CHAPTER XI
It was long before Orso fell asleep, and as a consequence he wokelate--late for a Corsican, at all events. When he left his bed, thefirst object that struck his gaze was the house of his enemies, and the_archere_ with which they had furnished it. He went downstairs and askedfor his sister.
"She is in the kitchen, melting bullets," answered Saveria, thewoman-servant.
So he could not take a step without being pursued by the image of war.
He found Colomba sitting on a stool, surrounded by freshly cast bullets,and cutting up strips of lead.
"What the devil are you doing?" inquired her brother.
"You had no bullets for the colonel's gun," she answered, in her softvoice. "I found I had a mould for that calibre, and you shall havefour-and-twenty cartridges to-day, brother."
"I don't need them, thank God!"
"You mustn't be taken at a disadvantage, Ors' Anton'. You have forgottenyour country, and the people who are about you."
"If I had forgotten, you would soon have reminded me. Tell me, did not abig trunk arrive here some days ago?"
"Yes, brother. Shall I take it up to your room?"
"You take it up! Why, you'd never be strong enough even to lift it! . . .Is there no man about who can do it?"
"I'm not so weak as you think!" said Colomba, turning up her sleeves,and displaying a pair of round white arms, perfect in shape, but lookingmore than ordinarily strong. "Here, Saveria," said she to the servant;"come and help me!"
She was already lifting the trunk alone, when Orso came hastily to herassistance.
"There is something for you in this trunk, my dear Colomba," said he."You must excuse the modesty of my gifts. A lieutenant on half-payhasn't a very well-lined purse!"
As he spoke, he opened the trunk, and took out of it a few gowns, ashawl, and some other things likely to be useful to a young girl.
"What beautiful things!" cried Colomba. "I'll put them away at once, forfear they should be spoiled. I'll keep them for my wedding," she added,with a sad smile, "for I am in mourning now!"
And she kissed her brother's hand.
"It looks affected, my dear sister, to wear your mourning for so long."
"I have sworn an oath," said Colomba resolutely, "I'll not take off mymourning. . . ." And her eyes were riveted on the Barricini mansion.
"Until your wedding day?" said Orso, trying to avoid the end of hersentence.
"I shall never marry any man," said Colomba, "unless he has done threethings . . ." And her eyes still rested gloomily on the house of theenemy.
"You are so pretty, Colomba, that I wonder you are not married already!Come, you must tell me about your suitors. And besides, I'm sure to heartheir serenades. They must be good ones to please a great _voceratrice_like you."
"Who would seek the hand of a poor orphan girl? . . . And then, the manfor whom I would change my mourning-dress will have to make the womenover there put on mourning!"
"This is becoming a perfect mania," said Orso to himself. But to avoiddiscussion he said nothing at all.
"Brother," said Colomba caressingly, "I have something to give you, too.The clothes you are wearing are much too grand for this country. Yourfine cloth frock-coat would be in tatters in two days, if you wore it inthe _maquis_. You must keep it for the time when Miss Nevil comes."
Then, opening a cupboard, she took out a complete hunting dress.
"I've made you a velvet jacket, and here's a cap, such as our smartyoung men wear. I embroidered it for you, ever so long ago. Will you trythem on?" And she made him put on a loose green velvet jacket, with ahuge pocket at the back. On his head she set a pointed black velvet cap,embroidered with jet and silk of the same colour, and finished with asort of tassel.
"Here is our father's _carchera_"[*] she said. "His stiletto is in thepocket of the jacket. I'll fetch you his pistol."
[*] Carchera, a belt for cartridges. A pistol is worn fastened to the left side of it.
"I look like a brigand at the Ambigu-Comique," said Orso, as he lookedat himself in the little glass Saveria was holding up for him.
"Indeed, you look first-rate, dressed like that, Ors' Anton'," said theold servant, "and the smartest _pinsuto_[*] in Bocognano or Bastelica isnot braver."
[*] Pinsuto, the name given to men who wear the pointed cap, _barreta pinsuta_.
Orso wore his new clothes at breakfast, and during that meal he told hissister that his trunk contained a certain number of books, that he wasgoing to send to France and Italy for others, and intended she shouldstudy a great deal.
"For it really is disgraceful, Colomba," he added, "that a grown-upgirl like you should still be ignorant of things that children on themainland know as soon as they are weaned."
"You are right, brother," said Colomba. "I know my own shortcomingsquite well, and I shall be too glad to learn--especially if you are kindenough to teach me."
