Chapter 6
Italy, Philip had always maintained, is only her true self in the heightof the summer, when the tourists have left her, and her soul awakesunder the beams of a vertical sun. He now had every opportunity ofseeing her at her best, for it was nearly the middle of August before hewent out to meet Harriet in the Tirol.
He found his sister in a dense cloud five thousand feet above the sea,chilled to the bone, overfed, bored, and not at all unwilling to befetched away.
"It upsets one's plans terribly," she remarked, as she squeezed out hersponges, "but obviously it is my duty."
"Did mother explain it all to you?" asked Philip.
"Yes, indeed! Mother has written me a really beautiful letter. Shedescribes how it was that she gradually got to feel that we must rescuethe poor baby from its terrible surroundings, how she has tried byletter, and it is no good--nothing but insincere compliments andhypocrisy came back. Then she says, 'There is nothing like personalinfluence; you and Philip will succeed where I have failed.' She says,too, that Caroline Abbott has been wonderful."
Philip assented.
"Caroline feels it as keenly almost as us. That is because she knows theman. Oh, he must be loathsome! Goodness me! I've forgotten to pack theammonia!... It has been a terrible lesson for Caroline, but I fancy itis her turning-point. I can't help liking to think that out of all thisevil good will come."
Philip saw no prospect of good, nor of beauty either. But the expeditionpromised to be highly comic. He was not averse to it any longer; hewas simply indifferent to all in it except the humours. These would bewonderful. Harriet, worked by her mother; Mrs. Herriton, worked by MissAbbott; Gino, worked by a cheque--what better entertainment could hedesire? There was nothing to distract him this time; his sentimentalityhad died, so had his anxiety for the family honour. He might be apuppet's puppet, but he knew exactly the disposition of the strings.
They travelled for thirteen hours down-hill, whilst the streamsbroadened and the mountains shrank, and the vegetation changed, and thepeople ceased being ugly and drinking beer, and began instead to drinkwine and to be beautiful. And the train which had picked them at sunriseout of a waste of glaciers and hotels was waltzing at sunset round thewalls of Verona.
"Absurd nonsense they talk about the heat," said Philip, as they drovefrom the station. "Supposing we were here for pleasure, what could bemore pleasurable than this?"
"Did you hear, though, they are remarking on the cold?" said Harrietnervously. "I should never have thought it cold."
And on the second day the heat struck them, like a hand laid over themouth, just as they were walking to see the tomb of Juliet. Fromthat moment everything went wrong. They fled from Verona. Harriet'ssketch-book was stolen, and the bottle of ammonia in her trunk burstover her prayer-book, so that purple patches appeared on all herclothes. Then, as she was going through Mantua at four in the morning,Philip made her look out of the window because it was Virgil'sbirthplace, and a smut flew in her eye, and Harriet with a smut in hereye was notorious. At Bologna they stopped twenty-four hours to rest. Itwas a FESTA, and children blew bladder whistles night and day. "What areligion!" said Harriet. The hotel smelt, two puppies were asleep onher bed, and her bedroom window looked into a belfry, which saluted herslumbering form every quarter of an hour. Philip left his walking-stick,his socks, and the Baedeker at Bologna; she only left her sponge-bag.Next day they crossed the Apennines with a train-sick child and ahot lady, who told them that never, never before had she sweated soprofusely. "Foreigners are a filthy nation," said Harriet. "I don't careif there are tunnels; open the windows." He obeyed, and she got anothersmut in her eye. Nor did Florence improve matters. Eating, walking, evena cross word would bathe them both in boiling water. Philip, who wasslighter of build, and less conscientious, suffered less. But Harriethad never been to Florence, and between the hours of eight and elevenshe crawled like a wounded creature through the streets, and swoonedbefore various masterpieces of art. It was an irritable couple who tooktickets to Monteriano.
"Singles or returns?" said he.
"A single for me," said Harriet peevishly; "I shall never get backalive."
"Sweet creature!" said her brother, suddenly breaking down. "How helpfulyou will be when we come to Signor Carella!"
"Do you suppose," said Harriet, standing still among a whirl ofporters--"do you suppose I am going to enter that man's house?"
"Then what have you come for, pray? For ornament?"
"To see that you do your duty."
"Oh, thanks!"
"So mother told me. For goodness sake get the tickets; here comes thathot woman again! She has the impudence to bow."
"Mother told you, did she?" said Philip wrathfully, as he went tostruggle for tickets at a slit so narrow that they were handed to himedgeways. Italy was beastly, and Florence station is the centre ofbeastly Italy. But he had a strange feeling that he was to blame for itall; that a little influx into him of virtue would make the whole landnot beastly but amusing. For there was enchantment, he was sure of that;solid enchantment, which lay behind the porters and the screaming andthe dust. He could see it in the terrific blue sky beneath which theytravelled, in the whitened plain which gripped life tighter than afrost, in the exhausted reaches of the Arno, in the ruins of browncastles which stood quivering upon the hills. He could see it, thoughhis head ached and his skin was twitching, though he was here as apuppet, and though his sister knew how he was here. There was nothingpleasant in that journey to Monteriano station. But nothing--not eventhe discomfort--was commonplace.
"But do people live inside?" asked Harriet. They had exchangedrailway-carriage for the legno, and the legno had emerged from thewithered trees, and had revealed to them their destination. Philip, tobe annoying, answered "No."
