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Updated: June 4, 2025
Will you finish this waltz with my friend, and the fiancee of Luis, Rafaella Sal? She has quarrelled with Luis, I see; Don Weeliam is dancing with Carolina Xime'no, and she cares to waltz with no one else. Pardon me if I say that no one has ever waltzed as well as your excellency, and I must not be selfish."
"Sold! you did not think he would sell it!" "Why not? Every artist has the right to sell his works." "Not work of that kind." "Just as much as any other kind." "No, he could not have done that. He would no more sell it than he would sell the portrait of Rafaella Dannegianti. They are two similar relics, two precious reminiscences."
For the first time she felt her individuality melt into, commingle with his: and when he lowered his gaze, still with that intensity of vision piercing the future, her own eyes reflected the impersonalities of his; and in time he saw it. "We should all wear black for so mournful an occasion," said Rafaella Sal, spreading out her scarlet skirts. "Father Abella is right.
A day came when Rafaella Dannegianti was carried off by her parents, who shuddered at the thought of her stooping to a painter, even though he were a genius." "So she died?" "A year later. He never got over it. Even while I speak to you, he in his loneliness is pondering and weeping over these very lines which you have just read without a suspicion of the depth of their bitterness."
Can he remember this poor little California, and even our lovely Concha? I doubt! Valgame Dios, I doubt!" "Concha has always been too fortunate," said Rafaella with a touch of spite, for years of waiting had tried her temper and the sun always freckled her nose. The flower of California stood on the corridor of the Mission and before the church awaiting the guest of honor and his escort.
I had given up all hope of obtaining the portrait. Every year I sent him flowers which meant, 'Restore to us all that is left of our dead Rafaella. Perhaps it was unkind. I did reproach myself at times for it. But I was her mother, you know; the mother of that peerless girl! And the portrait is so good, so like! He has never altered it? tell me; never retouched it?
It means: "To thee, Rafaella Dannegianti who, aged twenty years and few months having fully experienced the sorrows and illusions of this world on January 6 like an angel longing for its heavenly home didst wing thy way to God in peace and happiness the clergy of Desioand the laborers and artificers of the noble house of Dannegianti tender these last solemn offices."
But if you would be kind enough to tell Monsieur Charnot how sorry I have been for it, you would relieve me of a burden." I saw her eyes fixed upon me for a moment with a look of attention not previously granted to me. She seemed pleased. "With all my heart," she said. There was a moment's silence. "Was this Rafaella, whose story you have told me, worthy of your friend's long regret?"
It used to be hidden among poplars, and its groves were famous for their shade. You must send in your card to the old lady of the house together with mine. They will receive you. Then you must break the news to them as you think best, that, in accordance with the dying wish of Sylvestre Lampron's mother, the portrait of Rafaella is to be given in perpetuity to the Villa Dannegianti.
It was touching to see the young girl, whom chance had placed before this simple testimony of a sorrow now long past, deeply moved by the sad tale of love, filled with tender pity for the dead Rafaella, her fellow in youth and beauty and perhaps in destiny, finding in her heart the tender impulse to kneel without a word, as if beside the grave of a friend.
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