Some days went by, and Colomba never mentioned the name of Barricini.She lavished care and attention on her brother, and often talked to himabout Miss Nevil. Orso made her read French and Italian books, and wasconstantly being surprised either by the correctness and good sense ofher comments, or by her utter ignorance on the most ordinary subjects.
One morning, after breakfast, Colomba left the room for a moment, andinstead of returning as usual, with a book and some sheets of paper,reappeared with her _mezzaro_ on her head. The expression of hercountenance was even more serious than it generally was.
"Brother," she said, "I want you to come out with me."
"Where do you want me to go with you?" said Orso, holding out his arm.
"I don't want your arm, brother, but take your gun and yourcartridge-pouch. A man should never go abroad without his arms."
"So be it. I must follow the fashion. Where are we going?"
Colomba, without answering, drew her _mezzaro_ closer about her head,called the watch-dog, and went out followed by her brother. Stridingswiftly out of the village, she turned into a sunken road that woundamong the vineyards, sending on the dog, to whom she made some gesture,which he seemed to understand, in front of her. He instantly began torun zigzag fashion, through the vines, first on one side and then onthe other, always keeping within about fifty paces of his mistress, andoccasionally stopping in the middle of the road and wagging his tail.He seemed to perform his duties as a scout in the most perfect fashionimaginable.
"If Muschetto begins to bark, brother," said Colomba, "cock your gun,and stand still."
Half a mile beyond the village, after making many detours, Colombastopped short, just where there was a bend in the road. On that spotthere rose a little pyramid of branches, some of them green, somewithered, heaped about three feet high. Above them rose the top ofa wooden cross, painted black. In several of the Corsican cantons,especially those among the mountains, a very ancient custom, connected,it may be with some pagan superstition, constrains every passer-by tocast either a stone or a branch on the spot whereon a man has died aviolent death. For years and years--as long as the memory of his tragicfate endures--this strange offering goes on accumulating from day today.
This is called the dead man's _pile_--his "_mucchio_."
Colomba stopped before the heap of foliage, broke off an arbutus branch,and cast it on the pile.
"Orso," she said, "this is where your father died. Let us pray for hissoul!"
And she knelt down. Orso instantly followed her example. At that momentthe village church-bell tolled slowly for a man who had died during thepreceding night. Orso burst into tears.
After a few minutes Colomba rose. Her eyes were dry, but her face waseager. She hastily crossed herself with her thumb, after the fashiongenerally adopted by her companions, to seal any solemn oath, then,hurrying her brother with her, she took her way back to the village.They re-entered their house in silence. Orso went up to his room. Amoment afterward Colomba followed him, carrying a small casket which sheset upon the table. Opening it, she drew out a s
hirt, covered with greatstains of blood.
"Here is your father's shirt, Orso!"
And she threw it across his knees. "Here is the lead that killed him!"And she laid two blackened bullets on the shirt.
"Orso! Brother!" she cried, throwing herself into his arms and claspinghim desperately to her. "Orso, you will avenge him!"
In a sort of frenzy she kissed him, then kissed the shirt and thebullets, and went out of the room, leaving her brother sitting onhis chair, as if he had been turned to stone. For some time Orso satmotionless, not daring to put the terrible relics away. At last, withan effort, he laid them back in their box, rushed to the opposite endof his room, and threw himself on his bed, with his face turned to thewall, and his head buried in his pillow, as though he were tryingto shut out the sight of some ghost. His sister's last words rangunceasingly in his ears, like the words of an oracle, fatal, inevitable,calling out to him for blood, and for innocent blood! I shall notattempt to depict the unhappy young man's sensations, which were asconfused as those that overwhelm a madman's brain. For a long time helay in the same position, without daring to turn his head. At last hegot up, closed the lid of the casket, and rushed headlong out of thehouse, into the open country, moving aimlessly forward, whither he knewnot.