"What do they do there?" continued Harriet, with a frown.
"There is a caffe. A prison. A theatre. A church. Walls. A view."
"Not for me, thank you," said Harriet, after a weighty pause.
"Nobody asked you, Miss, you see. Now Lilia was asked by such a niceyoung gentleman, with curls all over his forehead, and teeth just aswhite as father makes them." Then his manner changed. "But, Harriet, doyou see nothing wonderful or attractive in that place--nothing at all?"
"Nothing at all. It's frightful."
"I know it is. But it's old--awfully old."
"Beauty is the only test," said Harriet. "At least so you told me whenI sketched old buildings--for the sake, I suppose, of making yourselfunpleasant."
"Oh, I'm perfectly right. But at the same time--I don't know--somany things have happened here--people have lived so hard and sosplendidly--I can't explain."
"I shouldn't think you could. It doesn't seem the best moment to beginyour Italy mania. I thought you were cured of it by now. Instead, willyou kindly tell me what you are going to do when you arrive. I do begyou will not be taken unawares this time."
"First, Harriet, I shall settle you at the Stella d'Italia, in thecomfort that befits your sex and disposition. Then I shall make myselfsome tea. After tea I shall take a book into Santa Deodata's, and readthere. It is always fresh and cool."
The martyred Harriet exclaimed, "I'm not clever, Philip. I don't go infor it, as you know. But I know what's rude. And I know what's wrong."
"Meaning--?"
"You!" she shouted, bouncing on the cushions of the legno and startlingall the fleas. "What's the good of cleverness if a man's murdered awoman?"
"Harriet, I am hot. To whom do you refer?"
"He. Her. If you don't look out he'll murder you. I wish he would."
"Tut tut, tutlet! You'd find a corpse extraordinarily inconvenient."Then he tried to be less aggravating. "I heartily dislike the fellow,but we know he didn't murder her. In that letter, though she said a lot,she never said he was physically cruel."
"He has murdered her. The things he did--things one can't evenmention--"
"Things which one must mention if one's to talk at all. And things whichone
must keep in their proper place. Because he was unfaithful to hiswife, it doesn't follow that in every way he's absolutely vile." Helooked at the city. It seemed to approve his remark.
"It's the supreme test. The man who is unchivalrous to a woman--"
"Oh, stow it! Take it to the Back Kitchen. It's no more a supreme testthan anything else. The Italians never were chivalrous from the first.If you condemn him for that, you'll condemn the whole lot."
"I condemn the whole lot."
"And the French as well?"
"And the French as well."
"Things aren't so jolly easy," said Philip, more to himself than to her.
But for Harriet things were easy, though not jolly, and she turned uponher brother yet again. "What about the baby, pray? You've said a lot ofsmart things and whittled away morality and religion and I don't knowwhat; but what about the baby? You think me a fool, but I've beennoticing you all today, and you haven't mentioned the baby once. Youhaven't thought about it, even. You don't care. Philip! I shall notspeak to you. You are intolerable."
She kept her promise, and never opened her lips all the rest of the way.But her eyes glowed with anger and resolution. For she was a straight,brave woman, as well as a peevish one.
Philip acknowledged her reproof to be true. He did not care about thebaby one straw. Nevertheless, he meant to do his duty, and he was fairlyconfident of success. If Gino would have sold his wife for a thousandlire, for how much less would he not sell his child? It was just acommercial transaction. Why should it interfere with other things? Hiseyes were fixed on the towers again, just as they had been fixed when hedrove with Miss Abbott. But this time his thoughts were pleasanter, forhe had no such grave business on his mind. It was in the spirit of thecultivated tourist that he approached his destination.
One of the towers, rough as any other, was topped by a cross--the towerof the Collegiate Church of Santa Deodata. She was a holy maiden of theDark Ages, the city's patron saint, and sweetness and barbarity minglestrangely in her story. So holy was she that all her life she lay uponher back in the house of her mother, refusing to eat, refusing to play,refusing to work. The devil, envious of such sanctity, tempted her invarious ways. He dangled grapes above her, he showed her fascinatingtoys, he pushed soft pillows beneath her aching head. When all provedvain he tripped up the mother and flung her downstairs before her veryeyes. But so holy was the saint that she never picked her mother up, butlay upon her back through all, and thus assured her throne in Paradise.She was only fifteen when she died, which shows how much is within thereach of any school-girl. Those who think her life was unpractical needonly think of the victories upon Poggibonsi, San Gemignano, Volterra,Siena itself--all gained through the invocation of her name; they needonly look at the church which rose over her grave. The grand schemes fora marble facade were never carried out, and it is brown unfinished stoneuntil this day. But for the inside Giotto was summoned to decorate thewalls of the nave. Giotto came--that is to say, he did not come, Germanresearch having decisively proved--but at all events the nave is coveredwith frescoes, and so are two chapels in the left transept, and thearch into the choir, and there are scraps in the choir itself. There thedecoration stopped, till in the full spring of the Renaissance agreat painter came to pay a few weeks' visit to his friend the Lord ofMonteriano. In the intervals between the banquets and the discussions onLatin etymology and the dancing, he would stroll over to the church, andthere in the fifth chapel to the right he has painted two frescoes ofthe death and burial of Santa Deodata. That is why Baedeker gives theplace a star.
