, – for the opportunity of unburdening her heart. And then she wept for her Roderich, and adjured Johanna not to consider her speedy second marriage as disloyalty to him whom she 'had adored, and never could forget.'

"I was so helpless," she said; "I felt lost in the wide, wide world. You cannot imagine, dear Johanna, the trials and hostilities to which an unprotected woman is exposed, particularly when, like myself, she is young, beautiful, and talented.

"You can have no idea of the intrigues and cabals with which I was surrounded. The more gracious, – yes, I might as well confess, – the more enthusiastic my reception was by the public, the more virulent my rivals became. They took refuge behind the critics, and slandered me to the public and to the management. Four times I obtained an engagement, and each time they contrived to have it fail. If we had time, I could tell you stories that would make your hair stand on end – "

Thus she went on for a long while, and then began upon Carlo Batti. "He is a wonderful man, and as kind as he is clever. And how he loves me! It is a perpetual surprise to me, although I ought to be used to adoration. Nothing seems to him good enough for me; he loads me with gifts. And how devoted he is to Lisbeth! That was what first decided me to marry him. It was my duty to insure to the child a home and a father's protection. Was I not right?"

To avoid a reply, Johanna bent over the little girl who stood beside her, and her heart ached as she looked into the pale little face.

"Do you think her changed?" asked Helena.

"Very much; she has grown pale and thin. How could you allow such a frail little creature to appear in public?"

"It did her no harm," Helena declared. "It was a simple little juvenile ballet, the prettiest thing you can imagine. Ten boys and ten girls in pink and silver – "

"But I was the prettiest of all," Lisbeth interposed, and her eyes sparkled; "and I danced the best, too. Everybody clapped their hands, and Uncle Carlo said that if I would take pains I could be a great artist, and then I should always have the loveliest clothes, and the others, who were not so pretty as I, would be half dead with vexation."