The Marchesa arrived at five minutes before the hour, and found the Corporal expecting her. In his smart black uniform he made a handsome figure, and though the Marchesa had little cause, at that moment, to feel much liking for the Germans, she had to admit that Hisser was an excellent example of Teutonic youth. He had flaxen hair, the ruddy skin of perfect health, and candid blue eyes. Here indeed was an advertisement for the Nordic myth. His manner, moreover, was engagingly correct, and he accepted the present she offered without loss of dignity.
Yes, he would do what he could to make Count Piccologrando as comfortable as possible. Not that the Count had anything to complain of, except loss of liberty, for all the prisoners were well treated and accommodated in excellent rooms. He agreed, however, that prison-diet was apt to be monotonous, and that private addition to it would be welcome. – The Marchesa would like to have special meals for the Count sent in? But certainly! Nothing was easier than that to arrange, and he himself would see to it that the Count received them punctually and decently served.
The Marchesa was delighted, and said to herself: We must not be too hasty in our judgment. If we knew the Germans better we should discover, I am sure, that many of them are like Corporal Hisser. – She had a basket that contained a pot of anchovies, a cold roast chicken, a small cheese, and a bottle of wine. This she gave to the Corporal with a little note for the Count – he had no objection to that – and having thanked him again, returned to her car with a lighter heart than she had known for several days.
As soon as she had gone the Corporal took the basket to his own quarters, and setting out its contents on a clean white cloth, made an excellent lunch. Then he went to inspect the prisoners.
There were only ten of them at that time, including the Count, and they all lived in a cellar. When the Corporal opened the door the smell was unpleasant, but he had long since grown accustomed to the disabilities of humankind, and he uttered no complaint. He carried a large electric torch, and most of the prisoners, blinking in the white glare, rose hastily to their feet and stood at attention as he entered. Two of them, however – elderly men and therefore clumsy – were slow to move, and to induce a proper alertness the Corporal had to knock them down two or three times.
‘Discipline,’ he said, ‘is the basis of all decent living. You must learn discipline. I had ordered a very good lunch for you to-day – anchovies and white bread and butter, roast chicken, some fine cheese and excellent wine – but now, because of the lax behaviour of those two ridiculous old men, I shall be compelled to countermand the order, and you will get nothing. Take this lesson to heart, and improve your discipline.’
Carefully locking the door, he returned to his own room, and having taken off his tunic and his boots stood for a moment yawning on the balcony. His blue eyes were as clear as the pellucid sky, and in their candour there was no deceit. It was quite a simple pleasure that he took in beating his prisoners, and he enjoyed the smarting pain of his own torn knuckles. When he lay down he slept like a dog on a rug, twitching and yelping in his dreams.
Every day for several days Angelo took a basket of food for the Count and delivered it to Corporal Hisser, who never failed to enjoy it. Angelo and the Marchesa were greatly comforted to think that Don Agesilas was not only well-treated but now, by their effort, well fed. They could not, however, discover why he had been arrested, nor could the Marchesa find anyone to offer hope of his release. It was worrying, but ‘Pazienza!’ said Angelo.
Then one day, returning from his usual errand, he avoided by a handsbreadth a motor-cycle in the Via Quattro Novembre. It was one of a pair, ridden by German soldiers, that preceded a large open car. All three vehicles came fast round the corner. The motor-cyclists in a sudden blare sounded their sirens, Angelo nimbly jumped aside, and a cab-horse took fright and swerved into the middle of the street. Braking hard, the driver of the motor-car swerved the other way but could not avoid the cab. He struck it hard, knocked it over, and came to a halt with his bonnet between its spinning wheels. The elderly horse lay sprawling and kicking till Angelo, with great presence of mind, sat upon its head and held it still.