Santa Deodata was better company than Harriet, and she kept Philip in apleasant dream until the legno drew up at the hotel. Every one there wasasleep, for it was still the hour when only idiots were moving. Therewere not even any beggars about. The cabman put their bags down in thepassage--they had left heavy luggage at the station--and strolled abouttill he came on the landlady's room and woke her, and sent her to them.
Then Harriet pronounced the monosyllable "Go!"
"Go where?" asked Philip, bowing to the landlady, who was swimming downthe stairs.
"To the Italian. Go."
"Buona sera, signora padrona. Si ritorna volontieri a Monteriano!"(Don't be a goose. I'm not going now. You're in the way, too.) "Vorreidue camere--"
"Go. This instant. Now. I'll stand it no longer. Go!"
"I'm damned if I'll go. I want my tea."
"Swear if you like!" she cried. "Blaspheme! Abuse me! But understand,I'm in earnest."
"Harriet, don't act. Or act better."
"We've come here to get the baby back, and for nothing else. I'll nothave this levity and slackness, and talk about pictures and churches.Think of mother; did she send you out for THEM?"
"Think of mother and don't straddle across the stairs. Let the cabmanand the landlady come down, and let me go up and choose rooms."
"I shan't."
"Harriet, are you mad?"
"If you like. But you will not come up till you have seen the Italian."
"La signorina si sente male," said Philip, "C' e il sole."
"Poveretta!" cried the landlady and the cabman.
"Leave me alone!" said Harriet, snarling round at them. "I don't carefor the lot of you. I'm English, and neither you'll come down nor he uptill he goes for the baby."
"La prego-piano-piano-c e un' altra signorina che dorme--"
"We shall probably be arrested for brawling, Harriet. Have you the veryslightest sense of the ludicrous?"
Harriet had not; that was why she could be so powerful. She hadconcocted this scene in the carriage, and nothing should baulk herof it. To the abuse in front and the coaxing behind she was equallyindifferent. How long she would have stood like a glorified Horatius,keeping the staircase at both ends, was never to be known. For the younglady, whose sleep they were disturbing, awoke and opened her bedroomdoor, and came out on to the landing. She was Miss Abbott.
Philip's first coherent feeling was one of indignation. To be run byhis mother and hectored by his sister was as much as he could stand. Theintervention of a third female drove him suddenly beyond politeness. Hewas about to say exactly what he thought about the thing from beginningto end. But before he could do so Harriet also had seen Miss Abbott. Sheuttered a shrill cry of joy.
"You, Caroline, here of all people!" And in spite of the heat she dartedup the stairs and imprinted an affectionate kiss upon her friend.
Philip had an inspiration. "You will have a lot to tell Miss Abbott,Harriet, and she may have as much to tell you. So I'll pay my call onSignor Carella, as you suggested, and see how things stand."
Miss Abbott uttered some noise of greeting or alarm. He did not reply toit or approach nearer to her. Without even paying the cabman, he escapedinto the street.
"Tear each other's eyes out!" he cried, gesticulating at the facade ofthe hotel. "Give it to her, Harriet! Teach her to leave us alone. Giveit to her, Caroline! Teach her to be grateful to you. Go it, ladies; goit!"
Such people as observed him were interested, but did not conclude thathe was mad. This aftermath of conversation is not unknown in Italy.
He tried to think how amusing it was; but it would not do--Miss Abbott'spresence affected him too personally. Either she suspected him ofdishonesty, or else she was being dishonest herself. He preferred tosuppose the latter. Perhaps she had seen Gino, and they had preparedsome elaborate mortification for the Herritons. Perhaps Gino had soldthe baby cheap to her for a joke: it was just the kind of joke thatwould appeal to him. Philip still remembered the laughter that hadgreeted his fruitless journey, and the uncouth push that had toppled himon to the bed. And whatever it might mean, Miss Abbott's presence spoiltthe comedy: she would do nothing funny.
During this short meditation he had walked through the city, and was outon the other side. "Where does Signor Carella live?" he asked the men atthe Dogana.
"I'll show you," said a little girl, springing out of the ground asItalian children will.
"S
he will show you," said the Dogana men, nodding reassuringly. "Followher always, always, and you will come to no harm. She is a trustworthyguide. She is my
daughter." cousin." sister."
Philip knew these relatives well: they ramify, if need be, all over thepeninsula.
"Do you chance to know whether Signor Carella is in?" he asked her.
She had just seen him go in. Philip nodded. He was looking forward tothe interview this time: it would be an intellectual duet with a manof no great intellect. What was Miss Abbott up to? That was one of thethings he was going to discover. While she had it out with Harriet, hewould have it out with Gino. He followed the Dogana's relative softly,like a diplomatist.
He did not follow her long, for this was the Volterra gate, and thehouse was exactly opposite to it. In half a minute they had scrambleddown the mule-track and reached the only practicable entrance. Philiplaughed, partly at the thought of Lilia in such a building, partly inthe confidence of victory. Meanwhile the Dogana's relative lifted up hervoice and gave a shout.
For an impressive interval there was no reply. Then the figure of awoman appeared high up on the loggia.
"That is Perfetta," said the girl.
"I want to see Signor Carella," cried Philip.
"Out!"
"Out," echoed the girl complacently.