By degrees, the fresh air did him good. He grew calmer, and beganto consider his position, and his means of escape from it, with somecomposure. He did not, as my readers already know, suspect the Barriciniof the murder, but he did accuse them of having forged Agostini'sletter, and this letter, he believed, at any rate, had brought abouthis father's death. He felt it was impossible to prosecute them for theforgery. Now and then, when the prejudices or the instincts of hisrace assailed him, and suggested an easy vengeance--a shot fired at thecorner of some path--the thought of his brother-officers, of Parisiandrawing-rooms, and above all, of Miss Nevil, made him shrink from themin horror. Then his mind dwelt on his sister's reproaches, and allthe Corsican within him justified her appeal, and even intensified itsbitterness. One hope alone remained to him, in this battle between hisconscience and his prejudices--the hope that, on some pretext or other,he might pick a quarrel with one of the lawyer's sons, and fight a duelwith him. The idea of killing the young man, either by a bullet or asword-thrust reconciled his French and Corsican ideas. This expedientadopted, he began to meditate means for its execution, and was feelingrelieved already of a heavy burden, when other and gentler thoughtscontributed still further to calm his feverish agitation. Cicero, in hisdespair at the death of his daughter Tullia, forgot his sorrow whenhe mused over all the fine things he might say about it. Mr. Shandyconsoled himself by discourses of the same nature for the loss of hisson. Orso cooled his blood by thinking that he would depict his state ofmind to Miss Nevil, and that such a picture could not fail to interestthat fair lady deeply.
He was drawing near the village, from which he had unconsciouslytravelled a considerable distance, when he heard the voice of a littlegirl, who probably believed herself to be quite alone, singing in apath that ran along the edge of the _maquis_. It was one of those slow,monotonous airs consecrated to funeral dirges, and the child was singingthe words:
"And when my son shall see again the dwelling of his father, Give him that murdered father's cross; show him my shirt blood- spattered."
"What's that you're singing, child?" said Orso, in an angry voice, as hesuddenly appeared before her.
"Is that you, Ors' Anton'?" exclaimed the child, rather startled. "It isSignorina Colomba's song."
"I forbid you to sing it!" said Orso, in a threatening voice.
The child kept turning her head this way and that, as though lookingabout for a way of escape, and she would certainly have run off had shenot been held back by the necessity of taking care of a large bundlewhich lay on the grass, at her feet.
Orso felt ashamed of his own vehemence. "What are you carrying there,little one?" said he, with all the gentleness he could muster. And asChilina hesitated, he lifted up the linen that was wrapped round thebundle, and saw it contained a loaf of bread and other food.
"To whom are you bringing the loaf, my dear?" he asked again.
"You know quite well, Ors' Anton': to my uncle."
"And isn't your uncle a bandit?"
"At your service, Ors' Anton'."
"If you met the gendarmes, they would ask you where you weregoing. . . ."
"I should tell them," the child replied, at once, "that I was takingfood to the men from Lucca who were cutting down the _maquis_."
"And if you came across some hungry hunter who insisted on dining atyour expense, and took your provisions away from you?"
"Nobody would dare! I would say they are for my uncle!"
"Well! he's not the sort of man to let himself be cheated of his dinner!. . . Is your uncle very fond of you?"
"Oh, yes, Ors' Anton'. Ever since my father died, he has taken care ofmy whole family--my mother and my little sister, and me. Beforemother was ill, he used to recommend her to rich people, who gave heremployment. The mayor gives me a frock every year, and the priest hastaught me my catechism, and how to read, ever since my uncle spoke tothem about us. But your sister is kindest of all to us!"
Just at this moment a dog ran out on the pathway. The little girl puttwo of her fingers into her mouth and gave a shrill whistle, the dogcame to her at once, fawned upon her, and then plunged swiftly into thethicket. Soon two men, ill-dressed, but very well armed, rose up outof a clump of young wood a few paces from where Orso stood. It was asthough they had crawled up like snakes through the tangle of cytisus andmyrtle that covered the ground.
"Oh, Ors' Anton', you're welcome!" said the elder of the two men. "Why,don't you remember me?"
"No!" said Orso, looking hard at him.
"Queer how a beard and a peaked cap alter a man! Come, monsieur, lookat me well! Have you forgotten your old Waterloo men? Don't you rememberBrando Savelli, who bit open more than one cartridge alongside of you onthat unlucky day?"
"What! Is it you?" said Orso. "And you deserted in 1816!"
"Even so, sir. Faith! soldiering grows tiresome, and besides, I had ajob to settle over in this country. Aha, Chili! You're a good girl! Giveus our dinner at once, we're hungry. You've no notion what an appetiteone gets in the _maquis_. Who sent us this--was it Signorina Colomba orthe mayor?"
"No, uncle, it was the miller's wife. She gave me this for you, and ablanket for my mother."
"What does she want of me?"
"She says the Lucchesi she hired to clear the _maquis_ are asking herfive-and-thirty sous, and chestnuts as well--because of the fever in thelower parts of Pietranera."