The motor-cyclists, quickly returning, dispelled with threatening gestures the small crowd that was gathering, and General Hammerfurter, rising in his car, condemned everyone within hearing of his harsh voice for their unexampled ineptitude, their bestial appearance, and malignant intentions. The cabman, dazed by his fall, lay bleeding on the ground. One of the German soldiers kicked him in the ribs, and the other, taking Angelo by the collar, was about to drag him from his seat on the horse’s head when the General shouted ‘Stop!’ and at this command, which sounded like the splitting of a sail, they all became intently still, and the scene took on the likeness of a complicated group of statuary.
The General was immensely tall, and his long narrow body was elegantly uniformed. His hairless face was the colour of a turkey’s egg, pale and mottled, and round the jaw were the scars of an old skin-disease. He stared at Angelo with a concentrated interest.
To avoid interference from the military, Angelo had put away his uniform and was wearing a pale grey suit belonging to the Count. It fitted well, and excellently became him. He was hatless, and his face a little flushed by exertion. A breeze played lightly in his curling hair.
The General spoke angrily to the soldiers and said, ‘That young man is the only person here who has not behaved like a fool. – Come here, young man.’
The nearest soldier took his place on the horse’s head, and Angelo approached the General’s car.
‘Who are you?’
Angelo, who spoke German fairly well, explained that he was private secretary to a gentleman in Tuscany, and had but recently arrived in Rome. He mentioned the Count’s name. General Hammerfurter had apparently not heard it before.
‘Where are his estates?’
‘The principal one is between Siena and Florence.’
The General continued to study Angelo so intently that Angelo felt himself blushing. Then the General asked, ‘Is it true that a very good sort of Italian is spoken in those parts?’
‘In Siena, where I went to school,’ said Angelo, ‘they speak with a greater correctness and a purer accent than anywhere else in Italy.’
This information evidently pleased the General. ‘Good, very good!’ he exclaimed. ‘Now come into my car. You will have lunch with me. There is something of much importance that you and I must talk about.’
Then he spoke sharply to his driver and the other soldiers. Leaving the cabman and his struggling horse to look after themselves, the soldiers remounted their bicycles, the driver steered clear of the overturned cab, and they resumed their journey to the accompaniment of shrieking sirens. Angelo, concealing as best he could his fear and confusion, sat straight and prim beside the General.
Their conversation at lunch was hardly more than a monologue in which the General described his affection for the Italian people, his admiration for their works of art, and his enthusiasm for natural scenery of every sort. Primarily, he said, he had come to Italy as a soldier, and his immediate purpose was to defeat and destroy the barbarous English and Americans who were desecrating its classic soil. But secondarily, he explained, he was a lover; a lover of Italy and all its life, and nothing would make him happier than to serve its charming people and promote their welfare. But how could he serve them, wisely and efficiently, without knowing their language? He must learn Italian, and quite certainly his teacher must be one who spoke the very best sort of Italian.
‘And so I consider it a great stroke of fortune, my dear fellow,’ he said, ‘to have met you, who were educated in Siena. For now that I have explained myself to you, laid bare my heart and confessed my love, you will not, I am sure, refuse my proposal. You will not grudge me your time, but will become my teacher and help me to know my Italy as I desire. Yes? I think so. Have some more brandy.’
‘But I am quite inexperienced,’ said Angelo unhappily.
‘Good, good
!’ exclaimed the General. ‘It is better so, for so we shall both make our blunders, very laughable blunders no doubt, and have sympathy one for another. We Germans are famous for our sympathy because we have so good an understanding of people. – Let me show you how to make what is one of my favourite drinks: a glass of benedictine and a glass of cognac: mix them together. It is quite simple and very good. You try it. – Now tell me, my dear fellow, what is the Italian for “a true friend”?’
‘What is the German for “a helpless captive”?’ asked Angelo in Italian; and when he had translated his question the General laughed immoderately, complimented Angelo on his wit, and with honest affection pinched the lobe of his left ear so tightly that Angelo’s eyes filled with tears.
Not until four o’clock was he permitted to leave, and then, after walking in the gardens of the Pincio for half an hour to collect his thoughts, he went to call on the Marchesa Dolce.
‘Have you any news?’ she asked.