"Why on earth did you say he was in?" He could have strangled herfor temper. He had been just ripe for an interview--just the rightcombination of indignation and acuteness: blood hot, brain cool. Butnothing ever did go right in Monteriano. "When will he be back?" hecalled to Perfetta. It really was too bad.
She did not know. He was away on business. He might be back thisevening, he might not. He had gone to Poggibonsi.
At the sound of this word the little girl put her fingers to hernose and swept them at the plain. She sang as she did so, even as herforemothers had sung seven hundred years back--
Poggibonizzi, fatti in la, Che Monteriano si fa citta!
Then she asked Philip for a halfpenny. A German lady, friendly to thePast, had given her one that very spring.
"I shall have to leave a message," he called.
"Now Perfetta has gone for her basket," said the little girl. "When shereturns she will lower it--so. Then you will put your card into it. Thenshe will raise it--thus. By this means--"
When Perfetta returned, Philip remembered to ask after the baby. It tooklonger to find than the basket, and he stood perspiring in the eveningsun, trying to avoid the smell of the drains and to prevent the littlegirl from singing against Poggibonsi. The olive-trees beside him weredraped with the weekly--or more probably the monthly--wash. What afrightful spotty blouse! He could not think where he had seen it. Thenhe remembered that it was Lilia's. She had brought it "to hack about in"at Sawston, and had taken it to Italy because "in Italy anything does."He had rebuked her for the sentiment.
"Beautiful as an angel!" bellowed Perfetta, holding out something whichmust be Lilia's baby. "But who am I addressing?"
"Thank you--here is my card." He had written on it a civil requestto Gino for an interview next morning. But before he placed it in thebasket and revealed his identity, he wished to find something out. "Hasa young lady happened to call here lately--a young English lady?"
Perfetta begged his pardon: she was a little deaf.
"A young lady--pale, large, tall."
She did not quite catch.
"A YOUNG LADY!"
"Perfetta is deaf when she chooses," said the Dogana's relative. Atlast Philip admitted the peculiarity and strode away. He paid off thedetestable child at the Volterra gate. She got two nickel pieces and wasnot pleased, partly because it was too much, partly because he did notlook pleased when he gave it to her. He caught her fathers and cousinswinking at each other as he walked past them. Monteriano seemed inone conspiracy to make him look a fool. He felt tired and anxious andmuddled, and not sure of anything except that his temper was lost.In this mood he returned to the Stella d'Italia, and there, as he wasascending the stairs, Miss Abbott popped out of the dining-room on thefirst floor and beckoned to him mysteriously.
"I was going to make myself some tea," he said, with his hand still onthe banisters.
"I should be grateful--"
So he followed her into the dining-room and shut the door.
"You see," she began, "Harriet knows nothing."
"No more do I. He was out."
"But what's that to do with it?"
He presented her with an unpleasant smile. She fenced well, as he hadnoticed before. "He was out. You find me as ignorant as you have leftHarriet."
"What do you mean? Please, please Mr. Herriton, don't be mysterious:there isn't the time. Any moment Harriet may be down, and we shan't havedecided how to behave to her. Sawston was different: we had to keep upappearances. But here we must speak out, and I think I can trust you todo it. Otherwise we'll never start clear."
"Pray let us start clear," said Philip, pacing up and down the room."Permit me to begin by asking you a question. In which capacity have youcome to Monteriano--spy or traitor?"
"Spy!" she answered, without a moment's hesitation. She was standingby the little Gothic window as she spoke--the hotel had been a palaceonce--and with her finger she was following the curves of the mouldingas if they might feel beautiful and strange. "Spy," she repeated, forPhilip was bewildered at learning her guilt so easily, and could notanswer a word. "Your mother has behaved dishonourably all through. Shenever wanted the child; no harm in that; but she is too proud to let itcome to me. She has done all she could to wreck things; she did not tellyou everything; she has told Harriet nothing at all; she has lied oracted lies everywhere. I cannot trust your mother. So I have come herealone--all across Europe; no one knows it; my father thinks I am inNormandy--to spy on Mrs. Herriton. Don't let's argue!" for he had begun,almost mechanically, to rebuke her for impertinence. "If you are here toget the child, I will help you; if you are here to fail, I shall get itinstead of you."
"It is hopeless to expect you to believe me," he stammered. "But I canassert that we are here to get the child, even if it costs us all we'vegot. My mother has fixed no money limit whatever. I am here to carryout her instructions. I think that you will approve of them, as you havepractically dictated them. I do not approve of them. They are absurd."
She nodded carelessly. She did not mind what he said. All she wanted wasto get the baby out of Monteriano.
"Harriet also carries out your instructions," he continued. "She,however, approves of them, and does not know that they proceed from you.I think, Miss Abbott, you had better take entire charge of the rescueparty. I have asked for an interview with Signor Carella tomorrowmorning. Do you acquiesce?"
She nodded again.
"Might I ask for details of your interview with him? They might behelpful to me."
He had spoken at random. To his delight she suddenly collapsed. Her handfell from the window. Her face was red with more than the reflection ofevening.
"My interview--how do you know of it?"
"From Perfetta, if it interests you."
"Who ever is Perfetta?"
"The woman who must have let you in."
"In where?"
"Into Signor Carella's house."
"Mr. Herriton!" she exclaimed. "How could you believe her? Do yousuppose that I would have entered that man's house, knowing about himall that I do? I think you have very odd ideas of what is possible fora lady. I hear you wanted Harriet to go. Very properly she refused.Eighteen months ago I might have done such a thing. But I trust I havelearnt how to behave by now."
