Both the princes were in Saracinesca, he said. The young prince had been there ever since Easter. They were busy building an aqueduct which was to supply the whole town with water; it was to pass above, up there among the woods. The princes went almost every day to visit the works. Her Excellency might, perhaps, find them there now, or if not, they were at the castle.
But her Excellency had no intention of finding them. She gave the fellow a coin, and beat a somewhat hasty retreat. Her followers were silent men, accustomed to obey, and they followed her down the steep path without even exchanging a word among themselves. Beneath the shade of an overhanging rock she halted, and, dismounting from her mule, was served with the lunch that had been brought. She ate little, and then sat thoughtfully contemplating the bare stones, while the men at a little distance hastily disposed of the remains of her meal. She had experienced an extraordinary emotion on finding herself suddenly so near to Giovanni; it was almost as though she had seen him, and her heart beat fast, while a dark flush rose from time to time to her cheek. It would have been so natural that he should pass that way, just as she was halting at the entrance to the bridle-path. How unspeakably dreadful it would have been to be discovered thus spying out his dwelling-place when she had so strictly forbidden him to attempt to see her! The blush burned upon her cheeks — she had done a thing so undignified, so ill befitting her magnificent superiority. For a moment she was desperately ashamed. But for all that, she could not repress the glad delight she felt at knowing that he was there after all; that, if he had kept his word, in avoiding her, he had, nevertheless, also fulfilled his intention of spending the summer in Saracinesca. He had even been there since Easter, and the story of his going to the North had been a mere invention of the newspapers. She could not understand his conduct, nor why he had gone to Paris — a fact attested by people who knew him. It had probably been for some matter of business — that excuse which, in a woman’s mind, explains almost any sudden journey a man may undertake. But he was there in the castle now, and her heart was satisfied.
The men packed the things in the basket, and Corona was helped upon her mule. Slowly the party descended the steep path that grew broader and more practicable as they neared the bottom; there the carriage awaited her, and soon she was bowling along the smooth road towards home, leaving far behind her the mounted guards, the peasants, and her slow-paced mule. The sun was low when the carriage rolled under the archway of Astrardente. Sister Gabrielle said Corona looked much the better for her excursion, and she added that she must be very strong to bear such fatigue so well. And the next day — and for many days — the Sister noticed the change in her hostess’s manner, and promised herself that if the Duchessa became uneasy again she would advise another day among the hills, so wonderful was the effect of a slight change from the ordinary routine of her life.
That night old Saracinesca and his son sat at dinner in a wide hall of their castle. The faithful Pasquale served them as solemnly as he was used to do in Rome. This evening he spoke again. He had ventured no remark since he had informed them of the Duca d’Astrardente’s death.
“I beg your Excellencies’ pardon,” he began, adopting his usual formula of apologetic address.
“Well, Pasquale, what is it?” asked old Saracinesca.
“I did not know whether your Excellency was aware that the Duchessa d’Astrardente had been here to-day.”
“What?” roared the Prince.
“You must be mad, Pasquale?” exclaimed Giovanni in a low voice.
“I beg your Excellencies’ pardon if I am wrong, but this is how I know.
Gigi Secchi, the peasant from Aquaviva in the lower forest, brought a bag
of corn to the mill to-day, and he told the miller, and the miller told
Ettore, and Ettore told Nino, and Nino told—”
“What the devil did he tell him?” interrupted old Saracinesca.
“Nino told the cook’s boy,” continued Pasquale unmoved, “and the cook’s boy told me, your Excellency, that Gigi was passing along the road to Serveti coming here, when he was stopped by a number of guardiani who accompanied a beautiful dark lady in black, who rode upon a mule, and the guardiani asked him if your Excellencies were at Saracinesca; and when he said you were, the lady gave him a coin, and turned at once and rode down the bridle-path towards Astrardente, and he said the guardiani were those of the Astrardente, because he remembered to have seen one of them, who has a scar over his left eye, at the great fair at Genazzano last year. And that is how I heard.”
“That is a remarkable narrative, Pasquale,” answered the Prince, laughing loudly, “but it seems very credible. Go and send for Gigi Secchi if he is still in the neighbourhood, and bring him here, and let us have the story from his own lips.”
When they were alone the two men looked at each other for a moment, and then old Saracinesca laughed again; but Giovanni looked very grave, and his face was pale. Presently his father became serious again.
“If this thing is true,” he said, “I would advise you, Giovanni, to pay a visit to the other side of the hills. It is time.”
Giovanni was silent for a moment. He was intensely interested in the situation, but he could not tell his father that he had promised Corona not to see her, and he had not yet explained to himself her sudden appearance so near Saracinesca.
“I think it would be better for you to go first,” he said to his father.
“But I am not at all sure this story is true.”
“I? Oh, I will go when you please,” returned the old man, with another laugh. He was always ready for anything active.
