Complete Works of F Marion Crawford

by F. Marion Crawford

  “But why do you not look at me?”

  “I am not sure that Nino would let me,” said I. “I promised not to move, and I will keep my promise.”

  “Will you let me out?” she asked, struggling with her merriment.

  “By no means,” I answered; “anymore than I would let anybody in.”

  “Then we must make the best of it,” said she. “But I will bring a chair and sit down, while you tell me the news.”

  “Will you assume all responsibility toward Nino, signorina, if I turn so that I can see you?” I asked, as she sat down.

  “I will say that I positively ordered you to do so,” she answered, gaily. “Now look, and tell me where Signor Cardegna is gone.”

  I looked indeed, and it was long before I looked away. The rest, the freedom, and the happiness had done their work quickly, in spite of all the dreadful anxiety and fatigue. The fresh, transparent colour was in her cheeks, and her blue eyes were clear and bright. The statue had been through the fire, and was made a living thing, beautiful, and breathing, and real.

  “Tell me,” she said, the light dancing in her eyes, “where is he gone?”

  “He is gone to find the mayor of this imposing capital,” I replied. Hedwig suddenly blushed, and turned her glistening eyes away. She was beautiful so.

  “Are you very tired, signorina? I ought not to ask the question, for you look as though you had never been tired in your life.”

  There is no saying what foolish speeches I might have made had not Nino returned. He was radiant, and I anticipated that he must have succeeded in his errand.

  “Ha! Messer Cornelio, is this the way you keep watch?” he cried.

  “I found him here,” said Hedwig, shyly, “and he would not even glance at me until I positively insisted upon it.” Nino laughed, as he would have laughed at most things in that moment, for sheer superfluity of happiness.

  “Signorina,” he said, “would it be agreeable to you to walk for a few minutes after your sleep? The weather is wonderfully fine, and I am sure you owe it to the world to show the roses which rest has given you.”

  Hedwig blushed softly, and I rose and went away, conceiving that I had kept watch long enough. But Nino called after me, as he moved the bench from the door.

  “Messer Cornelio, will you not come with us? Surely you need a walk very much, and we can ill spare your company. My lady, let me offer you my arm.”

  In this manner we left the inn, a wedding procession which could not have been much smaller, and the singing of an old woman, who sat with her distaff in front of her house, was the wedding march. Nino seemed in no great haste, I thought, and I let them walk as they would, while I kept soberly in the middle of the road, a little way behind.

  It was not far that we had to go, however, and soon we came to a large brick house, with an uncommonly small door, over which hung a wooden shield with the arms of Italy brightly painted in green and red and white.

  Nino and Hedwig entered arm in arm, and I slunk guiltily in after them. Hedwig had drawn her veil, which was the only head-dress she had, close about her face.

  In a quarter of an hour the little ceremony was over, and the registers were signed by us all. Nino also got a stamped certificate, which he put very carefully in his pocket-book. I never knew what it cost Nino to overcome the scruples of the sindaco about marrying a strange couple from Rome in that outlandish place, where the peasants stared at us as though we had been the most unnatural curiosities, and even the pigs in the street jogged sullenly out of our way as though not recognising that we were human.

  At all events, the thing was done, and Hedwig von Lira became for the rest of her life Edvigia Cardegna. And I felt very guilty. The pair went down the steps of the house together in front of me, and stopped as they reached the street; forgetting my presence, I presume. They had not forgotten me so long as I was needed to be of use to them; but I must not complain.

  “We can face the world together now, my dear lady,” said Nino, as he drew her little hand through his arm. She looked up at him, and I could see her side face. I shall never forget the expression. There was in it something I really never saw before, which made me feel as though I were in church; and I knew then that there was no wrong in helping such love as that to its fulfilment.