Philip began to see that there were two Miss Abbotts--the Miss Abbottwho could travel alone to Monteriano, and the Miss Abbott who couldnot enter Gino's house when she got there. It was an amusing discovery.Which of them would respond to his next move?
"I suppose I misunderstood Perfetta. Where did you have your interview,then?"
"Not an interview--an accident--I am very sorry--I
meant you to have thechance of seeing him first. Though it is your fault. You are a day late.You were due here yesterday. So I came yesterday, and, not finding you,went up to the Rocca--you know that kitchen-garden where they let youin, and there is a ladder up to a broken tower, where you can standand see all the other towers below you and the plain and all the otherhills?"
"Yes, yes. I know the Rocca; I told you of it."
"So I went up in the evening for the sunset: I had nothing to do. He wasin the garden: it belongs to a friend of his."
"And you talked."
"It was very awkward for me. But I had to talk: he seemed to make me.You see he thought I was here as a tourist; he thinks so still. Heintended to be civil, and I judged it better to be civil also."
"And of what did you talk?"
"The weather--there will be rain, he says, by tomorrow evening--theother towns, England, myself, about you a little, and he actuallymentioned Lilia. He was perfectly disgusting; he pretended he lovedher; he offered to show me her grave--the grave of the woman he hasmurdered!"
"My dear Miss Abbott, he is not a murderer. I have just been drivingthat into Harriet. And when you know the Italians as well as I do, youwill realize that in all that he said to you he was perfectly sincere.The Italians are essentially dramatic; they look on death and love asspectacles. I don't doubt that he persuaded himself, for the moment,that he had behaved admirably, both as husband and widower."
"You may be right," said Miss Abbott, impressed for the first time."When I tried to pave the way, so to speak--to hint that he had notbehaved as he ought--well, it was no good at all. He couldn't orwouldn't understand."
There was something very humorous in the idea of Miss Abbott approachingGino, on the Rocca, in the spirit of a district visitor. Philip, whosetemper was returning, laughed.
"Harriet would say he has no sense of sin."
"Harriet may be right, I am afraid."
"If so, perhaps he isn't sinful!"
Miss Abbott was not one to encourage levity. "I know what he hasdone," she said. "What he says and what he thinks is of very littleimportance."
Philip smiled at her crudity. "I should like to hear, though, what hesaid about me. Is he preparing a warm reception?"
"Oh, no, not that. I never told him that you and Harriet were coming.You could have taken him by surprise if you liked. He only asked foryou, and wished he hadn't been so rude to you eighteen months ago."
"What a memory the fellow has for little things!" He turned away as hespoke, for he did not want her to see his face. It was suffused withpleasure. For an apology, which would have been intolerable eighteenmonths ago, was gracious and agreeable now.
She would not let this pass. "You did not think it a little thing at thetime. You told me he had assaulted you."
"I lost my temper," said Philip lightly. His vanity had been appeased,and he knew it. This tiny piece of civility had changed his mood. "Didhe really--what exactly did he say?"
"He said he was sorry--pleasantly, as Italians do say such things. Buthe never mentioned the baby once."
What did the baby matter when the world was suddenly right way up?Philip smiled, and was shocked at himself for smiling, and smiled again.For romance had come back to Italy; there were no cads in her; she wasbeautiful, courteous, lovable, as of old. And Miss Abbott--she, too, wasbeautiful in her way, for all her gaucheness and conventionality.She really cared about life, and tried to live it properly. AndHarriet--even Harriet tried.
This admirable change in Philip proceeds from nothing admirable, andmay therefore provoke the gibes of the cynical. But angels and otherpractical people will accept it reverently, and write it down as good.
"The view from the Rocca (small gratuity) is finest at sunset," hemurmured, more to himself than to her.
"And he never mentioned the baby once," Miss Abbott repeated. But shehad returned to the window, and again her finger pursued the delicatecurves. He watched her in silence, and was more attracted to her than hehad ever been before. She really was the strangest mixture.
"The view from the Rocca--wasn't it fine?"
"What isn't fine here?" she answered gently, and then added, "I wish Iwas Harriet," throwing an extraordinary meaning into the words.
"Because Harriet--?"
She would not go further, but he believed that she had paid homageto the complexity of life. For her, at all events, the expedition wasneither easy nor jolly. Beauty, evil, charm, vulgarity, mystery--shealso acknowledged this tangle, in spite of herself. And her voicethrilled him when she broke silence with "Mr. Herriton--come here--lookat this!"
She removed a pile of plates from the Gothic window, and they leant outof it. Close opposite, wedged between mean houses, there rose up one ofthe great towers. It is your tower: you stretch a barricade between itand the hotel, and the traffic is blocked in a moment. Farther up, wherethe street empties out by the church, your connections, the Merli andthe Capocchi, do likewise. They command the Piazza, you the Siena gate.No one can move in either but he shall be instantly slain, either bybows or by crossbows, or by Greek fire. Beware, however, of theback bedroom windows. For they are menaced by the tower of theAldobrandeschi, and before now arrows have stuck quivering over thewashstand. Guard these windows well, lest there be a repetition of theevents of February 1338, when the hotel was surprised from the rear, andyour dearest friend--you could just make out that it was he--was thrownat you over the stairs.
