Giovanni laughed.
“It will end in our having to go to Aquila in search of my supposed better half,” he said. “Aquila, of all places! If she had said Paris — or even Florence — but why, in the name of geography, Aquila?”
“She probably looked for some out-of-the-way place upon an alphabetical list,” laughed the Prince. “Aquila stood first. We shall know in two hours — come along. It is time to be going.”
They found Corona in her boudoir. She had passed an uneasy hour on the previous afternoon after they had left her, but her equanimity was now entirely restored. She had made up her mind that, however ingenious the concocted evidence might turn out to be, it was absolutely impossible to harm Giovanni by means of it. His position was beyond attack, as, in her mind, his character was above slander. Far from experiencing any sensation of anxiety as to the result of Donna Tullia’s visit, what she most felt was curiosity to see what these fancied proofs would be like. She still believed that Madame Mayer was mad.
“I have been remarking to Giovanni upon Donna Tullia’s originality,” said old Saracinesca. “It is charming; it shows a talent for fiction which the world has been long in realising, which we have not even suspected — an amazing and transcendent genius for invention.”
“It is pure insanity,” answered Corona, in a tone of conviction. “The woman is mad.”
“Mad as an Englishman,” asseverated the Prince, using the most powerful simile in the Italian language. “We will have her in Santo Spirito before night, and she will puzzle the doctors.”
“She is not mad,” said Giovanni, quietly. “I do not even believe we shall find that her documents are forgeries.”
“What?” cried his father. Corona looked quickly at Giovanni.
“You yourself,” said the latter, turning to old Saracinesca, “were assuring me half an hour ago that I was the victim of a plot. Now, if anything of the kind is seriously attempted, you may be sure it will be well done. She has a good ally in the man to whom she is engaged. Del Ferice is no fool, and he hates me.”
“Del Ferice!” exclaimed Corona, in surprise. As she went nowhere as yet, she had, of course, not heard the news which had been published on the previous evening. “You do not mean to say that she is going to marry Del Ferice?”
“Yes, indeed,” said Giovanni. “They both appeared last night and announced the fact, and received everybody’s congratulations. It is a most appropriate match.”
“I agree with you — a beautiful triangular alliteration of wit, wealth, and wickedness,” observed the Prince. “He has brains, she has money, and they are both as bad as possible.”
“I thought you used to like Donna Tullia,” said Corona, suppressing a smile.
“I did,” said old Saracinesea, stoutly. “I wanted Giovanni to marry her. It has pleased Providence to avert that awful catastrophe. I liked Madame Mayer because she was rich and noisy and good-looking, and I thought that, as Giovanni’s wife, she would make the house gay. We are such a pair of solemn bears together, that it seemed appropriate that somebody should make us dance. It was a foolish idea, I confess, though I thought it very beautiful at the time. It merely shows how liable we are to make mistakes. Imagine Giovanni married to a lunatic!”
“I repeat that she is not mad,” said Giovanni. “I cannot tell how they have managed it, but I am sure it has been managed well, and will give us trouble. You will see.”
“I do not understand at all how there can be any trouble about it,” said Corona, proudly. “It is perfectly simple for us to tell the truth, and to show that what they say is a lie. You can prove easily enough that you were in Canada at the time. I wish it were time for her to come. Let us go to breakfast in the meanwhile.”
The views taken by the three were characteristic of their various natures. The old Prince, who was violent of temper, and inclined always to despise an enemy in any shape, scoffed at the idea that there was anything to show; and though his natural wit suggested from time to time that there was a plot against his son, his general opinion was, that it was a singular case of madness. He hardly believed Donna Tullia would appear at all; and if she did, he expected some extraordinary outburst, some pitiable exhibition of insanity. Corona, on the other hand, maintained a proud indifference, scorning to suppose that anything could possibly injure Giovanni in any way, loving him too entirely to admit that he was vulnerable at all, still less that he could possibly have done anything to give colour to the accusation brought against him. Giovanni alone of all the three foresaw that there would be trouble, and dimly guessed how the thing had been done; for he did not fall into his father’s error of despising an enemy, and he had seen too much of the world not to understand that danger is often greatest when the appearance of it is least.
Breakfast was hardly over when Donna Tullia was announced. All rose to meet her, and all looked at her with equal interest. She was calmer than on the previous day, and she carried a package of papers in her hand. Her red lips were compressed, and her eyes looked defiantly round upon all present. Whatever might be her faults, she was not a coward when brought face to face with danger. She was determined to carry the matter through, both because she knew that she had no other alternative, and because she believed herself to be doing a righteous act, which, at the same time, fully satisfied her desire for vengeance. She came forward boldly and stood beside the table in the midst of the room. Corona was upon one side of the fireplace, and the two Saracinesea upon the other. All three held their breath in expectation of what Donna Tullia was about to say; the sense of her importance impressed her, and her love of dramatic situations being satisfied, she assumed something of the air of a theatrical avenging angel, and her utterance was rhetorical.
“I come here,” she said, “at your invitation, to exhibit to your eyes the evidence of what I yesterday asserted — the evidence of the monstrous crime of which I accuse that man.” Here she raised her finger with a gesture of scorn, and extending her whole arm, pointed towards Giovanni.
