CHAPTER X
How Mr. Pelly, subject to interruption, read aloud a translationfrom Italian. Who was the Old Devil? Who was theDuchessa? Of the narrator's incarceration. Of hisincredible escape. Whose horse was that in the Avenue?How Mr. Pelly read faster. Was Uguccio killed? SirStopleigh scandalised. But then it was the MiddleAges--one of them, anyhow! How only Duchesses know if Dukesare asleep. Of the bone Mr. Polly picked with Madeline.But what becomes of Unconscious Cerebration? AmbrosePare. Marta's little knife. Love was not unknown in theMiddle Ages. The end of the manuscript. But Sir Stopleighwent out to see a visitor, in the middle. How Madelineturned white, and went suddenly to bed. What was it allabout? Seventy-seven could wait.
Of course you recollect that Mr. Pelly, when hecame back from his great-grandniece's wedding atCowcester, was to read the manuscript ProfessorSchrudengesser had sent him from Florence, whichhad been the probable cause of all that fantasticdream-story he wrote out so cleverly from memory?Dear Uncle Christopher!--how lucky he shouldrecollect it all like that! Especially now that it hadall turned out real, because where was the use ofdenying it after Mrs. Aiken had heard thephotograph speak, too? If a mere photograph couldmake itself audible, of course a picture could--theoriginal!
Mr. Pelly's reading of Professor Schrudengesser'stranslation of the Florentine manuscript was fixedfor the evening after Madeline's return to SurleyStakes. Uncle Christopher dined alone with hisadopted niece and her parents, after which he wasto read the manuscript aloud in the library wherethe picture was hanging. This was a _sine qua non_to Madeline. The picture simply _must_ hear thatstory. But of course she said nothing of the reasonsof her increased curiosity on this point to anyone,not even to Mr. Pelly himself.
Behold, therefore, the family and the oldgentleman settling down to enjoy the manuscript beforethe picture and the log-fire beneath it. The readerpreliminarises, of course; wavering, to do justice tohis impending start.
"Now, Uncle Christopher dear, don't talk, butbegin reading, and let's hear the picture-story." Sospoke Miss Madeline when she thought Mr. Pellyhad hesitated long enough.
But this did not accelerate matters, for the oldgentleman, perceiving that her perusal of hisdream-narrative had landed her somehow in the conclusionthat the picture and the manuscript must beconnected, felt bound to enter his protest against anysuch rash assumption. "We must bear in mind," hesaid, "that there is absolutely nothing to connect thismanuscript with that picture over the chimneypieceexcept the name Raimondi. And although the picturewas certainly purchased from a castle owned bya family of that name, there is no reason whatever tosuppose it to be a portrait of a member of that family.And the fact that a portrait of a lady is spoken of--aswe shall see directly--in this manuscript, nomore connects the story with this picture than withany other picture. My friend Professor Schrudengesser,although it would be difficult to do justiceto his erudition, and impossible to quarrel with mostof his conclusions, is impulsive in the highest degree,and no one is more liable to be misled by a false clue.In this case, however, he admits that it is the merestsurmise, and that at least we are on very doubtfulground."
Mr. Pelly felt contented, as with a satisfactoryperoration, and was going to dive straight into themanuscript, which he had really folded to his liking,this time. But the Baronet, to claim a share inerudition for the landed gentry, must needs look weightywith tightly closed lips, and then open them to say,"Very doubtful--very doubtful--ve-ry doubtful!" Andthis, of course, provoked his daughter to arenewed attitude of _parti pris_, merely fromcontradiction, for really she knew no more about thematter than this story has shown, so far.
"Don't go on shaking your head backwards andforwards like that, Pupsey dear," said this disrespectfulgirl. "You'll shake it off. Besides, as toher not being a member of the Raimondi family, isn'tit logical to assume that everybody is a member ofany family till the contrary is proved? At least,_you'd_ say it on your side, you know, if you wantedit, and I should be frightened to contradict you."
This provoked incredulity and even derision.After which, a remark about the clock causedMr. Pelly actually to begin reading, with a word ofapology about the probable imperfection of thetranslation. Even then he stopped to say that hehoped he had clearly stated the Herr Professor'sopinion that the date of the manuscript would beabout 1559, as it speaks to the "Duchessa Isabella,"to whom it is written, of "your recent nuptials." Headded that no doubt this lady was Isabella deiMedici, daughter of Cosmo, the second of the name,who in 1558 married Orsini, Duke of Bracciano.
"Never mind them," said Madeline, interrupting,"unless he poisoned her or there was somethingexciting and mediaeval."
"Well," said Mr. Pelly, rather apologetically,"he certainly _did_ poison her, strictly speaking.That is, if Webster's tragedy of Victoria Corombonais historically correct. If you get a conjurer topoison your portrait's lips, with a full knowledgethat your wife makes a point of kissing them everynight before she goes to bed...."
"That's the sort of thing _I_ like. Go on!"
"Why ... of course you place yourself in a veryequivocal position."
"Yes," said Madeline, "and what's more, itshows what pictures can do if they try. Of coursehe murdered her. What are you looking sosagacious for, Pupsey?" For the Bart's head wasshaking slowly. He showed some symptoms of awish to circumscribe the Middle Ages--to stintthem of colour and romance.
"It might be a case to go to a Jury," said hegrudgingly. Whereupon Mr. Pelly began to readin earnest.
"'To the most illustrious Duchessa Isabella,most beautiful among the beautiful daughters ofher princely father, queen of all poesy, matchlessamong musicians, mistress of many languages, towhose improvisations accompanied on the lute thestars of heaven stop to listen....' This goes onfor some time," said Mr. Pelly.
"Skip it, Uncle Christopher. I dare say she wasa stupid little dowdy."
"Very likely! H'm--h'm--h'm! Yes--supposeI go on here: 'In obedience to your highness'saugust commands I have set down here the fullstory of my marvellous escape from prison in theCastello of Montestrapazzo, where I passed a_semestre sottoterraneo_'--six months underground--theProfessor seems to have left some characteristicphrases in Italian. I won't stop to translate themunless you ask--shouldn't like to appear patronising!--'overtwenty-five years since, being then quitea young man--in truth, younger than my sonGherardo, who is the bearer of this, whom you maywell recognise at once by his marvellous likeness tohis mother, whose affectionate greetings he willconvey to you more readily than I can write them.For when I look upon his face it seems to me Ialmost see again the face as I painted it years ago,the _sognovegliante_ look'--the Professor fancies thewriter invented this word--_dream-waking_, that sortof thing--'the _sognovegliante_ look of the eyes, thehappy laughter of the mouth. And, indeed, as youknow her now, she is not unlike the boy, and shechanges but little with the years. For even thebeautiful golden hair keeps its colour of thosedays....'"
At this point Madeline interrupted: "But that'sthe picture-girl down to the ground. How cananybody doubt it? Why, look at her!"
Mr. Pelly was dubious. "I don't know. Icouldn't say. There's hardly enough to go upon."
"That's exactly like a scholarly old gentleman!But, Uncle Christopher dear, do just get up aminute and come here and _look_!" Mr. Pelly complied.