"It reaches up to heaven," said Philip, "and down to the other place."The summit of the tower was radiant in the sun, while its base was inshadow and pasted over with advertisements. "Is it to be a symbol of thetown?"
She gave no hint that she understood him. But they remained together atthe window because it was a little cooler and so pleasant. Philipfound a certain grace and lightness in his companion which he had nevernoticed in England. She was appallingly narrow, but her consciousness ofwider things gave to her narrowness a pathetic charm. He did not suspectthat he was more graceful too. For our vanity is such that we hold ourown characters immutable, and we are slow to acknowledge that they havechanged, even for the better.
Citizens came out for a little stroll before dinner. Some of them stoodand gazed at the advertisements on the tower.
"Surely that isn't an opera-bill?" said Miss Abbott.
Philip put on his pince-nez. "'Lucia di Lammermoor. By the MasterDonizetti. Unique representation. This evening.'
"But is there an opera? Right up here?"
"Why, yes. These people know how to live. They would sooner have a thingbad than not have it at all. That is why they have got to have so muchthat is good. However bad the performance is tonight, it will be alive.Italians don't love music silently, like the beastly Germans. Theaudience takes its share--sometimes more."
"Can't we go?"
He turned on her, but not unkindly. "But we're here to rescue a child!"
He cursed himself for the remark. All the pleasure and the light wentout of her face, and she became again Miss Abbott of Sawston--good, oh,most undoubtedly good, but most appallingly dull. Dull and remorseful:it is a deadly combination, and he strove against it in vain till he wasinterrupted by the opening of the dining-room door.
They started as guiltily as if they had been flirting. Their interviewhad taken such an unexpected course. Anger, cynicism, stubbornmorality--all had ended in a feeling of good-will towards each otherand towards the city which had received them. And now Harrietwas here--acrid, indissoluble, large; the same in Italy as inEngland--changing her disposition never, and her atmosphere underprotest.
Yet even Harriet was human, and the better for a little tea. She did notscold Philip for finding Gino out, as she might reasonably have done.She showered civilities on Miss Abbott, exclaiming again and againthat Caroline's visit was one of the most fortunate coincidences in theworld. Caroline did not contradict her.
"You see him tomorrow at ten, Philip. Well, don't forget the blankcheque. Say an hour for the business. No, Italians ar
e so slow; say two.Twelve o'clock. Lunch. Well--then it's no good going till the eveningtrain. I can manage the baby as far as Florence--"
"My dear sister, you can't run on like that. You don't buy a pair ofgloves in two hours, much less a baby."
"Three hours, then, or four; or make him learn English ways. At Florencewe get a nurse--"
"But, Harriet," said Miss Abbott, "what if at first he was to refuse?"
"I don't know the meaning of the word," said Harriet impressively. "I'vetold the landlady that Philip and I only want our rooms one night, andwe shall keep to it."
"I dare say it will be all right. But, as I told you, I thought the manI met on the Rocca a strange, difficult man."
"He's insolent to ladies, we know. But my brother can be trusted tobring him to his senses. That woman, Philip, whom you saw will carry thebaby to the hotel. Of course you must tip her for it. And try, if youcan, to get poor Lilia's silver bangles. They were nice quiet things,and will do for Irma. And there is an inlaid box I lent her--lent, notgave--to keep her handkerchiefs in. It's of no real value; but this isour only chance. Don't ask for it; but if you see it lying about, justsay--"
"No, Harriet; I'll try for the baby, but for nothing else. I promiseto do that tomorrow, and to do it in the way you wish. But tonight, aswe're all tired, we want a change of topic. We want relaxation. We wantto go to the theatre."
"Theatres here? And at such a moment?"
"We should hardly enjoy it, with the great interview impending," saidMiss Abbott, with an anxious glance at Philip.
He did not betray her, but said, "Don't you think it's better thansitting in all the evening and getting nervous?"
His sister shook her head. "Mother wouldn't like it. It would be mostunsuitable--almost irreverent. Besides all that, foreign theatresare notorious. Don't you remember those letters in the 'Church FamilyNewspaper'?"
"But this is an opera--'Lucia di Lammermoor'--Sir WalterScott--classical, you know."
Harriet's face grew resigned. "Certainly one has so few opportunitiesof hearing music. It is sure to be very bad. But it might be better thansitting idle all the evening. We have no book, and I lost my crochet atFlorence."
"Good. Miss Abbott, you are coming too?"
"It is very kind of you, Mr. Herriton. In some ways I should enjoyit; but--excuse the suggestion--I don't think we ought to go to cheapseats."
"Good gracious me!" cried Harriet, "I should never have thought of that.As likely as not, we should have tried to save money and sat among themost awful people. One keeps on forgetting this is Italy."
"Unfortunately I have no evening dress; and if the seats--"
"Oh, that'll be all right," said Philip, smiling at his timorous,scrupulous women-kind. "We'll go as we are, and buy the best we can get.Monteriano is not formal."
So this strenuous day of resolutions, plans, alarms, battles, victories,defeats, truces, ended at the opera. Miss Abbott and Harriet were botha little shame-faced. They thought of their friends at Sawston, who weresupposing them to be now tilting against the powers of evil. What wouldMrs. Herriton, or Irma, or the curates at the Back Kitchen say if theycould see the rescue party at a place of amusement on the very first dayof its mission? Philip, too, marvelled at his wish to go. He beganto see that he was enjoying his time in Monteriano, in spite of thetiresomeness of his companions and the occasional contrariness ofhimself.