“Madam,” interrupted the old Prince, “I will trouble you to select your epithets and expressions with more care. Pray be brief, and show what you have brought.”
“I will show it, indeed,” replied Donna Tullia, “and you shall tremble at what you see. When you have evidence of the truth of what I say, you may choose any language you please to define the action of your son. These documents,” she said, holding up the package, “are attested copies made from the originals — the first two in the possession of the curate of the church of San Bernardino da Siena, at Aquila, the other in the office of the Stato Civile in the same city. As they are only copies, you need not think that you will gain anything by destroying them.”
“Spare your comments upon our probable conduct,” interrupted the Prince, roughly. Donna Tullia eyed him with a scornful glance, and her face began to grow red.
“You may destroy them if you please,” she repeated; “but I advise you to observe that they bear the Government stamp and the notarial seal of Gianbattista Caldani, notary public in the city of Aquila, and that they are, consequently, beyond all doubt genuine copies of genuine documents.”
Donna Tullia proceeded to open the envelope and withdraw the three papers it contained. Spreading them out, she took up the first, which contained the extract from the curate’s book of banns. It set forth that upon the three Sundays preceding the 19th of June 1863, the said curate had published, in the parish church of San Bernardino da Siena, the banns of marriage between Giovanni Saracinesca and Felice Baldi. Donna Tullia read it aloud.
Giovanni could hardly suppress a laugh, it sounded so strangely. Corona herself turned pale, though she firmly believed the whole thing to be an imposture of some kind.
“Permit me, madam,” said old Saracinesca, stepping forward and taking the paper from her hand. He carefully examined the seal and stamp. “It is very cleverly done,” he said with a sneer; “but there should be only one letter r in the name Saracinesca — here it is spelt with tw
o! Very clever, but a slight mistake! Observe,” he said, showing the place to Donna Tullia.
“It is a mistake of the copyist,” she said, scornfully. “The name is properly spelt in the other papers. Here is the copy of the marriage register. Shall I read it also?”
“Spare me the humiliation,” said Giovanni, in quiet contempt. “Spare me the unutterable mortification of discovering that there is another Giovanni Saracinesca in the world!”
“I could not have believed that any one could be so hardened,” said Donna Tullia. “But whether you are humiliated or not by the evidence of your misdeeds, I will spare you nothing. Here it is in full, and you may notice that your name is spelt properly too.”
She held up the document and then read it out — the copy of the curate’s register, stating that on the 19th of June 1863 Giovanni Saracinesca and Felice Baldi were united in holy matrimony in the church of San Bernardino da Siena. She handed the paper to the Prince, and then read the extract from the register of the Civil marriage and the notary’s attestation to the signatures. She gave this also to old Saracinesca, and then folding her arms in a fine attitude, confronted the three.
“Are you satisfied that I spoke the truth?” she asked, defiantly.
“The thing is certainly remarkably well done,” answered the old Prince, who scrutinised the papers with a puzzled air. Though he knew perfectly well that his son had been in Canada at the time of this pretended marriage, he confessed to himself that if such evidence had been brought against any other man, he would have believed it.
“It is a shameful fraud!” exclaimed Corona, looking at the papers over the old man’s shoulder.
“That is a lie!” cried Donna Tullia, growing scarlet with anger.
“Do not forget your manners, or you will get into trouble,” said Giovanni, sternly. “I see through the whole thing. There has been no fraud, and yet the deductions are entirely untrue. In the first place, Donna Tullia, how do you make the statements here given to coincide with the fact that during the whole summer of 1863 and during the early part of 1864 I was in Canada with a party of gentlemen, who are all alive to testify to the fact?”
“I do not believe it,” answered Madame Mayer, contemptuously. “I would not believe your friends if they were here and swore to it. You will very likely produce witnesses to prove that you were in the arctic regions last summer, as the newspapers said, whereas every one knows now that you were at Saracinesca. You are exceedingly clever at concealing your movements, as we all know.”
Giovanni did not lose his temper, but calmly proceeded to demonstrate his theory.
“You will find that the courts of law will accept the evidence of gentlemen upon oath,” he replied, quietly. “Moreover, as a further evidence, and a piece of very singular proof, I can probably produce Giovanni Saracinesca and Felice Baldi themselves to witness against you. And I apprehend that the said Giovanni Saracinesca will vehemently protest that the said Felice Baldi is his wife, and not mine.”
“You speak in wonderful riddles, but you will not deceive me. Money will doubtless do much, but it will not do what you expect.”
“Certainly not,” returned Giovanni, unmoved by her reply. “Money will certainly not create out of nothing a second Giovanni Saracinesca, nor his circle of acquaintances, nor the police registers concerning him which are kept throughout the kingdom of Italy, very much as they are kept here in the Pontifical States. Money will do none of these things.”
While he was speaking, his father and the Duchessa listened with intense interest.
“Donna Tullia,” continued Giovanni, “I am willing to believe from your manner that you are really sure that I am the man mentioned in your papers; but permit me to inform you that you have been made the victim of a shallow trick, probably by the person who gave those same papers into your hands, and suggested to you the use you have made of them.”