But Gigi Secchi could not be found. He had returned to Aquaviva at once, and it was not easy to send a message. Two days later, however, Giovanni took the trouble of going to the man’s home. He was not altogether surprised when Gigi confirmed Pasquale’s tale in every particular. Corona had actually been at Saracinesca to find out if Giovanni was there or not; and on hearing that he was at the castle, she had fled precipitately. Giovanni was naturally grave and of a melancholy temper; but during the last few months he had been more than usually taciturn, occupying himself with dogged obstinacy in the construction of his aqueduct, visiting the works in the day and spending hours in the evening over the plans. He was waiting. He believed that Corona cared for him, and he knew that he loved her, but for the present he must wait patiently, both for the sake of his promise and for the sake of a decent respect of her widowhood. In order to wait he felt the necessity of constant occupation, and to that end he had set himself resolutely to work with his father, whose ideal dream was to make Saracinesea the most complete and prosperous community in that part of the mountains.
“I think if you would go over,” he said, at the end of a week, “it would be much better. I do not want to intrude myself upon her at present, and you could easily find out whether she would like to see me. After all, she may have been merely making an excursion for her amusement, and may have chanced upon us by accident. I have often noticed how suddenly one comes in view of the castle from that bridle-path.”
“On the other hand,” returned the Prince with a smile, “any one would tell her that the path leads nowhere except to Saracinesca. But I will go to-morrow,” he added. “I will set your mind at rest in twenty-four hours.”
“Thank you,” said Giovanni.
CHAPTER XXIV.
OLD SARACINESCA KEPT his word, and on the following morning, eight days after Corona’s excursion upon the hills, he rode down to Astrardente, reaching the palace at about mid-day. He sent in his card, and stood waiting beneath the great gate, beating the dust from his boots with his heavy whip. His face looked darker than ever, from constant exposure to the sun, and his close-cropped hair and short square beard had turned even whiter than before in the last six months, but his strong form was erect, and his step firm and elastic. He was a remarkable old man; many a boy of twenty might have envied his strength and energetic vitality.
Corona was at her mid
-day breakfast with Sister Gabrielle, when the old Prince’s card was brought. She started at the sight of the name; and though upon the bit of pasteboard she read plainly enough, “Il Principe di Saracinesca,” she hesitated, and asked the butler if it was really the Prince. He said it was.
“Would you mind seeing him?” she asked of Sister Gabrielle. “He is an old gentleman,” she added, in explanation— “a near neighbour here in the mountains.”
Sister Gabrielle had no objection. She even remarked that it would do the
Duchessa good to see some one.
“Ask the Prince to come in, and put another place at the table,” said
Corona.
A moment later the old man entered, and Corona rose to receive him. There was something refreshing in the ring of his deep voice and the clank of his spurs as he crossed the marble floor.
“Signora Duchessa, you are very good to receive me. I did not know that this was your breakfast-hour. Ah!” he exclaimed, glancing at Sister Gabrielle, who had also risen to her feet, “good day, my Sister.”
“Sister Gabrielle,” said Corona, as an introduction; “she is good enough to be my companion in solitude.”
To tell the truth, Corona felt uneasy; but the sensation was somehow rather pleasurable, although it crossed her mind that the Prince might have heard of her excursion, and had possibly come to find out why she had been so near to his place. She boldly faced the situation.
“I nearly came upon you the other day as unexpectedly as you have visited me,” she said with a smile. “I had a fancy to look over into your valley, and when I reached the top of the hill I found I was almost in your house.”
“I wish you had quite been there,” returned the Prince. “Of course I heard that you had been seen, and we guessed you had stumbled upon us in some mountain excursion. My son rode all the way to Aquaviva to see the man who had spoken with you.”
Saracinesca said this as though it were perfectly natural, helping himself to the dish the servant offered him. But when he looked up he saw that Corona blushed beneath her dark skin.
“It is such a very sudden view at that point,” she said, nervously, “that
I was startled.”
“I wish you had preserved your equanimity to the extent of going a little further. Saracinesca has rarely been honoured with the visit of a Duchessa d’Astrardente. But since you have explained your visit — or the visit which you did not make — I ought to explain mine. You must know, in the first place, that I am not here by accident, but by intention, preconceived, well pondered, and finally executed to my own complete satisfaction. I came, not to get a glimpse of your valley nor a distant view of your palace, but to see you, yourself. Your hospitality in receiving me has therefore crowned and complimented the desire I had of seeing you.”
Corona laughed a little.
“That is a very pretty speech,” she said.
“Which you would have lost if you had not received me,” he answered, gaily. “I have not done yet. I have many pretty speeches for you. The sight of you induces beauty in language as the sun in May makes the flowers open.”
“That is another,” laughed Corona. “Do you spend your days in studying the poets at Saracinesca? Does Don Giovanni study with you?”
“Giovanni is a fact,” returned the Prince; “I am a fable. Old men are always fables, for they represent, in a harmless form, the follies of all mankind; their end is always in itself a moral, and young people can learn much by studying them.”
“Your comparison is witty,” said Corona, who was much amused at old Saracinesca’s conversation; “but I doubt whether you are so harmless as you represent. You are certainly not foolish, and I am not sure whether, as a study for the young—” she hesitated, and laughed.
