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We remained in Marietta about six weeks, during which time I repeatedly rode to Kenesaw Mountain, and over the very ground where afterward, in 1864, we had some hard battles. After closing our business at Marietta the colonel ordered us to transfer our operations to Bellefonte, Alabama.
Volkmar could not say him nay; he knew, alas, only too well, if that war took Marietta's lover from her, she would be friendless, penniless and alone, and a load was lifted from his heart at the thought of her future being assured. He made no further objections, but only said: "And what does Marietta say? Is she willing?" "Certainly. We decided the question last evening, after my arrival.
The doctor laid the palm-leaf fan aside and took Lydia's slim fingers in both his firm, sinewy hands. "My dear, I'm going to do as I have always done with you, and talk with you as though you were a grown-up person and could take your share in understanding and bearing family problems. Your sister Marietta is not a very happy woman.
Without a word Zorzi smashed the calix off the iron into an old earthen jar already half full of broken glass. Then he put the pontil in its place and went to tend the fire. Marietta left the window and entered the room. "Am I disturbing you?" she asked gently, as she stood by her father. "No. I have finished writing." He laid down his pen. "Another failure?" "Yes."
Allibone, whom nothing escapes, gives the title of the book, "Journal of a Tour into the Territory Northwest of the Allegheny Mountains in 1803, Boston, 1805." That a man should write an octavo volume about a journey to Marietta now strikes us as rather absurd; but in those days the overland journey to Ohio was as difficult as that to California is now.
Can you not get your friend the gondolier to go to the Governor's palace before mid-day, and ask whether Zorzi is to be let out?" "Of course I can. By and by I will call him. He is busy cleaning the gondola now." Marietta had spoken quite quietly, though she had expected that her voice would shake, and she had been almost sure that she was going to blush.
"You are hard to please, if you are not satisfied with my choice for you," observed her father. To this Marietta said nothing. She only bent her head a little lower, looking down as she trod delicately over the hot and dusty ground.
"Yes," assented Jacopo. "That is very amusing. But just suppose, for the sake of discussion it is impossible, of course, but suppose it that instead of there being only one perfectly beautiful woman in the world, whose name is Arisa, there should be two, and that the name of the other chanced to be Marietta Beroviero." Arisa raised her eyes and gazed steadily at Jacopo.
Until Marietta had begun to love Zorzi, she had accepted all these things quite naturally, as a part of every woman's life, and it would have seemed as absurd, and perhaps as impossible, to rebel against them as to repudiate the religion in which she had been born. Such beliefs turn into prejudices, and assert themselves as soon as whatever momentarily retards them is removed.
It was not till 1847 that Marietta Alboni appeared in England. Mr. Beale, the manager of the Royal Italian Opera, the new enterprise which had just been organized in the revolutionized Covent Garden Theatre, heard her at Milan and was charmed with her voice.
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