He had been to this theatre many years before, on the occasion of aperformance of "La Zia di Carlo." Since then it had been thoroughly doneup, in the tints of the beet-root and the tomato, and was in many otherways a credit to the little town. The orchestra had been enlarged,some of the boxes had terra-cotta draperies, and over each box was nowsuspended an enormous tablet, neatly framed, bearing upon it the numberof that box. There was also a drop-scene, representing a pink and purplelandscape, wherein sported many a lady lightly clad, and two more ladieslay along the top of the proscenium to steady a large and pallid clock.So rich and so appalling was the effect, that Philip could scarcelysuppress a cry. There is something majestic in the bad taste of Italy;it is not the bad taste of a country which knows no better; it has notthe nervous vulgarity of England, or the blinded vulgarity of Germany.It observes beauty, and chooses to pass it by. But it attains tobeauty's confidence. This tiny theatre of Monteriano spraddled andswaggered with the best of them, and these ladies with their clock wouldhave nodded to the young men on the ceiling of the Sistine.
Philip had tried for a box, but all the best were taken: it was rathera grand performance, and he had to be content with stalls. Harriet wasfretful and insular. Miss Abbott was pleasant, and insisted on praisingeverything: her only regret was that she had no pretty clothes with her.
"We do all right," said Philip, amused at her unwonted vanity.
"Yes, I know; but pretty things pack as easily as ugly ones. We had noneed to come to Italy like guys."
This time he did not reply, "But we're here to rescue a baby." Forhe saw a charming picture, as charming a picture as he had seen foryears--the hot red theatre; outside the theatre, towers and dark gatesand mediaeval walls; beyond the walls olive-trees in the starlight andwhite winding roads and fireflies and untroubled dust; and here in themiddle of it all, Miss Abbott, wishing she had not come looking like aguy. She had made the right remark. Most undoubtedly she had made theright remark. This stiff suburban woman was unbending before the shrine.
"Don't you like it at all?" he asked her.
"Most awfully." And by this bald interchange they convinced each otherthat Romance was here.
Harriet, meanwhile, had been coughing ominously at the drop-scene, whichpresently rose on the grounds of Ravenswood, and the chorus of Scotchretainers burst into cry. The audience accompanied with tappings anddrummings, swaying in the melody like corn in the wind. Harriet, thoughshe did not care for music, knew how to listen to it. She uttered anacid "Shish!"
"Shut it," whispered her brother.
"We must make a stand from the beginning. They're talking."
"It is tiresome," murmured Miss Abbott; "but perhaps it isn't for us tointerfere."
Harriet shook her head and shished again. The people were quiet, notbecause it is wrong to talk during a chorus, but because it is naturalto be civil to a visitor. For a little time she kept the whole house inorder, and could smile at her brother complacently.
Her success annoyed him. He had grasped the principle of opera inItaly--it aims not at illusion but at entertainment--and he did not wantthis great evening-party to turn into a prayer-meeting. But soon theboxes began to fill, and Harriet's power was over. Families greeted eachother across the auditorium. People in the pit hailed their brothers andsons in the chorus, and told them how well they were singing. When Luciaappeared by the fountain there was loud applause, and cries of "Welcometo Monteriano!"
"Ridiculous babies!" said Harriet, settling down in her stall.
"Why, it is the famous hot lady of the Apennines," cried Philip; "theone who had never, never before--"
"Ugh! Don't. She will be very vulgar. And I'm sure it's even worse herethan in the tunnel. I wish we'd never--"
Lucia began to sing, and there was a moment's silence. She was stoutand ugly; but her voice was still beautiful, and as she sang the theatremurmured like a hive of happy bees. All through the coloratura shewas accompanied by sighs, and its top note was drowned in a shout ofuniversal joy.
So the opera proceeded. The singers drew inspiration from the audience,and the two great sextettes were rendered not unworthily. Miss Abbottfell into the spirit of the thing. She, too, chatted and laughed andapplauded and encored, and rejoiced in the existence of beauty. As forPhilip, he forgot himself as well as his mission. He was not even anenthusiastic visitor. For he had been in this place always. It was hishome.
Harriet, like M. Bovary on a more famous occasion, was trying to followthe plot. Occasionally she nudged her companions, and asked them whathad become of Walter Scott. She looked round grimly. The audiencesounded dru
nk, and even Caroline, who never took a drop, was swayingoddly. Violent waves of excitement, all arising from very little, wentsweeping round the theatre. The climax was reached in the mad scene.Lucia, clad in white, as befitted her malady, suddenly gathered up herstreaming hair and bowed her acknowledgment to the audience. Then fromthe back of the stage--she feigned not to see it--there advanced a kindof bamboo clothes-horse, stuck all over with bouquets. It was very ugly,and most of the flowers in it were false. Lucia knew this, and so didthe audience; and they all knew that the clothes-horse was a piece ofstage property, brought in to make the performance go year after year.None the less did it unloose the great deeps. With a scream of amazementand joy she embraced the animal, pulled out one or two practicableblossoms, pressed them to her lips, and flung them into her admirers.They flung them back, with loud melodious cries, and a little boy in oneof the stageboxes snatched up his sister's carnations and offered them."Che carino!" exclaimed the singer. She darted at the little boy andkissed him. Now the noise became tremendous. "Silence! silence!" shoutedmany old gentlemen behind. "Let the divine creature continue!" Butthe young men in the adjacent box were imploring Lucia to extend hercivility to them. She refused, with a humorous, expressive gesture. Oneof them hurled a bouquet at her. She spurned it with her foot. Then,encouraged by the roars of the audience, she picked it up and tossed itto them. Harriet was always unfortunate. The bouquet struck her full inthe chest, and a little billet-doux fell out of it into her lap.
