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Updated: June 21, 2025
She noticed that the ladies treated Signore Graziano with the utmost reverence, even the positive Miss Prunty furling her opinions in deference to his gayest hint. They talked too of Madame Lilli, and always as if she were still young and fair, as if she had died yesterday, leaving the echo of her triumph loud behind her. And yet all this had happened years before Goneril had ever seen the light.
"Is he old, then?" "Neppure!" "What is he like? He must be something." "He's our padrone," repeated Angiolino, in whose imagination Signor Graziano could occupy no other place. "How stupid you are!" exclaimed the young English girl. "May be," said Angiolino stolidly. "Is he a good padrone? do you like him?" "Rather!"
Who knows, she might not think even thirty too much. "Not at that age," said Goneril blandly. Signor Graziano could think of no reply. But from that day one might have dated a certain assumption of youthfulness in his manners.
But the elder lady only smiled, and declared that her Gonerilla was charming, delicious, a real sunshine in the house. "Now I call on you to support me, signorino," she cried one evening, when the three elders sat together in the room while Goneril watered the roses on the terrace. "Is not my Goneril a charming little bébé?" Signor Graziano withdrew his eyes from the window.
Goneril, too, was excited and anxious, although Signor Graziano had seemed so old and like a coffee-bean. She made no progress in the piece of embroidery she was working as a present for the two old ladies; jumping up and down to look out of the window.
And then there came a terrible ordeal. Miss Prunty, anxious to divert the current of her friend's ideas, had suggested that the girl should sing. Signor Graziano and madame insisted; they would take no refusal. "Sing, sing, little bird!" cried the old lady. "But, madame, how can one after you?"
Doctor Graziano, or Baloardo Grazian, is a pedant, a philosopher, grammarian, rhetorician, astronomer, cabalist, a savant of the first water, boasting of his degree from Bologna, trailing the gown of that august university. Pompous in phrase and person, his speech is crammed with lawyer's jargon and quibbles, with distorted Latin and ridiculous metaphors.
You think you will exculpate and excuse yourself; you desire my forgiveness. Well, we shall see." Doctor Graziano expressed his sympathy, and thought the ruffian must have been very clever to have evaded Capuzzi's search after him.
Could the signorino have suddenly gone mad? He blushed a little under his brown skin that had reminded her of a coffee-bean. "She is a good ten years older than I am," he explained. "Ah, well, ten years isn't much." "You don't think so?" he cried, delighted. Who knows? she might not think even thirty too much. "Not at that age," said Goneril, blandly. Signor Graziano could think of no reply.
"Come here my Gonerilla, and hold my skein for me. Signor Graziano is going to charm us with one of his delightful airs." "I hoped she would sing," faltered the signorino. "Who? Gonerilla? Nonsense, my friend. She winds silk much better than she sings." Goneril laughed. She was not at all offended. But Signor Graziano made several mistakes in his playing. At last he left the piano.
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