Generally speaking, we thought it might be rashto allow ourselves to be influenced by a description;it was always safest to suspend judgment untilafter something else, or something still later thansomething else. We had very little to go upon,independently of the fact that the name Raimondiconnected itself with both the portrait and themanuscript.
"Then go independently! However, let's comeback and get on with the story." The speaker wentback to her place at her mother's feet, and Mr. Pellyresumed.
"Where were we? Oh--'colour of those days'--ohyes!--'and the curvature of the line of hisnostril that is all his mother's....'"
Madeline inserted a _sotto voce_: "Of course, i
t's thepicture-girl!" The reader took no notice.
"... That he will prove himself of service tohis Excellency the Duke I cannot doubt, for theboy is ready with his pen as with his sword, though,indeed, as I myself was in old days, a thought tooquick with the latter, and hot-headed on occasionshown. But him you will come to know. I, formy part, will now comply as best I may with yourwish, and tell you the story of my imprisonmentand escape.
"I was then in my twenty-first year; but,young as I was, I already had some renown as apainter. And I think, had God willed that I shouldcontinue in the practice of the art that I loved, myname might still be spoken with praise among thebest. Yet I will not repine at the fate that hasmade of me little better than a _poderista_, a farmer,for see now how great has been the happiness of mylot! Figure it to yourself in contrast with that ofa man--such a one have I seen, of whom I shall tellyou--full of life and health, all energy and purpose,cast into a prison for the crime of another, andunable to die for the little poisonous hopes thatwould come, day by day, of a release that neverwas to come itself. His lot might have been minetoo, but for the courage and decision of the womanwho has been my good throughout--who has beenthe one great treasure and happiness of my life.Yet one thing I do take ill in my heart--that thepicture I painted of her, the last I ever touched,should have been so cruelly destroyed.'" Mr. Pellypaused in his reading.
"The Herr Professor and myself," said he, "aredivided in opinion about some points in connexionwith this--but perhaps I had better read on, andwe can talk about it after."
"'For it was surely the best work I had everpainted. And none other can paint her now as Idid then. But I must not indulge this uselessregret. Let me get to my story.
"'Know, then, that, being in my twenty-firstyear, and in love with no woman, in part, as Ithink, owing to a memory of my boyhood I treasuredin my heart--a memory I did not know as Love,but one that had a strange power of swaying mylife--that I, being thus famous enough to be soughtout by those who loved the art, whether for its ownsake, or to add to their fame, was sent for to paintthe young bride of a great noble, the Duke Raimondi,at his villa that stands out in the plain of the Arno,nearer to Pistoia than to Firenze. Thither, then, Igo with all speed, for the Raimondi was a noble ofgreat weight, and not to be lightly gainsaid. Butof this young bride of his I knew nothing, neither ofher parentage, nor even of her nationality; indeed,I had been told, by some mistake of my informant,that she was by birth a _Francese_. You may wellbelieve, then, that I was utterly astounded when Ifound she was...'"
Here Mr. Pelly paused in his reading, and wipedhis spectacles. "I am sorry to say," said he, "thatwe come to a gap in the manuscript here--a _hiatusvalde deflendus_--and we cannot tell how much ismissing. There is, of course, no numbering of thepages to guide us. Italians, it seems, are in thehabit of remaining stupefied--a phrase I have justtranslated was '_Son rimasto stupefatto_'--on thesmallest provocation, and the expression might onlymean that this bride of the Raimondi was an _Inglese_,and plain."
"We are plain, sometimes," Madeline admitted."But what geese antiquarians are! You shouldalways have a girl at your elbow, to tell things.Why, of course, this young person was the Memoryhe had treasured in his heart!"
"I should think it very likely," said Mr. Pelly,"from what follows later. Only, nothing proves it,so far. I should like the arrangement you suggest,my dear Madeline; however, we must get alongnow, if that clock's right." He nodded at one onthe chimneypiece, with Time, made in gold, as amower of hay; then continued reading:
"'Oh, with what joy my fingers closed on thataccursed throat! One moment more, and I hadsent my old monster whither go the accursed, whoshall trouble us no further, yet shall bear for everthe burden of their sins, a debt whereof the capitalshall never be repaid, even to the end of all eternity,Amen! But alas!--that one moment was not forme, for the knave who bore the mace, though hemissed my head, struck me well and full, half-waybetwixt the shoulder and the ear; and though itwas a blow that might not easily kill a young mansuch as I, yet was I stunned by the shock of it, andknew no more till I found myself...'"
"What on earth is all this about?" said Madeline."Surely the wrong page, Uncle Christopher."
"Very wrong indeed! But it can't be helped.We must lump it. It may be one folded pagemissing or it may be half a dozen; we have no clue.We must accept the text as it is." And Mr. Pellywent on reading:
"'... Found myself on the back of a horse, goingat an easy amble up a hilly road in mountains. Iwas bound fast behind a strong rider, of whom Icould see nothing at first but his steel cap ormorion--and I thought I knew him by it, the basnetthereof being dinted, as the man whose sword mybeloved had shed her blood to stop, that else hadended my days for me then and there. For in thosedays, _Eccellenza_, I had such eyes to note all thingsabout me as even youth has rarely. On either sideof us rode another man-at-arms, one of whom Icould recognise as him who had struck at me withhis mace, also missing of slaying me, by the greatmercy of God.
"'I had little heart to speak to either of them,as you may think, and, indeed, was a mere wreckof myself of two hours ago; for I judged of howtime had gone by the last smouldering red of thesundown above the dark, flat, purple of the hills.My thirst was hard to bear, and the great pain ofmy head and shoulder, shaken as both were by themovement of the horse. But I knew I might askin vain, though I saw where a wine-flask swung onthe saddle-bow of him of the mace. It is wondrous,_Eccellenza_, what youth, and great strength, and pridecan endure, rather than ask a _gentilezza_ of an enemy!
"'Thus, then, we travelled on together, myguards taking little heed of each other, and none ofme in my agony; seeming, indeed, to have no careif I lived or died. They rode as fellows on a journeyso often do when they have said their most onsuch matters as they have in common, and arethinking rather of the good dinner and the bed thatawaits them at their journey's end than of whatthey pass on the road, or of what they have leftbehind. One of them, the knave that had struckme down, who seemed the most light-hearted of thethree, would at such odd times as pleased him breakinto a short length of song, which might for all Iknow have been of his own making, so far as thewords went; while as for the tune, it was a cadencesuch as the vine-setter sings at his work in Tuscany,having neither end nor beginning, and suited toany words the singer may choose to fit to it. Takingnote that he did this the more as the third man,whom I had not recognised, rode on a short distanceahead as he did at intervals, I judged this last oneto be his superior in command; and that, if I couldfind voice for speech at all, my best chance of ananswer would be from himself and not from thissuperior, who would most likely only bid me besilent at the best, even if he gave no worse response.So I caught at the moment when he had ended arather longer cadence than usual, judging therefromthat my speech would reach at most him and theman behind whom I myself was riding. Where wasI being taken so fast, I asked, and for what? Andhe answers me thus:
"'"To a good meal and a long rest, _mio figlio_.To the Castello del bel Riposo. They sleep a longnight at that _albergo_--those who ride there as youride. I have ridden more than once with a guestof his Excellency. But there has always been agood meal for each, _pasta_, and meat, and a flask of_vino buono puro_, before he went to rest." Whereonhe laughed, but there was no joy for me in thatlaugh of his. I speak again.