"Call this classical!" she cried, rising from her seat. "It's not evenrespectable! Philip! take me out at once."
"Whose is it?" shouted her brother, holding up the bouquet in one handand the billet-doux in the other. "Whose is it?"
The house exploded, and one of the boxes was violently agitated, as ifsome one was being hauled to the front. Harriet moved down the gangway,and compelled Miss Abbott to follow her. Philip, still laughingand calling "Whose is it?" brought up the rear. He was drunk withexcitement. The heat, the fatigue, and the enjoyment had mounted intohis head.
"To the left!" the people cried. "The innamorato is to the left."
He deserted his ladies and plunged towards the box. A young man wasflung stomach downwards across the balustrade. Philip handed him up thebouquet and the note. Then his own hands were seized affectionately. Itall seemed quite natural.
"Why have you not written?" cried the young man. "Why do you take me bysurprise?"
"Oh, I've written," said Philip hilariously. "I left a note thisafternoon."
"Silence! silence!" cried the audience, who were beginning to haveenough. "Let the divine creature continue." Miss Abbott and Harriet haddisappeared.
"No! no!" cried the young man. "You don't escape me now." For Philip wastrying feebly to disengage his hands. Amiable youths bent out of the boxand invited him to enter it.
"Gino's friends are ours--"
"Friends?" cried Gino. "A relative! A brother! Fra Filippo, who has comeall the way from England and never written."
"I left a message."
The audience began to hiss.
"Come in to us."
"Thank you--ladies--there is not time--"
The next moment he was swinging by his arms. The moment after he shotover the balustrade into the box. Then the conductor, seeing that theincident was over, raised his baton. The house was hushed, and Lucia diLammermoor resumed her song of madness and death.
Philip had whispered introductions to the pleasant people who had pulledhim in--tradesmen's sons perhaps they were, or medical students, orsolicitors' clerks, or sons of other dentists. There is no knowing whois who in Italy. The guest of the evening was a private soldier. Heshared the honour now with Philip. The two had to stand side by side inthe front, and exchange compliments, whilst Gino presided, courteous,but delightfully familiar. Philip would have a spasm of horror at themuddle he had made. But the spasm would pass, and again he would beenchanted by the kind, cheerful voices, the laughter that was nevervapid, and the light caress of the arm across his back.
He could not get away till the play was nearly finished, and Edgardo wassinging amongst the tombs of ancestors. His new friends hoped to see himat the Garibaldi tomorrow evening. He promised; then he remembered thatif they kept to Harriet's plan he would have left Monteriano. "At teno'clock, then," he said to Gino. "I want to speak to you alone. At ten."
"Certainly!" laughed the other.
Miss Abbott was sitting up for him when he got back. Harriet, it seemed,had gone straight to bed.
"That was he, wasn't it?" she asked.
"Yes, rather."
"I suppose you didn't settle anything?"
"Why, no; how could I? The fact is--well, I got taken by surprise,but after all, what does it matter? There's no earthly reason why weshouldn't do the business pleasantly. He's a perfectly charming person,and so are his friends. I'm his friend now--his long-lost brother.What's the harm? I tell you, Miss Abbott, it's one thing for England andanother for Italy. There we plan and get on high moral horses. Herewe find what asses we are, for things go off quite easily, all bythemselves. My hat, what a night! Did you ever see a really purple skyand really silver stars before? Well, as I was saying, it's absurd toworry; he's not a porky father. He wants that baby as little as I do.He's been ragging my dear mother--just as he ragged me eighteen monthsago, and I've forgiven him. Oh, but he has a sense of humour!"
Miss Abbott, too, had a wonderful evening, nor did she ever remembersuch stars or such a sky. Her head, too, was full of music, and thatnight when she opened the window her room was filled with warm, sweetair. She was bathed in beauty within and without; she could not go tobed for happiness. Had she ever been so happy before? Yes, once before,and here, a night in March, the night Gino and Lilia had told her oftheir love--the night whose evil she had come now to undo.
She gave a sudden cry of shame. "This time--the same place--the samething"--and she began to beat down her happiness, knowing it to besinful. She was here to fight against this place, to rescue a littlesoul--who was innocent as yet. She was here to champion morality andpurity, and the holy life of an English home. In the spring she hadsinned through ignorance; she was not ignorant now. "Help me!" shecried, and shut the window as if there was magic in the encircling air.But the tunes would not go out of her head, and all night long she wastroubled by torrents of music, and by applause and laughter, and angryyoung men who shouted the distich out of Baedeker:--
Poggibonizzi fatti in la, Che Monteriano si fa citta!
Poggibonsi was revealed to her as they sang--a joyless, stragglingplace, full of people who pretended. When she woke up she knew that ithad been Sawston.
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