  By the activity of the man from Subiaco a curious conveyance was ready for us, being something between a gig and a cart, and a couple of strong horses were hired for the long drive. The countryman, who had grown rich in the last three days, offered to buy the thin little ass which had carried me so far and so well. He observed that he was blind of one eye, which I had never found out, and I do not believe it was true. The way he showed it was by snapping his fingers close to the eye in question. The donkey winked, and the countryman said that if the eye were good the beast would see that the noise was made by the fingers, and would not be frightened, and would therefore not wink.

  “You see,” said he, “he thinks it is a whip cracking, and so he is afraid.”

  “Do donkeys always wink when they are frightened?” I inquired. “It is very interesting.”

  “Yes,” said the countryman, “they mostly do.” At all events, I was obliged to take the man’s own price, which was little enough, — not a third of what I had given.

  The roads were good, and the long and the short of the matter, without any more details, is that we reached Rome very early the next morning, having caught the night train from Naples. Hedwig slept most of the time in the carriage and all the time in the train, while Nino, who never seemed to tire or to need sleep, sat watching her with wide, happy eyes. But perhaps he slept a little too, for I did, and I cannot answer for his wakefulness through every minute of the night.

  Once I asked him what he intended to do in Rome.

  “We will go to the hotel Costanzi,” he answered, which is a foreigners’ resort. And if she is rested enough we will come down to you, and see what we can do about being married properly in church by the old curato.”

  “The marriage by the sindaco is perfectly legal,” I remarked.

  “It is a legal contract, but it is not a marriage that pleases me,” he said, gravely.

  “But, caro mio, without offence, your bride is a Protestant, a Lutheran; not to mince matters, a heretic. They will make objections.”

  “She is an angel,” said Nino, with great conviction.

  “But the angels neither marry nor are given in marriage,” I objected, arguing the point to pass the time.

  “What do you make of it, then, Messer Cornelio?” he asked, with a smile.

  “Why, as a heretic she ought to burn, and as an angel she ought not to marry.”

  “It is better to marry than to burn,” retorted Nino, triumphantly.

  “Diavolo! Have you had St. Paul for a tutor?” I asked, for I knew the quotation, being fond of Greek.

  “I heard a preacher cite it once at the Gesù, and I thought it a good saying.”

  Early in the morning we rolled into the great station of Rome, and took an affectionate leave of each other, with the promise that Hedwig and Nino would visit me in the course of the day. I saw them into a carriage, with Nino’s small portmanteau, and Hedwig’s bundle, and then mounted a modest omnibus that runs from the termini to St. Peter’s, and goes very near my house.

  All the bells were ringing gladly, as if to welcome us, for it was Easter morning; and though it is not so kept as it used to be, it is nevertheless a great feast. Besides, the spring was at hand, and the acacia-trees in the great square were budding, though everything was still so backward in the hills. April was at hand, which the foreigners think is our best month; but I prefer June and July, when the weather is warm, and the music plays in the Piazza Colonna of an evening. For all that, April is a glad time, after the disagreeable winter.

  There was with me much peace on that Easter day, for I felt that my dear boy was safe after all his troubles. At least he was safe from anything that could be done to part him from Hedwig;
for the civil laws are binding, and Hedwig was of the age when a young woman is legally free to marry whom she pleases. Of course old Lira might still make himself disagreeable, but I fancied him too much a man of the world to desire a scandal, when no good could follow. The one shadow in the future was the anger of Benoni, who would be certain to seek some kind of revenge for the repulse he had suffered. I was still ignorant of his whereabouts, not yet knowing what I knew long afterwards, and have told you, because otherwise you would have been as much in the dark as he was himself, when Temistocle cunningly turned the lock of the staircase door and left him to his curses and his meditations. I have had much secret joy in thinking what a wretched night he must have passed there, and how his long limbs must have ached with sitting about on the stones, and how hoarse he must have been from the dampness and the swearing.

  I reached home, the dear old number twenty-seven in Santa Catarina dei Funari, by half-past seven, or even earlier; and I was glad when I rang the bell on the landing, and called through the keyhole in my impatience.

  “Mariuccia, Mariuccia, come quickly! It is I!” I cried.