"'"I see what you mean, accursed one! Thatflask of wine will be my last on this earth."
"'"You speak truly, _caro mio figlio_. It will beyour last flask of wine. You will enjoy it all themore."
"'"You are a good swordsman----?"
"'"I am accounted so. But this good Taddeo,whom you are permitting to ride in front ofyou--ho! ho!--he also is a good swordsman. But wemay neither of us grant what I know well you weregoing to ask. You will never hold a sword-hiltagain, my son, nor rejoice in face of an enemy. Icould have wished otherwise, for you are a braveboy; and I would gladly have been the butcher toso fine a young calf."
"'"You are quick to grip my meaning. But Ico
uld have outmatched you both on fair ground.Now listen! You have a good-will towards me--soI judge from your words. Tell me, then, this:--howwill they kill me?"
"'"I have never said they would kill you, myson. I have said only this--that you will have arare good supper of _pasta_ and meat, and a rare goodflask of red wine, before you go to rest. And letme give you this word of advice. Before you goto rest at the Castello del bel Riposo, take a goodlook at the sunlight if it be day, at the stars ofheaven if it be night, for you will never see themagain, for all your eyes will remain in your head,even as now."
"'Sometimes, _O Illustrissima_, when I wake inthe night, it comes back to me, that moment. Andthere below me is the musical tramp of the horses'feet on the bare road, and I hear the voice of myfriend sing again a little phrase of song--_che ognunotirasse l' acqua al suo mulino_--and I heed him verylittle, though I can read in his words a wicked beliefabout my most guiltless and beloved treasure. Isee the sweet light where the sun was, through theleaves of the olive-trees that make a _reticella_(network) against the sky; and the great still star theynever hide for long, rustle how they may! But Ican but half enjoy the light that is dying, and thestar that burns the more the more it dies; for thepain is great in my shoulder where the blow struck,and in my head and eyes, and my body is sore atits bonds and stiff from being held in one position.And yet I may never see that star again--the starwe called our own, my Maddalena and I, and madebelieve God made for us, saying "this star I makefor Giacinto _e la sua sorellaccia_"--neither that star,nor its bath of light, nor the sun that will make allHeaven glad to-morrow, unseen by me. For I canguess the meaning of what my friend has said....'"
Here a little was quite illegible. But no conversationensued on that account, both reader and listenerswanting to hear what followed. Mr. Pellyread on:--
"'Now I call this man my friend, and, _Eccellenza_,you will see, as I tell my tale, that this is no derisivespeech. I think that what showed me he was notall hostility to me in his heart was that he would--Ifelt sure--if left to himself, have granted the boonI would have asked of him, and fought fairly withme to the death of one or other. So there was lovebetween us of a soldierly sort. And I, too, couldsee how it had grown. For I had half suspectedhim of not showing all the alacrity he might havedone with his mace when I had my grip on the OldDevil's throat....'"
Madeline interrupted: "It's perfectly maddening!What wouldn't I give to know what it's all about?"
"I'll tell you presently the Herr Professor'sconjectural history," said Mr. Pelly. But this did notsatisfy the young lady.
"Tell us now! I'm the sort that can't wait,"said she.
The benignity of Mr. Pelly's face as he replied toher was a sight to be seen.
"The Herr Professor thinks it is quite clear thatthis young man, on his arrival at the Palace of thegreat noble whose wife he was to paint, fell in lovewith some girl of her retinue, possibly havingrecognised some friend of early childhood; and that theDuchess fell in love with _him_. Naturally--becausewe must bear in mind this was in the Middle Ages,or nearly--jealousy would prompt assassination ofone or both of the young lovers...."
"But who was the Old Devil? That's what Iwant to know."
"Evidently the wicked Duchess herself."
"What did she want to have her portrait paintedfor if she was old?"
"The Herr Professor conjectures that the reasonour young painter remained stupefied when he firstsaw the Duchess was that she turned out not to beyoung at all, but old and repulsive." Madelinelooked doubtful. "Then the idea was that theDuchess personally conducted the examination ofthe girl--caught the two young people spooneying,and had her murdered on the spot. And that theyoung man thereon went straight for her throat.After which she naturally felt that it would bedifficult to get on a tender footing with him, as shehad wished to do, and had him consigned to adungeon for life."
Madeline disagreed. "No," said she, "I don'tthink the Professor's at all a good theory. Mine'sbetter. Go on reading. I'll tell you mine presently."
Mr. Pelly refound his place and went on reading.
"'... Had my grip on the Old Devil's throat.And also I had felt his approval in his hands as hehelped to bear me away from the _Stanza delleQuattro Corone_, though my senses failed too fastfor me to understand what he said to his comrade.Yet I thought, too, it sounded like "_Un bel giovaneper Bacco!_" So when at last I was unbound, andstood in the forecourt of a great castle in the middleof a group of men, some of whom had torches--forit was then well on into the night--and dogs that Ihad heard barking through the last short half-hourof our approach up the steep and stony ascent tothe great gates that had now clanged to, as I judgedthen, for my last passage through them eitherway--I, though stiff and in pain, and in a kind of dumbstupor as I stood there, could still resolve a little inmy mind what might even now be done to help mein my plight.
"'I caught the words of the third horseman--hewho had ridden on in front--to a huge bloatedman who seemed to be the seneschal or steward incharge of the place, who went hobbling on a stick,seeming dropsical and short of breath.
"'We have brought another guest, _Sir Ferretti_,for your hospitality. _Sua Eccellenza_ hopes you haveroom; good accommodation--a clean straw bed orsome fresh-gathered heather. _Sua Eccellenza_ wouldnot have needless discomfort for your guests at theCastello. A long life to them is the _brindisi_ of _suaEccellenza--sempre sempre_." That is to say, forall time.
"'And then the fat man answered wheezily, "Itshall be done, _Ser Capitano_. And he shall sup welland choose his company; it is an old usage and shallbe observed." He then turned to me and said,with a mock reverence, "Whom does the Signorechoose to sup with before he retires to rest?"
"'I turned to the man I had spoken with as werode, and laid my hand on his shoulder. "_Sicuro_,"I said, "with none other than _Messer Nanerottolo_here." This was my pleasantry, for he was amonstrous big man, but not ill-favoured. I wenton, "I owe you a supper, my friend, for that _piccolovezzeggiamento_ you have given me----"
"What does that mean?" Thus his hearers, in concert.
"A little caress. I don't know why the Professorhas left some of the Italian words. _Nanerottolo_means a very little dwarf indeed, and he couldhardly have translated. But he might have saidcaress just as well." He resumed reading:
"'"I can feel it in my shoulder still." At this helaughed, but said again I was a _bel giovane_, and_molto bravo_. "And it is to you," I said, "that Iowe my supper here to-night." But his _Capitano_gave a laugh, and said, "_Piuttosto a quel piccolovezzeggiamento che tu desti alia Duchessa_----"
Here the reader paused to interpret the Italianagain, which was hardly needed; then said, "Thereis another gap in the manuscript here, and it is a pity.The Professor thinks a few more words from whatfollowed would have made his theory a certainty."