"The lazy scamps! . . . I'll see to them! . . . Will you share ourdinner, monsieur, without any ceremony? We've eaten worse mealstogether, in the days of that poor compatriot of ours, whom they havedischarged from the army."
"No, I thank you heartily. They have discharged me, too!"
"Yes, so I heard. But I'll wager you weren't sorry for it. You have yourown account to settle too. . . . Come along, cure," said the bandit tohis comrade. "Let's dine! Signor Orso, let me introduce the cure. I'mnot quite sure he is a cure. But he knows as much as any priest, at allevents!"
"A poor student of theology, monsieur," quoth the second bandit, "whohas been prevented from following his vocation. Who knows, Brandolaccio,I might have been Pope!"
"What was it that deprived the Church of your learning?" inquired Orso.
"A mere nothing--a bill that had to be settled, as my friendBrandolaccio puts it. One of my sisters had been making a fool ofherself, while I was devouring book-lore at Pisa University. I had tocome home, to get her married. But her future husband was in too greata hurry; he died of fever three days before I arrived. Then I called, asyou would have done in my place, on the dead man's brother. I was toldhe was married. What was I to do?"
"It really was puzzling! What did you do?"
"It was one of those cases in which one has to resort to the gunflint
."
"In other words?"
"I put a bullet in his head," said the bandit coolly.
Orso made a horrified gesture. Nevertheless, curiosity, and, it may be,his desire to put off the moment when he must return home, induced himto remain where he was, and continue his conversation with the two men,each of whom had at least one murder on his conscience.
While his comrade was talking, Brandolaccio was laying bread and meatin front of him. He helped himself--then he gave some food to thisdog, whom he introduced to Orso under the name of Brusco, as an animalpossessing a wonderful instinct for recognising a soldier, whatevermight be the disguise he had assumed. Lastly, he cut off a hunch ofbread and a slice of raw ham, and gave them to his niece. "Oh, themerry life a bandit lives!" cried the student of theology, after hehad swallowed a few mouthfuls. "You'll try it some day, perhaps, Signordella Rebbia, and you'll find out how delightful it is to acknowledge nomaster save one's own fancy!"
Hitherto the bandit had talked Italian. He now proceeded in French.
"Corsica is not a very amusing country for a young man to live in--butfor a bandit, there's the difference! The women are all wild about us.I, as you see me now, have three mistresses in three different villages.I am at home in every one of them, and one of the ladies is married to agendarme!"
"You know many languages, monsieur!" said Orso gravely.
"If I talk French, 'tis because, look you, _maxima debetur puerisreverentia_! We have made up our minds, Brandolaccio and I, that thelittle girl shall turn out well, and go straight."
"When she is turned fifteen," remarked Chilina's uncle, "I'll find agood husband for her. I have one in my eye already."
"Shall you make the proposal yourself?" said Orso.
"Of course! Do you suppose that any well-to-do man in thisneighbourhood, to whom I said, 'I should be glad to see a marriagebetween your son and Michilina Savelli,' would require any pressing?"
"I wouldn't advise him to!" quoth the other bandit. "Friend Brandolacciohas rather a heavy hand!"
"If I were a rogue," continued Brandolaccio, "a blackguard, a forger, Ishould only have to hold my wallet open, and the five-franc pieces wouldrain into it."
"Then is there something inside your wallet that attracts them?" saidOrso.
"Nothing. But if I were to write to a rich man, as some people havewritten, 'I want a hundred francs,' he would lose no time about sendingthem to me. But I'm a man of honour, monsieur."
"Do you know, Signor della Rebbia," said the bandit whom his comradecalled the cure, "do you know that in this country, with all itssimple habits, there are some wretches who make use of the esteem ourpassports" (and he touched his gun) "insure us, to draw forged bills inour handwriting?"
"I know it," said Orso, in a gruff tone; "but what bills?"