‘I have just been giving an Italian lesson to General Hammerfurter. I have become his tutor.’
‘But what an achievement! How did you manage it?’
‘The appointment was not really one I sought,’ said Angelo, and described the street accident which had caused them to meet. ‘Though he speaks in the friendliest way the General is very fierce and masterful,’ he said. ‘I am extremely frightened of him.’
‘What does that matter?’ asked the Marchesa warmly. ‘It would be too paltry – selfish and paltry and mean – if in such a time as this you were to attach the smallest weight to your own feelings. It is not of ourselves we must think, but of Don Agesilas. By the greatest good fortune in the world you have made the acquaintance of General Hammerfurter, and now you must take every possible advantage of it. Play your cards properly, and we may look forward to the very early release of an unhappy prisoner. But if you are petty and small-minded, if you run away, why, then he may lie for ever, without hope or mercy, in his German prison.’
‘That is what I have been thinking,’ said Angelo sadly.
‘Tell me what the General spoke about,’ said the Marchesa.
‘Chiefly about himself. About his love for Italy, the sympathy and good understanding which characterize all Germans, and so forth.’
‘Good,’ said the Marchesa. ‘Now when you return to give him his next lesson, you must impress upon him the belief that those are the things of which Italy is most in need, and in return for his sympathy and understanding we should quite certainly, and almost immediately, offer him our passionate allegiance. – Do not hesitate to credit him with great ambition, it can do you no possible harm. – Then in the third lesson you must introduce the name of Don Agesilas. Mention, in a light and conversational way, his admiration for some aspect of German life –’
‘He has none.’
‘Then your invention will be untrammelled. Proceed more lightly still, with a careless laugh and a flutter of the hands, to the revelation that he is now in gaol. “Mistakes will occur,” you must observe, “but how ironical that such a great lover of Germany should by error now lie in a German prison!” Add to that, as quickly as possible, the information that Don Agesilas is a very wealthy man …’
Angelo paid close attention to the Marchesa’s advice, but found some difficulty in putting it into practice. With his native regard for order and authority, the General preferred the smoothness of monologue to the ragged give-and-take of ordinary conversation, and rarely would he consider any topic not of his own choosing. ‘I wish to explain myself to you,’ he would say. ‘I have a remarkable character, and you will be deeply interested to hear about it. I am, for instance, equally capable of tragic perception and Homeric laughter. Intrinsically I am a nobleman, very simple and honest and kind-hearted, a true aristocrat of the old sort. But also I have a modern understanding so subtle that often I am amazed at myself. – But how German! you will say. For you, being intelligent yourself, know how typical of the German soul is its universality. How do you say, in Italian, “the universality of the German soul”?’
Talk of this kind, which Angelo found very tedious, prohibited any reference to the Count and his affairs for several days. And then one afternoon, when the General in a mood of languor toyed with a melancholy silence, Angelo found opportunity and a sufficient courage to broach the subject. How greatly his master the Count would enjoy their conversation, he said. Few Italians, he ventured to think, were more deeply interested in the complexity of the German mentality or more truly impressed by its grandeur, than Count Piccologrando.
‘Where is he living?’ asked the General.
‘He is now in prison,’ said Angelo.
‘What a scoundrel he must be.’
‘No, no! It is entirely by mistake that he is in prison. Two officers arrested him –’
‘A German officer never makes a mistake.’
‘Of course not! It must have been the Count, my master, who made a mistake. Like many rich men – I mean exceedingly rich men – he is sometimes very careless.’
‘So? He is rich?’
Angelo named, in succession of value, the Count’s several estates.
‘But what is wealth compared with happiness?’ exclaimed the General. ‘It is my peculiarity that I despise mere riches. I have seen more true contentment in a humble cottage on the Baltic than in all your Roman palaces. Ach, when I think of the cabbages in the garden, and old men smoking their pipes, and everywhere our little swine running to-and-fro! How beautiful a scene, is it not? – Ring the bell, my dear fellow. Let us drink a bottle or two of champagne, and I shall tell you about my Prussian home.’