"Why?" asked Madeline.
"Because 'the caress you gave the Duchess'could only mean that he owed his supper to havinghalf strangled the old _Duchessa_. They couldn'tmean anything else in the context."
"Couldn't they? Never mind, Uncle Christopher!Go on now. I'll tell you presently." UncleChristopher obeyed, recommencing as beforeafter the gap in the middle of a sentence:
"'... Prison for life accords ill with life andhope and youth and the blood that courses in itsveins. Whereas despair in an exhausted frame,and pain and hunger, breed a longing for the worst,and if it may be, for an early death. Hence,_Illustrissima_, my good supper, which was givenungrudgingly, while it made me another man, andbetter able to endure the pain left from the blow ofmy friend who sat at meat with me, gave me alsostrength to revolt against the terrible doom thatawaited me. Also, hope and purpose revived inmy heart, and I knew my last word with the worldof living men must be spoken before midnight; forthis was told me by the dropsical Castellan, with anaccursed smile. So I watch for the moment whenmy friend, whose name was Attilio, is at his topmostgeniality with the good wine, and then I speak,none being there to hear, but only he. I speak asto
a friend:
"'"You love the good red wine, Messer Attilio,and you love the good red gold. Is it not true?Which do you love the most?" And to this heanswered me, "Surely the good red gold, _Ser Pittore_.For wine will not purchase _all_ one asks. There isnothing gold will not purchase--enough of it!"
"'"Listen! Where are they going to hide meaway? Do you know the Castello?"
"'"I was born here. I can tell you all. There isgood accommodation in the _sotterraneo_. It isextended, but it is not lofty. You will have company,but the living is poor, meagre. I have said that youwould not see the sun again, but you may! Forin one place is a slot, cut slantwise in the stone, thatthe guests of the Duke who come to stay may notwant air. Through the slot, one day in the yearonly, and then but for a very little space, comes a rayfrom the sun in heaven. In the old days of theWarrior Duke, when there would be many prisonersof war, they would count the days until the hour ofits coming, and then fight for a good place to seethe gleam when it came. But the few you will findthere will have little heart for that, or anything else."
"'"Is that the only outlet?"
"'"No! There is the door you go in by. Onestoops, as one stoops to enter the little prisons ofVenezia, deep below the water. And there is the_Buco della Fame_...." "That is to say," interjectedMr. Pelly, "The Hunger Hole, or Hunger Pit."
"'"What is that?" I then asked.
"'"What they were used to throw bones down,when they had made merry and sucked them dry,to the prisoners below. And there is a drain."
"'"How large is it?"
"'"Large enough for the rats to pass up--nolarger. I used to watch them run in at the outlet,when I was a youngster. But the _Buco_--that islarge enough for a man to pass up and down--asort of well-hole. Not the _Ser Ferretti_ there; hewould stick in it. I have seen it all, for my fatherwas the gaoler in old days."
"'"Listen now, _Ser Attilio_! You want the goodred gold, in plenty. And you shall have it if youdo my bidding. When you leave this--are youmarking what I say?--go straight to _la Marta_, shewho attends always on the _Duchessa_, and say toher simply this--that on the day I regain myliberty, there will be five hundred crowns for her.Tell her where I am. And for this service to meyou shall receive...."'"
Mr. Pelly stopped reading again. There wasanother gap; a portion of the manuscript wasmissing as before. He remarked upon the loss to thereader, apparently, of the whole account of theyoung man's first introduction to the dungeon, inwhich he seemed to have passed a considerable time--thebest part of six months as far as could be madeout--before we are able to follow his narrative.
He then read on, without comment: "'Littlewonder we should find day and night alike for theircomplete monotony, though, indeed, we coulddistinguish between them by the light through theair-slot, the only ventilation through all this extent ofvaulted crypt. But for incident and change, fromday's end to day's end, there was none beyond thedaily visit I have spoken of, of Uguccione the gaoler,carrying always his little lamp of brass and a basketof coarse black bread, and a pitcher of water. Is itnot strange, _Illustrissima_, that a man should live,should go on living, even when the stupefaction ofdespair comes to his aid, without light or movementor the breath of Heaven on his face. None the lessthese others that I told you of had done so, somemore, some less; and the very old man who was butas an idiot, and could tell nought of his name andhis past, had been there already many years whenUguccione first took the prisoners into his charge.
He was a merry, chatty fellow, this Uguccione, andtalked freely with me at first, and told me manythings. But he said I should not talk for long, fornone did. See now, he said, he would speak to theold Alberico, and never an answer would he get.And thereon flashed his lamp across the old man'sface, and asked him some ribald question about _laGiustina_. But the old man only shrank from thelight, and answered nothing. Who was _la Giustina_? Iasked. Nay, he knew not a whit! But he knewthat the former gaoler, old Attilio, from whom hetook the keys, had told him that if he would enrageold Alberico, he had but to speak to him of _laGiustina_. And thereon he flashed his light againin the old eyes, to see them flinch again; and gaveme black bread and water, and went his way.
"'But this man told me many things, beforeI, too, began to settle into the speechless gloom ofunvarying captivity. He told me that, even now,the great Duke, after banqueting in the hall above,would sometimes for his mere diversion have thetrap opened at the top of the _Buco della Fame_, andthrow down what might be left on table, except itwere such as might serve for the cook again, or tobe eaten at the lower table. And he warned me tobe ready and at hand if I should hear any soundfrom above, as then I might get for myself the bestpick of the bones or bread-crusts that might comedown in a shower. And I laid this to heart.
"'And now, as I must not weary your Excellency'sillustrious eyes to read needless detailsof my sufferings in my imprisonment, I will leaveits horrors to your imagination, saying only this,that whatever you may picture to yourself, theremay easily have been something still worse. Iwill pass on to the moving of the trap-door above me.
"'Of a sudden, in what I thought was night, butwhich must have been midday, I hear a sound asof hinges that creak and strain. It comes fromthe _Buco della Fame_; and I can hear, too, butdimly, what I take to be the murmur of voices inthe room it leads to. I rise from the straw I lie on,and move as best I may, for I am free to move aboutonly slowly, because my right hand is manacled tomy left foot, and from stiffness and weakness,towards the opening of the hole in the low archabove me. I can touch its edge with my hand.I look up through the long round tube, and can seeits length now by the size of the opening at the top.It may be, as I reckon it, at least twenty _bracchie_from the ground I stand on.
"'As I gaze, a little dazzled by the light, I hearplainly the voices above me of those who are merrywith the banquet. And then a face looks downand darkens the opening for a moment; but it isonly like a dark spot, and my eyes are thwarted bythe change from dark to light, so that I cannotguess if it be man or woman. Then I hear a laughfrom above that I compare in my heart to thelaugh a Saint in Heaven might give as he looksdown a narrow shaft that leads to Hell, and rejoicesin his freedom and the great Justice of God. But Imyself am nowise better off than the sinners,heretics and Jews that are consumed in firesbelow, yet die not. Then, as I think of this, downcomes a shower of what seems to me good kitchenstuff. Whereof I secure a piece of turkey formyself, and of capon for the very old man; but heshall have his choice, if, indeed, he can eat either.Then come other prisoners for their share, from afaroff in the crypt, one of whom I had never seen, sodark was his corner. But I had heard him moanand mutter. Only, before he comes with the othersI have time to choose somewhat else from the mess,always sharing as I think fairly. And as I do thisI am taken aback by a sheet of written paper thathas fluttered down the shaft. And I have caughtit, and the trap above closes with a clang, and thevoices die above, and the darkness has come again,and the silence.