“Whether extremely young persons would have the wit to comprehend virtue by the concealment of it — to say, as that witty old Roman said, that the images of Cassius and Brutus were more remarkable than those of any one else, for the very reason that they were nowhere to be seen — like my virtues? Giovanni, for instance, is the very reverse of me in that, though he has shown such singularly bad taste in resembling my outward man.”
“One should never conceal virtues,” said Sister Gabrielle, gently. “One should not hide one’s light under a basket, you know.”
“My Sister,” replied the old Prince, his black eyes twinkling merrily, “if I had in my whole composition as much light as would enable you to read half-a-dozen words in your breviary, it should be at your disposal. I would set it in the midst of Piazza Colonna, and call it the most wonderful illumination on record. Unfortunately my light, like the lantern of a solitary miner, is only perceptible to myself, and dimly at that.”
“You must not depreciate yourself so very much,” said Corona.
“No; that is true. You will either believe I am speaking the truth, or you will not. I do not know which would be the worse fate. I will change the subject. My son Giovanni, Duchessa, desires to be remembered in your good graces.”
“Thanks. How is he?”
“He is well, but the temper of him is marvellously melancholy. He is building an aqueduct, and so am I. The thing is accomplished by his working perpetually while I smoke cigarettes and read novels.”
“The division of labour is to your advantage, I should say,” remarked
Corona.
“Immensely, I assure you. He promotes the natural advantages of my lands, and I encourage the traffic in tobacco and literature. He works from morning till night, is his own engineer, contractor, overseer, and master-mason. He does everything, and does it well. If we were less barbarous in our bachelor establishment I would ask you to come and see us — in earnest this time — and visit the work we are doing. It is well worth while. Perhaps you would consent as it is. We will vacate the castle for your benefit, and mount guard outside the gates all night.”
Again Corona blushed. She would have given anything to go, but she felt that it was impossible.
“I would like to go,” she said. “If one could come back the same day.”
“You did before,” remarked Saracinesca, bluntly.
“But it was late when I reached home, and I spent no time at all there.”
“I know you did not,” laughed the old man. “You gave Gigi Secchi some money, and then fled precipitately.”
“Indeed I was afraid you would suddenly come upon me, and I ran away,” answered Corona, laughing in her turn, as the dark blood rose to her olive cheeks.
“As my amiable ancestors did in the same place when anybody passed with a full purse,” suggested Saracinesca. “But we have improved a little since then. We would have asked you to breakfast. Will you come?”
“I do not like to go alone; I cannot, you see. Sister Gabrielle could never ride up that hill on a mule.”
“There is a road for carriages,” said the Prince. “I will propose something in the way of a compromise. I will bring Giovanni down with me and our team of mountain horses. Those great beasts of yours cannot do this kind of work. We will take you and Sister Gabrielle up almost as fast as you could go by the bridle-path.” “And back on the same day?” asked Corona.
“No; on the next day.”
“But I do not see where the compromise is,” she replied. “Sister Gabrielle is at once the compromise and the cause that you will not be compromised. I beg her pardon—”
Both ladies laughed.
“I will be very glad to go,” said the Sister. “I do not see that there is anything extraordinary in the Prince’s proposal.”
“My Sister,” returned Saracinesca, “you are on the way to saintship; you already enjoy the beatific vision; you see with a heavenly perspicuity.”
“It is a charming proposition,” said Corona; “but in that case you will have to come down the day before.” She was a little embarrassed.
“We will not invade the cloister,” answered the Prince. “Giovanni and I will spend the night in concocting pretty speeches, and
will appear armed with them at dawn before your gates.”
“There is room in Astrardente,” replied Corona. “You shall not lack hospitality for a night. When will you come?”
“To-morrow evening, if you please. A good thing should be done quickly, in order not to delay doing it again.”
“Do you think I would go again?”
Saracinesca fixed his black eyes on Corona’s, and gazed at her some seconds before he answered.
“Madam,” he said at last, very gravely, “I trust you will come again and stay longer.”
“You are very good,” returned Corona, quietly. “At all events, I will go this first time.”
“We will endeavour to show our gratitude by making you comfortable,” answered the Prince, resuming his former tone. “You shall have a mass in the morning and a litany in the evening. We are godless fellows up there, but we have a priest.”
“You seem to associate our comfort entirely with religious services,” laughed Corona. “But you are very considerate.”
“I see the most charming evidence of devotion at your side,” he replied; “Sister Gabrielle is both the evidence of your piety and is in herself an exposition of the benefits of religion. There shall be other attractions, however, besides masses and litanies.”
Breakfast being ended, Sister Gabrielle left the two together. They went from the dining-room to the great vaulted hall of the inner building. It was cool there, and there were great old arm-chairs ranged along the walls. The closed blinds admitted a soft green light from the hot noonday without. Corona loved to walk upon the cool marble floor; she was a very strong and active woman, delighting in mere motion — not restless, but almost incapable of weariness; her movements not rapid, but full of grace and ease. Saracinesca walked by her side, smoking thoughtfully for some minutes.
Complete Works of F Marion Crawford Page 222
