The Story Teller.

Wairoa Bell, Volume IV, Issue 149, 10 June 1892, Page 6

The Story Teller.

LADY BIANCA’S CHOICE,

‘ News, good sirs,’ said Gaspardo Bellini, entering liis school one morning. ‘ Is it good news, my worthy master V inquired a handsome young man, who was lazily retouching a picture, ‘ Yes,’ returned the old man ; ‘ good news for the painters of Bologna.’ ‘ Let us hoar it at once, master,’ said half a dozen voices.

‘ Well, the Lady Bianca has made tip her mind to marry at laspand—- ‘ And has ordered a hundred pictures of her native town,’ put in a young student, interrupting Bellini. ‘ Not so fast, not so fast, my worthy signor. Lady Bianca, as I just now said, has made up her mind to marry ; and she has promised—’ ‘ A thousand ducats for the best painting of the Madonna S’ exclaimed another student throwing up his velvet cap. ‘ Give me my brushes, you lazy dog, Stephano, and I’ll to work at once,’ said a third, addressing a thin, poorly-dressed youth, who was servant—of— a 11 —work in Gaspardo Bellini s studio.

‘Now, now, good sirs,’ said Bellini, ‘if ye do not give me a fair hearing, I will let ye goto the market-place to In nr the news.’ Silence, mv worthy gentleman all,’ said a roguish-looking young mini, mounting a stool and flourishing a brush, ‘ Silence in the school, while our worthy and much beloved, Gaspardo Bellini, doth make known to us this wonderful piece of news. Stephano, you Jew,’ he added, • if a mouse do but- squeak, thine unluekv head shall be food tor the dogs of Bologna.’ Bellini recommenced :

‘ The Lady Bianca hath at last made up her mind to marry, and hath promised— ’ Tie paused, as if expeciing a fresh interruption ; but there was none, and he went on, slowly: ‘ Hath promised her hand in marriage to the student of Bologna who shall paint the two best pictures from subjects of his own choosing.’ There was a death-like stillness in the studio when Bellini finished S[ eaking, Stephano, with large, dark eyes ablaze, crouched in a corner.

‘ Alberto,’ whispered Giuseppe to his friend' ‘ your fortune is made, and Bianca is won.’

‘ Our Lady grant so,’ said the young man, pressing Giuseppe’s hand. ‘My nob’e Bianca hath run a great risk for the sake of her poor Alberto.’ * Think you the young duke will enter the lists with us ? ’

‘ I fear so,’ returned Alberto. ‘He is the only one in Bologna 1 dread ; for report says that the masters at Venice and Borne were highly pleased with his work.’ Before the sun went down that day, each student in the school of Gaspardo Bellini had chosen his two sudjeets, and made some preparation for his work. Giuseppe’s two subjects were ‘ Wt. Cecelia ’ and a ‘ Street Scene in Bolonga.’ Alberto’s were the ‘ Lady Bianca at Vespers ’ and • St. Michael the Archangel.’

Two years was the given time, and the Lady Bianca, during that period, secluded herself in a convent.

Stephano waited on his young masters as faithfully as ever ; but they new treated him a little more kindly, lor there were two crimson spots in the youth’s cheek and a bright light in his eye, which warned the giddy students that Stephano’s place would isoon have to be tide 1 by another ‘lf I gain the Lady Bianca’s hand, Stephano I will nave a requiem chanted for you i n the cathedral and masses celebrated for the repose of your soul. Stephano smiled sadly. c And what will you do forme, Alberto ?’ ‘ I will take Lady Biancn to your grave, and tell her that the gently Stephano, whom 1 loved as a brotlu r, is quietly resting there, j vv i|l show her the picture I have drawn of you, and teach her to love your memory.’ Tears gathered in Stephano’s eyes and a deeper flush dyed his cheeks. The day on which the Lady Bianca was to redeem her promise dawned bright and lovely. All Bologna was astir early, for that day the great lady was to give her hand m marriage to the student who had succeeded in painting the two best, pictures. Alberto walke i tmvmti the cathedral loaning ‘ 11 G'Ufctq ly i aim.