"'Know, _Illustrissima_, that the eyesight thatlives long in darkness may grow to be so keen thatnot only the outline of the prisoner's hand that heholds before him may be seen by him, but even theseams and lines thereon, by which may be knownthe story of his life and the length of his days.But I had not yet come to that perfection of vision,and could read nought of the paper in my own place;for all that the crypt was then at its brightest,it being late midday, and the gleam from the slotat the far end strong enough for me to see dimly theface of the old man as I held out to him in turn theturkey and the capon. But he would none of either,and hardly noted what I did, as one in a maze.So in the end I leave him and go nearer the light, toread what I may.
"'It is all like a strange dream now. But,_Illustrissima_, as I look back to that moment, whatI remember is a huge beating of a heart that willnot be still. It is there, and a gleam of lightthrough a narrow wall-slot in the masonry is there;but should you ask me how I read, until I knew byrote, what was written on that paper, I could nottell you. Yet I can re
peat every word now:
"'"This is to be destroyed, should it reach you,before the next round of l'Uguccione.
"'"I can get speech of you through the slot.Watch there always in the early night. It must bewhen the old wretch, my master, is in his deepestsleep.
"'"Your word came to me through la Marta,months ago, from l'Attilio. They are keen fortheir reward. Take heart, oh my dearest one, andwatch for me.
"'"I have sat at the board of my tyrant, and eachday he has taunted me, and pointed down to thecruel prison of my darling. Oh, if, after all, it isa lie that you still live! Pray God Attilio is right,and that this may reach you!
"'"Oh, my beloved, if no better may be, at leastI may compass that you shall receive a tiny flaskof poison; whereof I too may take a fatal draught,and each may know of the other that trouble is atan end."
"'She had signed no name, but none was needed.Hope waked in my heart, for I knew thatAttilio...'"
Here Mr. Pelly stopped reading. Another hiatus!"The loss of this passage," said he, "is especiallyirritating, as it might have supplied a clue to theidentity of the writer of this letter. The remainderof the story, as I recollect it, leaves us quite in thedark as to who she was, though I am inclined tosurmise, from the use of the expression 'my master,'that she was a young person attached to the householdof the Duchess." But for all that, Mr. Pelly'sdream about the picture disturbed his memory.How could his inner consciousness have concoctedit, consistently with this interpretation of themanuscript? Still, he was bound to "dismiss itfrom his mind," and give his support, provisionally,to the theory of the Herr Professor. How couldhe cite a mere dream in refutation of it? So he"dismissed it from his mind," and when Madelinesaid, "Never mind that now, Uncle Christopher!Do go on and see if it doesn't all come right in theend. We'll talk about who she was, after," he wasrather glad to resume, without further comment:
"'... I am hanging in mid-air. Below me is anawful precipice. If Attilio were to fail me, or therope break, what should I do? But I care not; Icare only to succour my darling love, in his dungeonunderground. Do not speak again, dear love, lestyou be overheard within. Attilio says that if Iwhisper to you through the little opening no otherprisoner need hear.... I will tell you all. Attilioknew from his boyhood that the _sfiatatoio_...'"
The reader stopped to explain that this appearedto be a word equivalent to "blow-hole" in English,used by founders for the opening left for escape ofair when the metal is poured in.
"'... The _sfiatatoio_ opened under the SouthTower in the wall that is flush with the precipice,that one may see the sun blaze on all day summerand winter. None can approach it from below; butSer Attilio is strong--oh, the strength of hisarms!--and he can let me down from the great high towerlike a child, and then I hang some little space fromthe window-ledge. But I swing a little, and then Ihold by the stonework, and I am safe and can speak.It is bright in the moonlight and still, and I amspeaking to my darling. Stretch out your hand,my love, without speech, and seek not I chargeyou to hold my living hand, however great the joythereof, but take from it the file I have made shiftto steal from the armourer's boy, who will bebeaten for its loss, but whom I will kiss once andmore for his reward. _Pazienza, carissimo mio_....'"
Mr. Pelly put the manuscript on his knee, andopened his hands out with a deprecating action.
"I'm _very_ sorry, Madeline. I really _am_! But Ican't help it. It is, as you say, most aggravating.Just as we were getting to the interesting bit! Butyou understand what happened?"
"Oh yes! I see it all as plain as a pikestaff.And, what's more, I saw the very place itself--thegreat precipice and the Castle wall that shootsstraight up from it. An _awful_ place! But _what_a plucky little Duchess!"
"Duchess? I don't quite follow----"
"That's because you are so _stupid_, Uncle Christopher."
"My dear Mad! Really----!" This was theBart, and her Ladyship. Because Mr. Pelly wasn'toffended.
"Well, it's true I said I would tell Mr. Pelly allabout it, and then I didn't." She went across toMr. Pelly, and leant over him, which he liked, toget at the manuscript. "Look here! Where is it?Oh--the old Devil! Yes--that wasn't the Duchessat all! That was her horrible old husband, theDuke. And she was the Memory of his boyhood,don't you see? Oh, it's all quite plain. And mypicture-girl's her. And it's no use your talkingabout evidence, because I know I'm right, andevidence is nonsense."
"It certainly is true," Sir Stopleigh said, "thatthe Castle wall is exactly as Madeline describes it,for I have seen it myself, and can confirm herstatement." He seemed to consider that almostanything would be confirmed by so very old a Baronetseeing such a very large wall.
"Suppose we accept Madeline's theory as a workinghypothesis, and see how we get on. If we quiteunderstand the last bit, and I think we do, whatfollows is not unintelligible." And Mr. Pellycontinued reading:
"'... Working thus patiently in long and drearyhours, and keeping the link of my manacle well inthe straw to drown the grating noise, I come toknow, on the third day of my labour, that but a verylittle more is wanted and the ring will be cut through;and then I know the chance is it will spring asunderand leave the two links free. But I do not seek tocomplete the cut until near the day appointed, fordoes not Uguccione now and again examine all thosefetters, sometimes striking them with a smallhammer to make sure they have not been tampered with?So I keep the ring hidden as best I may, and thecut I have made I fill in with kneaded bread. Andone time Uguccione does come and strike the irons,and I tremble. But by great good luck he strikesso that they ring, and I am at my ease again.
"'Then comes what was my hardest task: themaking of footholes in the shaft that I might climband reach the underside of the trap. But first Imust tell you why I need do this. For you will say,Why could not Attilio let down a cord and pullme up through the trap? So he could, in truth,were it possible to open the trap from overhead.But it was closed with a key from above that camethrough a great length to the lock below. Only Icould well understand from the description that thislock would be no such great matter to prize backfrom underneath could I once make shift to reachit. Therein lay the great difficulty, shackled as Iwas, although the links should be parted, to climbup this long shaft and work at the opening of thislock, standing on what poor foothold I couldcontrive in total darkness.
