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married。 It was the wedding…trip； in short； that we were going to take。
For three months' rest in the hot weather （it was early summer then） he
had hired an old place on the Riviera； at an easy distance from my city；
Genoa； on the road to Nice。 Did I know that place？ Yes； I told him I
knew it well。 It was an old palace with great gardens。 It was a little
bare； and it was a little dark and gloomy； being close surrounded by trees；
but it was spacious； ancient； grand； and on the seashore。 He said it had
been so described to him exactly； and he was well pleased that I knew it。
For its being a little bare of furniture； all such places were。 For its being a
little gloomy； he had hired it principally for the gardens； and he and my
mistress would pass the summer weather in their shade。
'So all goes well； Baptista？' said he。
'Indubitably； signore； very well。'
We had a travelling chariot for our journey； newly built for us； and in
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all respects complete。 All we had was complete； we wanted for nothing。
The marriage took place。 They were happy。 I was happy； seeing all so
bright； being so well situated； going to my own city； teaching my language
in the rumble to the maid； la bella Carolina； whose heart was gay with
laughter： who was young and rosy。
The time flew。 But I observed … listen to this； I pray！ （and here the
courier dropped his voice） … I observed my mistress sometimes brooding
in a manner very strange； in a frightened manner； in an unhappy manner；
with a cloudy； uncertain alarm upon her。 I think that I began to notice
this when I was walking up hills by the carriage side； and master had gone
on in front。 At any rate； I remember that it impressed itself upon my
mind one evening in the South of France； when she called to me to call
master back； and when he came back； and walked for a long way； talking
encouragingly and affectionately to her； with his hand upon the open
window； and hers in it。 Now and then； he laughed in a merry way； as if
he were bantering her out of something。 By…and…by； she laughed； and
then all went well again。
It was curious。 I asked la bella Carolina； the pretty little one； Was
mistress unwell？ … No。 … Out of spirits？ … No。 … Fearful of bad roads； or
brigands？ … No。 And what made it more mysterious was； the pretty little
one would not look at me in giving answer； but WOULD look at the view。
But； one day she told me the secret。
'If you must know；' said Carolina； 'I find； from what I have overheard；
that mistress is haunted。'
'How haunted？'
'By a dream。'
'What dream？'
'By a dream of a face。 For three nights before her marriage； she saw
a face in a dream … always the same face； and only One。'
'A terrible face？'
'No。 The face of a dark； remarkable…looking man； in black； with
black hair and a grey moustache … a handsome man except for a reserved
and secret air。 Not a face she ever saw； or at all like a face she ever saw。
Doing nothing in the dream but looking at her fixedly； out of darkness。'
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'Does the dream come back？'
'Never。 The recollection of it is all her trouble。'
'And why does it trouble her？'
Carolina shook her head。
'That's master's question；' said la bella。 'She don't know。 She
wonders why； herself。 But I heard her tell him； only last night； that if she
was to find a picture of that face in our Italian house （which she is afraid
she will） she did not know how she could ever bear it。'
Upon my word I was fearful after this （said the Genoese courier） of
our coming to the old palazzo； lest some such ill…starred picture should
happen to be there。 I knew there were many there； and； as we got nearer
and nearer to the place； I wished the whole gallery in the crater of
Vesuvius。 To mend the matter； it was a stormy dismal evening when we；
at last； approached that part of the Riviera。 It thundered； and the thunder
of my city and its environs； rolling among the high hills； is very loud。
The lizards ran in and out of the chinks in the broken stone wall of the
garden； as if they were frightened； the frogs bubbled and croaked their
loudest； the sea…wind moaned； and the wet trees dripped； and the lightning
… body of San Lorenzo； how it lightened！
We all know what an old palace in or near Genoa is … how time and the
sea air have blotted it … how the drapery painted on the outer walls has
peeled off in great flakes of plaster … how the lower windows are darkened
with rusty bars of iron … how the courtyard is overgrown with grass … how
the outer buildings are dilapidated … how the whole pile seems devoted to
ruin。 Our palazzo was one of the true kind。 It had been shut up close
for months。 Months？ … years！ … it had an earthy smell； like a tomb。 The
scent of the orange trees on the broad back terrace； and of the lemons
ripening on the wall； and of some shrubs that grew around a broken
fountain； had got into the house somehow； and had never been able to get
out again。 There was； in every room； an aged smell； grown faint with
confinement。 It pined in all the cupboards and drawers。 In the little
rooms of communication between great rooms； it was stifling。 If you
turned a picture … to come back to the pictures … there it still was； clinging
to the wall behind the frame； like a sort of bat。
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The lattice…blinds were close shut； all over the house。 There were
two ugly； grey old women in the house； to take care of it； one of them with
a spindle； who stood winding and mumbling in the doorway； and who
would as soon have let in the devil as the air。 Master； mistress； la bella
Carolina； and I； went all through the palazzo。 I went first； though I have
named myself last； opening the windows and the lattice…blinds；