  “O Madonna mia!’ I heard her exclaim, and there was a tremendous clatter, as she dropped the coffee-pot. She was doubtless brewing herself a quiet cup with my best Porto-Rico, which I do not allow her to use. She thought I was never coming back, the cunning old hag!

  “Dio mio, Signor Professore! A good Easter to you!” she cried, as I heard the flat pattering of her old feet inside, running to the door. “I thought the wolves had eaten you, padrone mio!” And at last she let me in.

  CHAPTER XXIII

  “A TALL GENTLEMAN came here late last night, Signor Professore,” said Mariuccia, as I sat down in the old green arm-chair. “He seemed very angry about something, and said he must positively see you.” The idea of Benoni flashed uneasily across my brain.

  “Was he the grave signore who came a few days before I left?” I asked.

  “Heaven preserve us!” ejaculated Mariuccia. “This one was much older, and seemed to be lame; for when he tried to shake his stick at me, he could not stand without it. He looked like one of the old Swiss guards at Palazzo.” By which she meant the Vatican, as you know.

  “It must have been the count,” I said, thinking aloud.

  “A count! A pretty sort of count, indeed, to come waking people from their beds in the night! He had not even a high hat like the one you wear when you go to the University. A count, indeed!”

  “Go and make me some good coffee, Mariuccia,” I said, eying her severely to show I suspected her of having used mine; “and be careful to make it of my best Porto-Rico, if you have any left, without any chicory.”

  “A count, indeed!” she muttered angrily as she hobbled away, not in the least heeding my last remark, which I believed to be withering.

  I had not much time for reflection that morning. My old clothes were in tatters, and the others looked very fine by contrast, so that when I had made my toilet I felt better able to show myself to the distinguished company I expected. I had seen so much extraordinary endurance in Nino and Hedwig during the last two or three days that I was prepared to see them appear at any moment, brushed and curled and ready for anything. The visit of the count, however, had seriously disturbed me, and I hardly knew what to look for from him. As it turned out, I had not long to wait.

  I was resting myself in the arm-chair, and smoking one of those infamous cigars that nearly suffocate me, just for company, and I was composing in my mind a letter to the authorities of the University, requesting that I might begin to lecture again. I did not find out until later that I need not have written to them at all when I went away, as ten days are always allowed at Easter, in any case. It is just like my forgetfulness, to have made such a mistake. I really only missed four lectures. But my composition was interrupted by the door-bell, and my heart sank in my breast. Mariuccia opened, and I knew by the sound of the stick on the bricks that the lame count had come to wreak his vengeance.

  Being much frightened, I was very polite, and bowed a great many times as he came toward me. It was he, looking much the same as ever, wooden and grizzly.

  “I am much honoured, sir,” I began, “by seeing you here.”

  “You are Signor Grandi?” he inquired, with a stiff bow.

  “The same, Signor Conte, and very much at your service,” I answered, rubbing my hands together to give myself an air of satisfaction.

  “Let us not waste time,” he said, severely but not roughly. “I have come to you on business. My daughter has disappeared with your son, or whatever relation the Signor Giovanni Cardegna is to you.”

  “He is no relation, Signor Conte. He was an orphan, and I—”

  “It is the same,” he interrupted. “You are responsible for his doings.”

  I responsible! Good heavens, had I not done all in my power to prevent the rashness of that hot-headed boy?

  “Will you not sit down, sir?” I said, moving a chair for him. He took the seat rather reluctantly.

  “You do not seem much astonished at what I tell you,” he remarked. “It is evident that you are in the plot.”

  “Unless you will inform me of what you know, Signor Conte,” I replied with urbanity, “I cannot see how I can be of service to you.”

  “On the contrary,” said he, “I am the person to ask questions. I wake up in the morning and find my daughter gone. I naturally inquire where she is.”

  “Most naturally, as you say, sir. I would do the same.”

  “And you, also very naturally, answer my questions,” he continued severely.