"'Nevertheless, _Illustrissima_, be assured that Igo to my work with a good-will, though with littlehope. And on the first night I succeed in loosingthree bricks from their place in the wall, at suchintervals that each gives a foothold I may reach tofrom the one below it on the other side. And thenext night again three more. And so on for sixnights, working patiently. And now I can touchthe lock that is above me. But understand that Idid not remove these bricks, else had I been at agreat loss where to hide them from Uguccione. Ileft them loose in their places, so that I could twistthem out sideways, and thus make a kind of step.For you know how strong our Tuscan bricks are.Yet I had much ado to hide away the loose mortarthat came from between the joints. And had itnot been that the fetter on my wrist, now free, servedto prize out the bricks when the mortar was clearfrom the ends, and loosened above and below, I hadbeen sore put to it to detach them, so firm werethey in their places. And all this work, _Illustrissima_,had to be done in black darkness, by guidance offeeling only!
"'And now, please you, image to yourself that Ihave made my topmost step, and only await a wordof signal through the _sfiatatoio_. And this was,believe me, my worst time of all. For I knew thatthe most precious thing to me in all this world, thelife of my Maddalena, must be risked again to giveme that signal! Nay! I did not know, could notknow, that she had not already tried to give it, and,so attempting it, been precipitated to the awfulrocks below, where whoso fell might readily lieunheeded, and not be found for years.
"'But I hold to my purpose in a silent despair.I watch through hours of the still mornings. Butnothing moves again in front of the little stars thatcome and go, for many days. I do n
ot let myselfcount the days nor the hours, and always strive tothink of them at their fewest. Then one night ameteor shoots across the span of sky that I can see,blinding out the little stars, and leaving sparks offire to die down as they may. And my heart lifts,for I count it a harbinger of good. And so itproves, for I next hear--because, understand me,this meteor shot across Heaven's vault with a stronghissing sound, like _fuochi artificiati_--the slack ofthe rope that lets my darling down to me with hermessage of...'"
Another hitch in the narrative. Mr. Pelly stoppedwith a humble apologetic expression, havingreference rather to the young lady than to her parents.
"Really, my dear," said he, "I feel quite guilty--asif I was to blame--when these abominableblanks come."
"Yes! And you know I always think it's yourfault; and I do get so angry. Poor UncleChristopher! What a shame! What's that, Mumsey?"
"Nothing, dear. Only I thought I heard the stepof a horse in the Avenue."
"So did I. Only it can't be anything at thistime of night."
The knowledge that a guest was pending shortly--oneof the sort that comes and goes at will--causedthe Baronet to say: "It might be GeneralFordyce--only he said he wouldn't come tillTuesday." To whom his wife and daughter repliedconjointly:
"Oh no! The General!--not at midnight--well!--athalf-past eleven! Look at the clock.Anyhow, his room's all ready," etc., etc. Afterwhich Madeline spoke alone:
"Now, Mr. Pelly, go on again. I do so hope it's aplummy bit." Then, illogically, "Besides, it wasn'ta carriage." She silenced a disposition of her parentsto interpose on Mr. Pelly's behalf by saying: "Ohno, we shan't tire Uncle Christopher to death.Shall we, Uncle Christopher?"
"God bless me, no! The idea! Besides, there'sreally not so very much more to read. Unless I'mkeeping you up?"
"Pupsey and Mumsey can go to bed, and leaveus to finish."
"Oh no! We want to hear the end of it." Pupseyand Mumsey were unanimous.
"Very well, then! I can fill up Uncle's glassand Pupsey's, and we can go on and finishcomfortably. Now, fire away!" And Mr. Pelly read on:
"'... I can hear them in the room above me.The voice of my darling herself. But oh--thisblack darkness! One little gleam of light, and Iknow I can manage this accursed lock. But I cansee nothing; and who knows but by trying andtrying stupidly, in the dark, I may not make mattersworse. But I will try, again and again, rather thanfail now.... Oh, she is so near me--so near, I canhear her voice....
"'All suddenly, a gleam of light from below. Amiracle, but what care I? I can see the lock now,plain! Ah, the stupidity of me! I was forcing itthe wrong way all the time. Now for a sharp, sharpstrain, with all the strength I have left! And backgoes the lock with a snap! I can hear its soundwelcomed above, and another strain on the trap,and the first creak of its hinge. It will shriek; andthey stop, as I think, to make it silent with a littleoil.
"'Then my glance goes down the shaft to askwhat was my light, that came to save me in suchgood time. It was surely the Holy Mary herself,or a blessed Saint from Heaven, that took pity onme....
"'No! It is Uguccione the gaoler, with his littlelamp of brass.
"'"Aha--ha--ha!--my friend. Come you down--comeyou down! Or shall I get a little fire andsmoke, to tickle you and make you come? It isuseless, _caro mio_! The wise player gives up thelost game. Come you down! It is not thus folksay farewell to the _Castello del bel Riposo_. Comeyou down, my friend! Or shall I wait a little? Ican wait! No hurry, look you!"
"'I am sad at heart to have to do it, but thereis no other way. Whether he lived or died I knownot, but I should grieve to think he died. For Ihad no hatred for Uguccio, who, after all, didbut his duty. But there is no other way. I amstanding on two bricks that I have placed overagainst each other, for firmer foothold and betterpurchase on the lock. One of them I loosen out,standing only on the other and leaning shoulder-wiseagainst the wall. And then I send it down theshaft, with a blessing for Uguccio. I can see hisface, turning up to me in the light of his littlebroken lamp.
"'The brick strikes him full on the temple, butit also strikes out his light. I hear him fall. I heara groan or gasp. But I see only black darknessbelow, and the red wick-spark of the lamp, thatgrows less and less, and will die. Then onlydarkness.
"'Then my last senses fail me. But I know thetrap opens, and a strong arm comes down and gripsmy wrist from above. And then I find myselflying on the floor of a great hall in a dim light.And into my eyes, as I lie there, little better than acorpse, if the truth be told, are looking the sweetesteyes surely God ever made....'"
Here Madeline exclaimed, interrupting, "Oh,how jolly! Now they're there! But do go on; Imustn't interrupt. Go on, Uncle Kit." The readercontinued, "'... And her two hands stroke my faceand hold me by my own....'"
At this point Sir Stopleigh interposed respectably."A--really," said he, "we must hope that thisyoung lady, whoever she was, was not the Duke'swife. You will excuse me, my dear Madeline, butthat is certainly what I understood you to suppose."
His daughter interjected disreputably. "Oh,bother! Never mind Pupsey--go on."
Then Mr. Pelly said apologetically, "It _was_ theMiddle Ages, you know. Let's see, where were we?Oh--'hold me by my own'"--and went on reading:
"'... And her dear voice is in my ears, and if Idie now, at least I shall have lived. So said I tomyself, as Attilio worked hard with a file to freemy limbs. And they moisten bread with wine, andput it in my mouth. For, indeed, what I say is true,and the last of my strength went in sending thatlittle _ambusciata_ to the poor Uguccio. Still, revivalis in me, though it comes slowly. But I can onlyutter the one word "Love," and can only move tokiss the hand I hold and the pale face that comesto mine. Then I hear the beloved voice I had neverhoped to hear again:
"'"Can we trust that wicked old Marta, Attilio?If she betrays us we are lost."