Angelo was sadly convinced, when he went home that evening, that the General had utterly forgotten the Count’s existence. – I have been wasting my time, he thought. I detest my employment, and I have submitted to it only in the belief that somehow it might help me to secure the release of Don Agesilas. If that is not so, then basta! Enough! I shall never return to the house of that hateful and boring old man.
In the morning, however, he decided to make one more trial of his persuasive power, and was infinitely surprised to find the General not merely in a brisk and businesslike frame of mind, but waiting to discuss the very subject which Angelo had so often found impossible to introduce.
‘I have had inquiries made,’ he said, ‘and found it to be true that this man whom you call the Count Piccologrando is in a German prison. Therefore, of course, he is a criminal. But I found also that he is not charged with any specific offence, for the two officers by whom he was arrested were too busy to make a detailed statement, and are now in some other part of Italy. And so it was quite easy to deal with him. I decided to fine him an appropriate sum, and release him.’
‘How noble of you!’ cried Angelo. ‘How truly wise and clement you are! What an administrator you would make for all Italy!’
Unmoved by these compliments, the General continued in a cold and formal voice: ‘I have ascertained that his bank is the Banco di Santo Spirito, and I have informed the manager that the Count Piccologrando is about to draw a large cheque in your favour.’
‘Why in my favour?’ asked Angelo; but the General ignored him and went on with his story.
‘From his residence I obtained his cheque-book, which I had conveyed to him in his prison, with the information that he had been found guilty and fined the sum of so many lire. I also gave him my own word that he would be released as soon as his cheque had been honoured. After some discussion he perceived the justice of my sentence and the mercy of my intervention. Here, then, is the cheque. You will go to the bank, cash it, and return immediately. The signature is a trifle shaky, but it will serve. If you have any trouble, let me know.’
‘But good God!’ cried Angelo. ‘This is a cheque for five million lire!’
‘The Count is a very wealthy man.’
‘Not so wealthy as he was.’
‘Had he not valued his freedom he would not have purchased it. – No, I have no time at pre
sent for discussion. My car will take you to the bank, wait for you, and bring you back. The quicker you go, the sooner will the Count be free.’
The General had made excellent arrangements, and Angelo had no difficulty in cashing the cheque. One of the soldiers who accompanied him had brought a leather bag into which they packed the notes, and within ten minutes of their return the General had counted them with a methodical and yet not ostentatious care, and signed an order for the Count’s release. He counted the money again before locking it into a safe, and then, after a moment of solemn thought, his mood quite suddenly altered. He unbuttoned his tunic, became boisterously genial, and from a silver bucket pulled a slender green bottle and poured brim-full two enormous glasses of primrose-coloured wine.
‘Let us drink!’ he exclaimed. ‘Now that we have settled all that dull work let us enjoy ourselves for a change, and drink! And today, my Angelo, we shall drink German wine, which is the best in the world.’
The General smacked his lips and refilled his glass. With interest and some foreboding Angelo saw that the silver bucket held half a dozen bottles.
‘Ach, how I hate the sordid claims of business! It is only the inferior breeds of people who take pleasure in money-making,’ said the General. ‘We are poets, we Germans, and our natural communion is with the eternal thoughts of nature. And mark how nature has blessed our understanding by giving us vineyards that grow a poet’s wine. Already I feel my spirit soaring! I am so sensitive, I respond as quickly as a woman – but with a truer perception, of course, of the eternal values. Yes, we are poets! Let me tell you about our German soul …’
It was late before Angelo was allowed to leave and the sky was darkening when, with the utmost impatience, he hurried home to greet the Count. It was almost a lover’s eagerness, or the tyrannical hunger of a child, that he felt, now, for the sight and the sound and the touch of that handsome trim figure, the musical and witty voice, those delicate and accomplished hands. Dear master! he thought. My wise, graceful, kindest master, how I long to welcome you!
Private Angelo Page 5