“I? I, the victim of a trick?” repeated Donna Tullia, frightened at last by his obstinately calm manner.
“Yes,” he replied. “I know Aquila and the Abruzzi very well. It chances that although we, the Saracinesca of Rome, are not numerous, the name is not uncommon in that part of the country. It is the same with all our great names. There are Colonna, Orsini, Caetani all over the country — there are even many families bearing the name of the Medici, who are extinct. You know it as well as I, or you should know it, for I believe your mother was my father’s cousin. Has it not struck you that this same Giovanni Saracinesca herein mentioned, is simply some low-born namesake of mine?”
Donna Tullia had grown very pale, and she leaned upon the table as though she were faint. The others listened breathlessly.
“I do not believe it,” said Madame Mayer, in a low and broken voice.
“Now I will tell you what I will do,” continued Giovanni. “I will go to
Aquila at once, and I daresay my father will accompany me—”
“Of course I will,” broke in the old Prince.
“We will go, and in a fortnight’s time we will produce the whole history of this Giovanni Saracinesca, together with his wife and himself in his own person, if they are both alive; we will bring them here, and they will assure you that you have been egregiously deceived, played upon and put in a false position by — by the person who furnished you with these documents. I wonder that any Roman of common-sense should not have seen at once the cause of this mistake.”
“I cannot believe it,” murmured Donna Tullia. Then raising her voice, she added, “Whatever may be the result of your inquiry, I cannot but feel that I have done my duty in this affair. I do not believe in your theory, nor in you, and I shall not, until you produce this other man. I have done my duty—”
“An exceedingly painful one, no doubt,” remarked old Saracinesca. Then he broke into a loud peal of laughter.
“And if you do not succeed in your search, it will be my duty, in the interests of society, to put the matter in the hands of the police. Since you have the effrontery to say that those papers are of no use, I demand them back.”
“Not at all, madam,” replied the Prince, whose laughter subsided at the renewed boldness of her tone. “I will not give them back to you. I intend to compare them with the originals. If there are no originals, they will serve very well to commit the notary whose seal is on them, and yourself, upon a well-founded indictment for forgery, wilful calumniation, and a whole list of crimes sufficient to send you to the galleys for life. If, on the other hand, the originals exist, they can be of no possible value to you, as you can send to Aquila and have fresh copies made whenever you please, as you yourself informed me.”
Things were taking a bad turn for Donna Tullia. She believed the papers to be genuine, but a fearful doubt crossed her mind that Del Ferice might possibly have deceived her by having them manufactured. Anybody could buy Government paper, and it would be but a simple matter to have a notary’s seal engraved. She was terrified at the idea, but there was no possibility of getting the documents back from the old Prince, who held them firmly in his broad brown hand. There was nothing to be done but to face the situation out to the end and go.
“As you please,” she said. “It is natural that you should insult me, a defenceless woman trying to do what is right. It is worthy of your race and reputation. I will leave you to the consideration of the course you intend to follow, and I advise you to omit nothing which can help to prove the innocence of your son.”
Donna Tullia bestowed one more glance of contemptuous defiance upon the group, and brushed angrily out of the room.
“So much for her madness!” exclaimed Giovanni, when she was gone. “I think I have got to the bottom of that affair.”
“It seems so simple, and yet I never thought of it,” said Corona. “How clever you are, Giovanni!”
“There was not much cleverness needed to see through so shallow a trick,” replied Giovanni. “I suspected it this morning; and when I saw that the documents were genuine and all in order, I was convinced o
f it. This thing has been done by Del Ferice, I suppose in order to revenge himself upon me for nearly killing him in fair fight. It was a noble plan. With a little more intelligence and a little more pains, he could have given me great trouble. Certificates like those he produced, if they had come from a remote French village in Canada, would have given us occupation for some time.”
“I wish Donna Tullia joy of her husband,” remarked the Prince. “He will spend her money in a year or two, and then leave her to the contemplation of his past extravagance. I wonder how he induced her to consent.”
“Many people like Del Ferice,” said Giovanni. “He is popular, and has attractions.”
“How can you say that!” exclaimed Corona, indignantly. “You should have a better opinion of women than to think any woman could find attractions in such a man.”
“Nevertheless, Donna Tullia is going to marry him,” returned Giovanni.
“She must find him to her taste. I used to think she might have married
Valdarno — he is so good-natured, you know!”
Giovanni spoke in a tone of reflection; the other two laughed.
“And now, Giovannino,” said his father, “we must set out for Aquila, and find your namesake.”
“You will not really go?” asked Corona, with a look of disappointment. She could not bear the thought of being separated even for a day from the man she loved.
“I do not see that we can do anything else,” returned the Prince. “I must satisfy myself whether those papers are forgeries or not. If they are, that woman must go to prison for them.”
“But she is our cousin — you cannot do that,” objected Giovanni.
“Indeed I will. I am angry. Do not try to stop me. Do you suppose I care anything for the relationship in comparison with repaying her for all this trouble? You are not going to turn merciful, Giovanni? I should not recognise you.”
Complete Works of F Marion Crawford Page 228