"'"_Che che_! She owes him an old grudge, andwill pay him--now or later! And a thousandcrowns, _per Bacco_! No, no--trust her!"
"'"But I hear a footstep coming down his stair;if it is she, it is to say he is waked. If it is he, shehas betrayed us."
"'"Neither the one nor the other, I wager. See,the Signore is getting the blood in his face. He willeat soon, and all will be well."
"'Then I feel in my neck a dog's nose, thatsmells, and the touch of his tongue; that licks. Butwhat he would say we know not, though he triesto speak, too, dog wise. I know him for the_cagnoletto_ of la Marta, the old woman--for had I not seenhim in the days when I painted my Maddalena inthe _Stanza delle Quattro Corone_?...'"
Madeline interrupted again. "_Now_ I hope you'reconvinced. He was sent for to paint the Duchess.And he painted Maddalena. Of course, Maddalena_was_ the Duchess!"
"The Herr Professor's theory is that he paintedtwo ladies, one of whom was Maddalena, somebeautiful attendant with whom he was in love, theother the Duchess. He may have, you know!"
"He may have done anything, Uncle Christopher!But he didn't. What's the use of beingso roundabout? Besides, if she wasn't the Duchess,how did she know the Duke was asleep?"
Her parents may have been anxious to avoidcritical discussions, and suggested that perhaps thereading had better go on. It is just possible, also,that Mr. Pelly, who was a typical little old bachelor,saw rocks ahead in a discussion of the Duke andDuchess's domestic arrangements, for he introduceda point of which the Baronet and his Lady did notsee the importance.
"Stop a bit, Miss Mad!" said the old gentleman,laying down the manuscript. "I've a bone to pickwith you."
"Don't be too long. I want to know what thatold woman had been at. It's only some Scientificnonsense, I expect. Go on."
"It's not Scientific this time. It's the other wayround." Miss Upwell pricked up her ears. "Iwant to know, if there was a Duchess named Maddalena,what becomes of the theory that I christenedthe picture-ghost after you by subconscious cerebration?"
"I see. Of course. I didn't see that." It hadproduced a v
isible impression. Madeline appeared tocogitate over it in an animated way, and then tomellow to a conclusion suddenly. "Well--but thatproves it wasn't a dream at all, but a genuinephenomenon, and all sorts of things. I'm right, andyou're wrong, and the picture was telling the truthall through. I knew she was." Her three hearerssmiled from within the entrenchments of theirmaturity at the youthful enthusiasm of the speaker,and then said very correct things about thiscoincidence and that being really remarkable, and howwe must not allow our judgments to be swayed byconsiderations, and must weigh everything deliberately,and accept everything else with caution, andhesitate about this, and pause before that, all witha view to avoiding heterodox conclusions. Afterwhich Mr. Pelly resumed:
"'Then, as Attilio holds his hand a moment fromfiling, as one who awaits some issue before he maybegin his labours afresh; and as my darling, whomalone I see--for I see nothing else--awaits it, too,I hear a step that halts, and then a door is pushedfrom without, and the step halts into the room, assome clocks tick. And it is then I begin to knowof a great pain in my right hand.
"'And here I may say to you, _Illustrissima_, thathad this chanced but a few years later, this handof mine that was my joy to use, the source and verylife of all my skill, might even have been saved,and I might many times again have painted thedear face of my Maddalena. For what is there thatis not possible to the skill of the great FranceseAmbrogio?'"
"This would be Ambrose Pare," said the reader,"who would have been about the same age asCosimo dei Medici, the father of the lady to whomthis is written..." But he resumed abruptly, inobedience to a shade of impatience in Madeline:
"'Yet have I not been altogether disabled. Fordo I not write this with my left hand? I am,however, but an _egoista_--a selfish person--to dwell onthis; though I know your Excellency will pardonthis fault in an old man.
"'I hear, then, the halting step approach. Andboth await the words that will follow it in silence.It is the old Marta Zan.
"'_Sta tranquillo--sta tranquillo per bene_!' He isquiet--he is quiet for good! Her voice has a littlelaugh in it. It is not a sweet laugh to hear.
"'"Does he still sleep--will he sleep?" It ismy Maddalena who asks. And la Marta replies,"_Non c'e pericolo_! No fear!" But I see acrossthe shoulder of my darling, as she stoops over meagain and tries to clear my brow of tangled hair--but,you may well think, to little purpose--I seethat the old woman holds somewhat up, hangingfrom betwixt her finger and old thumb, to show toAttilio. And he laughs to see the little knife andits sharp point, but below his breath, as guilt laughsto guilt. But this my beloved heeds not; she isbusy with my hair.
"'I can tell but little now from what I saw withmy own eyes of what happened in the sequel, till Ifound myself here again in the little old Castello inthe hills where I passed all the early years of myboyhood, in the family of my wife's father, nowdead; though her mother still lived, and for manyyears after that. What I do remember comes tome as the speech of those about him reaches thesleeper who half wakes, to sleep and dream again.
"'I can recollect riding, behind Attilio this time,down the stony road I had come up in such painbehind his comrade. I can just recollect thebarking of the great dogs in the Castle court when wecame away; whereon my Maddalena spoke earnestlyto one of them, Leone, and he went and carried herspeech to the others, and they were silent, thoughsome made protest under their full utterance. Andthough I saw the janitors and porters at the greatgate in deep sleep, I did not then know of the cunningwork of the old Marta, who, indeed, was learned inthe use of drugs, and could as easily have poisonedthem all as made them sleep. Indeed, it was saidby many that the clever Duchess of Ferrara, thesister of Cesare Borgia, had learned somewhat of theart of poisoning in her youth from this same MartaZan. But of this I can say nothing with certainty.
"'But this I do know, that this Marta, who wasthen near on eighty years of age, having receivedthe reward she had earned of five hundred crowns,and another five hundred for a _buona mano_, did notaccompany us, on the score of her age, being unableto mount a horse. But, as you may guess,Eccellenza, it was she who had occasioned the old Duke'sdeath, and none of my doing, as was said by some,though the certainty that the knife used was thegirdle-dagger of the fat Castellan Ferretti was helda sure proof of his guilt, and led to his being_giustiziato_ some months later. And she chose this wayof sending her old betrayer to Hell rather than thatof poison, seeing that her skill in this last was sowell known to all that there was none other in thehousehold on whom suspicion could have fallen. Onwhich account, as I have since understood, shereturned again to his bedside to see her work secure,and replaced the knife in the wound, whereby theguilt of his death was fixed on the fat Ferretti. Ican in nowise guess why la Marta so long deferredher revenge against the Duke, except it was...'"