* Courage, courage, A lberto ; the prize is yours !’ said his friend. Alberto shook his head mournfully. ‘Saints preserve us !’ exclaimed Giuseppe, ‘ there is little Stephano dressed in girl’s clothes,’ 1 No, no, it is Rosini !’ ejaculated Alberto, rushing forward in the crowd. He returned in a few seconds looking disappointed. ‘ Poor Bosij i ! I could not find her.’ he said. On the gates of the cathedral a paper was pasted, which contained the names of the successful paintings. The two friends pushed their way to the gates. ‘ I cannot trust my eyes, Giuseppe, I arn so dizzy that I cannot see,’ said Alberto ‘ Tell me their names.’ ‘ Come, let us go away.’ replied Giuseppe, with blanched cheeks. ‘ No, no, Giuseppe ; tell me, tell me.’ ‘ David and Nathan,’ and the Sermon on the Mount,’ said Giuseppe, hoarsely. These are the duke’s,’ gasped Alberto, permitting his friend to lead him away. ‘ 1 have lost Bianca ; but come, Giuseppe,’ he added, ‘we will go to the cathedral, and there witness my noble lady’s sacrifice for me.’ Vainly did Giuseppe protest. Alberto would have his way, and the two friends entered the old cathedral and took scats in rhe gloomy transept. ‘ See. see, Alberto ! there are the paintings !’ exclaimed Giuseppe, in raptures. ‘ Merciful Heaven !’ ejaculated Alberto ; ‘ the hand of an angel painted them. He deserves thee, my Bianca.’ On the opposite wall, facing the young men, with the rich light of the eastern chancel windows falling directly on them, were the two paintings. One represented Nathan as he denounced David with the words, “ Thou art the man." ’fhe prophet’s bent figure, tattere 1 clothes, and aged face with its mingled lcok of scorn and pity, presented a strange contrast to the youthful monarch’s rich, graceful robes, and handsome face, from which the expression of indignation had not wholly passed -away. The other painting, called the “ Sermon on the Mount,” represented a woman ministering to the wants of a beggar.

The face of the woman Alberto recognised at once. It had been drawn from a portrait of the Lady Bianca,

The young man groaned and iiid his face in bis hands. Presently tin re was a flourish of trumpets, and the organ swelled joyously as the Lady Bianca moved slowly tip the aisle. She looked up at the paintings, and a blush came into her face ; then she knelt devoutly for a few seconds, the music died away, and there was profound silence in the vast cathedral. The Count Paulo, her uncle, turned and faced the congregation. ‘ Alberto Romani will take his place by the Lady Bianca’s side, as a reward for his genius,’ The count’s voice rang through the cathedral. ‘ Wake tin, wake up. Alberto !’ exclaimed Giu-iejp;; ‘yon are the bridegroom! tbe count says you are, St Michael must have painted those pictures for you, and sent the angels tc place them in the church.’ He almost dragged Alberto forward, and before the young man recovered himself the bishop had commenced the ceremony. Alberto knelt by the side of the blushing Bianca and received the bishop s blessing. As they rose from their knees a shrill voice at the end of the church called out : • Let me go, I say ! and denounce the perfidy of Albert Romanic, for those paintings are not his ! ’ Alberto recognised the voice of his master, Gaspardo Bellini. Lady Bianca drew closer to her husband’s side ‘ What means the old man, my Alberto? They cannot now separate what Heaven hath made one.’ Old Gaspardo at length succeeded in reaching the Count. He threw himself on Ids knees at the nobleman’s feet. ‘ Pardon, my Lord count pardon, Alnerto ; the paintings are not his, hut were drawn by my servant, the hoy Stenth ano . ’ The count put his hand to li:s sword when the bishop stepped from the altar, ‘ Return your sword to its sheath, .my son : the house or God is no place for such wrap us. bend for Stephan", mid bear the

whole of the story ; for go id Master Bellini is too much excited to toll his tale clearly.’ ‘ Here I am, my lord oishop !’ and a slight, girlish figure, in a peasant’s dress, stepped forward and knelt at the dim Chilian's feet, ‘I am Stephano, and it was I who gave Alberto’s name for my paintings. I loved him and I knew that he and the Lady Bianca loved each other ’ ‘ Whv did you give his name for your own ? asked the bishop. ‘ Because,’ and the girl’s voice trembled, ‘ I knew iny paintings would win the prize, for I did them because I loved my art ’ ‘Rosina!’ exclaimed Alberto, coming to the girl’s side, ‘ were you Stephano, the drudge of our school?’ • I was Alberto. I followed you from our own valley, because I loved you ; and I have been near and worked for you all the years you have been in Bologna. But let me kiss the dear Lady Bianca, for I love her, too. When lam gone, Alberto, you will do what you promised in thy studio.’ Bianca raised the kneeling girl and kissed her tenderly. • You will live for our snkes, Rosina !’ The girl smiled faintly. ‘Yes, fora little while longer,’ she said. «- * * Once more the old cathedral was crowded; hut the hells no longer rang joyfully—the/ swung slowly and mournfully in their muffled covering. The great organ sadly and reluctantly gave the harmony for the requiem chanted by the black-robed choir. The paintings of ‘ David and Nathan ’ and the ‘Sermon on the Mount ’ still adorned the dark walls but they were partly hidden by the folds of crape which draped them. Amid the sobs of the congregation a small coffin was carried by the students of Gaspardo Bellini’s school, and deposited in the chancel. The pall was removed, and revealed on the coffin in golden letters the name Stephano.