  “In that case, sir,” I replied, “I would call to your attention the fact that you have asked but one question, — whether I were Signor Grandi. I answered that in the affirmative.” You see I was apprehensive of what he might do, and desired to gain time. But he began to lose his temper.

  “I have no patience with you Italians,” he said, gruffly; “you bandy words and play with them as if you enjoyed it.”

  Diavolo, thought I, he is angry at my silence. What will he be if I speak?

  “What do you wish to know, Signor Conte?” I inquired, in suave tones.

  “I wish to know where my daughter is. Where is she? Do you understand? I am asking a question now, and you cannot deny it.”

  I was sitting in front of him, but I rose and pretended to shut the door, thus putting the table and the end of the piano between us, before I answered.

  “She is in Rome, Signor Conte,” I said.

  “With Cardegna?” he asked, not betraying any emotion.

  “Yes.”

  “Very well. I will have them arrested at once. That is all I wanted.” He put his crutch-stick to the floor as though about to rise. Seeing that his anger was not turned against me, I grew bold.

  “You had better not do that,” I mildly observed, across the table.

  “And why not, sir?” he asked, quickly, hesitating whether to get upon his feet or to remain seated.

  “Because they are married already,” I answered, retreating toward the door. But there was no need for flight. He sank back in the chair, and the stick fell from his hands upon the bricks with a loud rattle. Poor old man! I thought he was quite overcome by the news I had communicated. He sat staring at the window, his hands lying idly on his knees. I moved to come toward him, but he raised one hand and began to twirl his great gray moustache fiercely; whereat I resumed my former position of safety.

  “How do you know this?” he demanded on a sudden.

  “I was present at the civil marriage yesterday,” I answered, feeling very much scared. He began to notice my manoeuvre.

  “You need not be so frightened,” he said, coldly. “It would be no use to kill any of you now, though I would like to.”

  “I assure you that no one ever frightened me in my own house, sir,” I answered. I think my voice must have sounded very bold, for he did not laugh at me.

  “I suppose it is irrevocable,” he said, as if to h
imself.

  “Oh, yes — perfectly irrevocable,” I answered, promptly. “They are married, and have come back to Rome. They are at the Hotel Costanzi. I am sure that Nino would give you every explanation.”

  “Who is Nino?” he asked.

  “Nino Cardegna, of course—”

  “And do you foolishly imagine that I am going to ask him to explain why he took upon himself to carry away my daughter?” The question was scornful enough.

  “Signor Conte,” I protested, “you would do well to see them, for she is your daughter, after all.”

  “She is not my daughter any longer,” growled the count. “She is married to a singer, a tenor, an Italian with curls and lies and grins, as you all have. Fie!” And he pulled his moustache again.

  “A singer,” said I, “if you like, but a great singer, and an honest man.”

  “Oh, I did not come here to listen to your praises of that scoundrel!” he exclaimed, hotly. “I have seen enough of him to be sick of him.”

  “I wish he were in this room to hear you call him by such names,” I said; for I began to grow angry, as I sometimes do, and then my fear grows small and my heart grows big.

  “Ah!” said he, ironically. “And pray, what would he do to me?”

  “He would probably ask you again for that pistol you refused to lend him the other day.” I thought I might as well show that I knew all about the meeting in the road. But Lira laughed grimly, and the idea of a fight seemed to please him.

  “I would not refuse it this time. In fact, since you mention it, I think I will go and offer it to him now. Do you think I should be justified, Master Censor?”

  “No,” said I, coming forward and facing him. “But if you like you can fight me. I am your own age, and a better match.” I would have fought him then and there, with the chairs, if he had liked.

  “Why should I fight you?” he inquired, in some astonishment. “You strike me as a very peaceable person indeed.”

  “Diavolo! do you expect me to stand quietly and hear you call my boy a scoundrel? What do you take me for, signore? Do you know that I am the last of the Conti Grandi, and as noble as any of you, and as fit to fight, though my hair is gray?”