"Six months ago," said the bandit, "I was taking my walks abroad nearOrezza, when a sort of lunatic came up to me, pulling off his cap to meeven in the distance, and said: 'Oh, M. le Cure' (they always call methat), 'please excuse me--give me time. I have only been able to getfifty-five francs together! Honour bright, that's all I've been able toscrape up.' I, in my astonishment, said, 'Fifty-five francs! What doyou mean, you rascal!' 'I mean sixty-five,' he replied; 'but as for thehundred francs you asked me to give you, it's not possible.' 'What! youvillain! I ask you for a hundred francs? I don't know who you are.' Thenhe showed me a letter, or rather a dirty rag of paper, whereby he wassummoned to deposit a hundred francs on a certain spot, on painof having his house burned and his cows killed by GiocantoCastriconi--that's my name. And they had been vile enough to forgemy signature! What annoyed me most was that the letter was written in_patois_, and was full of mistakes in spelling--I who won every prize atthe university! I began by giving my rascal a cuff that made him twistround and round. 'Aha! You take me for a thief, blackguard that youare!' I said, and I gave him a hearty kick, you know where. Then feelingrather better, I went on, 'When are you to take the money to the spotmentioned in the letter?' 'This very day.' 'Very good, then take itthere!' It was at the foot of a pine-tree, and the place had beenexactly described. He brought the money, buried it at the foot of thetree, and came and joined me. I had hidden myself close by. There Istayed, with my man, for six mortal hours, M. della Rebbia. I'd havestaid three days, if it had been necessary. At the end of six hours a_Bastiaccio_, a vile money-lender, made his appearance. As he bent downto take up the money, I fired, and I had aimed so well that, as he fell,his head dropped upon the coins he was unearthing. 'Now, rascal,' saidI to the peasant, 'take your money, and never dare to suspect GiocantoCastriconi of a mean trick again!'
"The poor devil, all of a tremble, picked up his sixty-five francswithout taking the trouble to wipe them. He thanked me, I gave him agood parting kick, and he may be running away still, for all I know."
"Ah, cure!" said Brandolaccio, "I envy you that shot! How you must havelaughed!"
"I had hit the money-lender in the temple," the bandit went on, "andthat reminded me of Virgil's lines:
. . . "'Liquefacto tempora plumbo Diffidit, ac multa porrectum, extendit arena.'
"_Liquefacto!_ Do you think, Signor Orso, that the rapidity with whicha bullet flies through the air will melt it? You who have studiedprojectiles, tell me whether you think that idea is truth or fiction?"
Orso infinitely preferred discussing this question of physics to arguingwith the licentiate as to the morality of his action. Brandolaccio, whodid not find their scientific disquisition entertaining, interrupted itwith the remark that the sun was just going to set.
"As you would not dine with us, Ors' Anton'," he said, "I advise younot to keep Mademoiselle Colomba waiting any longer. And then it is notalways wise to be out on the roads after sunset. Why do you come outwithout a gun? There are bad folk about here--beware of them! You havenothing to fear to-day. The Barricini are bringing the prefect home withthem. They have gone to meet him on the road, and he is to stop a dayat Pietranera, before he goes on to Corte, to lay what they call acorner-stone--such stupid nonsense! He will sleep to-night with theBarricini; but to-morrow they'll be disengaged. There is Vincentello,who is a good-for-nothing fellow, and Orlanduccio, who is not muchbetter. . . . Try to come on them separately, one to-day, the otherto-morrow. . . . But be on the lookout, that's all I have to say toyou!"
"Thanks for the warning," said Orso. "But there is no quarrel betweenus. Until they come to look for me, I shall have nothing to say tothem."
The bandit stuck his tongue in his cheek, and smacked it ironically, buthe made no reply. Orso got up to go away.
"By the way," said Brandolaccio, "I haven't thanked you for your powder.It came just when I needed it. Now I have everything I want . . . atleast I do still want shoes . . . but I'll make myself a pair out of theskin of a moufflon one of these days."
Orso slipped two five-franc pieces into the bandit's hand.
"It was Colomba who sent you the powder. This is to buy the shoes."
"Nonsense, Lieutenant!" cried Brandolaccio, handing him back the twocoins. "D'ye take me for a beggar? I accept bread and powder, but Iwon't have anything else!"
"We are both old soldiers, so I thought we might have given each other alift. Well, good-bye to you!"
But before he moved away he had slipped the money into he bandit'swallet, unperceived by him.
"Good-bye, Ors' Anton'," quoth the theologian. "We shall meet again inthe _maquis_, some day, perhaps, and then we'll continue our study ofVirgil."
Quite a quarter of an hour after Orso had parted company with theseworthies, he heard a man running after him, as fast as he could go. Itwas Brandolaccio.
"This is too bad, lieutenant!" he shouted breathlessly, "really it istoo bad! I wouldn't overlook the trick, if any other man had playedit on me. Here are your ten francs. All my respects to MademoiselleColomba. You have made me run myself quite out of breath. Good-night!"
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