Mr. Pelly stopped despairingly. "Half a pagegone! We must remain unenlightened--as well ason a good many other points. There is not verymuch more. I may as well finish:--
"'How great my happiness has been with myMaddalena you, _Illustrissima_, may know from yourmost illustrious father, who has known of methroughout. Life is made up of good and ill, andwhat right has one so truly blessed as I have beento complain of the cruelty of Fate in depriving himof his right hand and its power of work? Thinkof what his lot is to him to whom night and dayalike give the sun in heaven to his soul! Contrastit with that of the sated blow-fly, of theworld-compelling tyrant, at whose pleasure are all thecontents, at choice, of all the world's treasure-houses,except Love. That is the one thing wealthcannot buy, that the behests of kings command invain! And that has been mine, in all its fulness;a fruit whose sweetness has no compeer, a jewelwhose light mirrors back the glow that shines forever in the eyes of God....' The reader paused,for there was an interruption from without.
"What on earth _can_ it be, at this time of night?I'm sure it's a carriage this time! Do look out andsee--oh no! go on and let's have the rest. It canonly be the General--he changed his mind, and histrain was late. We shall see in a minute--let'shave the last page...." This was collective speech,which ended when Mr. Pelly said, "There isn't verymuch." He went on reading rapidly, subject to asense of advent elsewhere in the house:
"'One only thing, as I have said, is to me aconstant thorn of regret--the destruction of thepicture I painted in those early days, of myMaddalena. It was all my heart and strength could do,and would have served to tell of all I might havedone had God but spared me my right hand. But_fiat voluntas tua, Domine_! None knows for certainhow it was destroyed, nor by whom. For thestatement of the Old Devil to my Maddalena, that it wasburned, for that it was judged worthless by men ofgreat knowledge in Art, and condemned as rubbish,is of little weight. In those last days what couldhave been the motive of such a statement but toadd to my darling's pain? It was averred by theFerretti, even to the day that he went to the gibbet,that it was removed to a place of safety by orderof the Duke; but either he did not choose to say towhat place, or possibly did not know. And whenall the contents of the rooms the Duke had lived inwere removed, and the late Duke, his son, cameand took possession of the castle, so deep was hishatred of his father's memory--as, indeed, hebelieved his mother had been poisoned by hisorders--that he had all the furniture removed, andall the pictures that might bring back the wickedold man's memory to his mind. And there was nosuch picture among them, as I saw myself; for byinvitation of Duke Giulio, with whom I have alwaysbeen on friendly terms, I inspected every pictureas it was removed from the Ducal apartments, thewalls of which, as you know, were so worthilydecorated afterwards by Francesco Primaticcio, towhom I would so proudly have shown that onelittle work by mine own hand. But, alas! there is,I fear, no doubt that for once only the old Dukespoke without lying, and that in truth he had hadit burned, for a _dispetto_ to me, and to give a littlemore pain to my darling....'"
At this point Mr. Pelly, being close to the end,read quicker and quicker, to make a finish beforethe outcome of the carriage, whatever it was, shouldbe made mani
fest and break up the _seance_. Butthe time was too short, as Mr. Stebbings the butlerappeared, charged, as it seemed, with somecommunication, but hesitating about the choice oflanguage in which to make it.
"General Fordyce, your ladyship. The Generaldesired me to say, Sir Stopleigh, would you be sogood as speak to him a half a minute?" But SirS. was slow of apprehension, perhaps sleepy, and saidhay what! Both ladies spoke together. "It _is_ theGeneral! Don't you understand? He wants youto go out and speak to him."
"Me go out and speak to him--what for?"
"You'll find that out by going. Look alive, Pupsey!"
"I'm coming, Stebbings! What on earth canthe General want to say to me?"
"Do go and see him, and find out." This wasin chorus, from both ladies, as before. Exit Pupsey.
"I wonder what it can be! However, we shallhear directly. Is there any more to read, UncleChristopher?"
Mr. Pelly read in a slighting, conclusive sort ofway:--
"'So now I cannot show you, _Illustrissima_, as Iso gladly should have done, how little change hascome in the golden hair of my Maddalena, in allthese thirty years! Nor the painting of that onewell-remembered lock that fell all in ripples on thesunflower brocade upon her bosom----'"
Madeline got suddenly up and stood again facingthe picture.
"Now," she said, "come here and see and beconvinced, Mr. Incredulous." And Mr. Pelly came,and stood beside her.
"Well, my dear child," said he. "That certainly_does_ look----"
"Very like indeed! Doesn't it? But you'll seePupsey will want to have his own way. He alwaysdoes!"
"Whatever can your father be talking--talking--talkingto the General about? Why can't theycome in? What on earth can it be?" This isfrom her ladyship--a semi-aside. She is listeningto the talking at a distance. Then Madeline said,"I hope you are convinced, Mr. Pelly," and afterone more long look at the picture turned and wentto the door, opened it, and listened through it. Hermother said maternally, "Madeline--my dear!" Butfor all that she stood and listened, as thoughshe heard something. And Mr. Pelly, following hermother's eyes, turned and watched her as she stood.It seemed to him that something like a gasp tookher, as though her breath caught with a suddenthrill, visible in her shoulders as her dress was cut,and that her white left arm, that was farthest fromthe door, caught up tight, and as it were graspedher heart. Her ladyship, looking at her over hershoulder, began, "Why--child--!" and immediatelygot up and crossed the room to her, saying,"Is anything wrong?" Then, as the girl closed thedoor and turned round. Mr. Pelly saw that she hadgone ashy white, near as white as the cleanart-paint on the door she stood by. But she only said,"I shall be all right in a minute." Her mother said,"Come and sit down, darling," which she did; butsat quite still, looking white. "I wish SirStopleigh would come," said her mother. Mr. Pellywas frightened, but behaved well, for a little oldbachelor.
Presently her colour came again, and she said,"It must have been my fancy"; and her mothersaid, "_What_ must, dear? Do tell us!" But sheonly said, "How on earth can I have been such afool?" Then her mother said again, "But whatwas it, dear?" and she answered uneasily. "Nothing,Mumsey." Her mother and Mr. Pelly looked atone another, puzzled.
Sir Stopleigh put his head in at the door, sayingto his wife would she come out for a minute andspeak to him? On which Madeline said suddenly,"I shall go to bed. Good-night, UncleChristopher!--Good-night, Pupsey and Mumsey!" andlit a candle and went away quickly upstairs. "Howvery funny of Mad," her mother said, as shefollowed her husband from the room. "Not at alllike her! I'll say good-night, Uncle Christopher,but you do as you like." The momentary visionof Sir Stopleigh--who said he would come backdirectly--left Mr. Pelly with an impression that hewas very full of something to tell. And certainlythere came a great sudden exclamation of gladsurprise from her ladyship almost as soon as the doorclosed behind her.
"I shall hear all about it in good time," saidMr. Pelly. "At least, I suppose so." He sat downcontentedly in the large armchair opposite thepicture, and looked at the fire. Seventy-seven canwait.
The murmur of a distant colloquy, heard throughdoors and passages, and quenched by carpets,assorts itself into its elements as the silence in thelibrary gets under weigh, and sharpens Mr. Pelly'shearing. He is clear about the woman's voice: hishostess's, of course--no other. But is that George's,or the General's, the unexplained outsider's? Surelythat was a third voice, just now? Never mind,Mr. Pelly can wait!
A Likely Story Page 11
