CHAPTER XIII.
At first I thought a great deal more of the pain than the danger of mywound; but when I showed it to the French surgeon at Ajaccio, hesurprised me by shrugging his shoulders formidably, and declaring thatit was the good God if I kept my foot. Being of a somewhat scepticalturn, I thought at first that he only wanted to gild the frame of hiswork; but when I began to consider it, I found that he was quite right.The fact was, that I had thought much more of my bride than of mymetatarsals. Two of these were splintered where the bullet passedbetween them, and it was a question whether it had not been poisoned.Many of the mountaineers are skilled in deadly drugs, and use themrarely for the bowl, not so rarely for the sword and gun.
At one time there were symptoms even of mortification, and my wife, whowaited hand and foot upon me, joined the surgeon in imploring me tosubmit to amputation.
"Sweetest mine! do you suppose that I shall love you any the lessbecause you walk on crutches, and all through your love of me? And whatother difference can it make to either of us? I shall cry a great dealat first, for I love your little toe-nails more than I do my own eyes;but, darling, we shall get over it."
As she loved my toes so much, I resolved to keep them, if it was onlyfor her sake; and, after a narrow crisis, my foot began to get better.To her care and tenderness I owed my recovery, far more than to theskill of the clever surgeon. Six months elapsed before I could walkagain, and our little yacht was sent to Calvi to explain the long delay.Fond as I was of the "Lily-flower," I was anxious now to sell her; butmy darling nurse, although she knew before our marriage that I was not awealthy man, would not listen to the scheme at all; for the doctorordered me, as I grew stronger, to be constantly on the water.
"Not by any means, my own, will we sell our little love-boat. I shouldcry after it like a baby; and another thing, far more important, you canbear no motion except on board our _Lily_. Papa has got great heaps ofmoney, and he never can refuse me anything when I coax in earnest."
Conscious as I was of my vile deceit, I would rather have died thanapply to Signor Dezio, albeit I am quite sure that he would soon haveforgiven me. So I wrote again to my good-natured brother and banker,and told him all that had happened, but begged him not to impart it evento your mother. I have strong reason for suspecting that he did notconceal it from her; but as I never alluded to the subject before her,she was too much a lady ever to lead me towards it. My motive for thisreserve was at first some ill-defined terror lest my fraud upon SignorDezio should come to light prematurely. Also I hate to be talked aboutamong people whom I despise. Afterwards, as you will perceive, I hadother and far more cogent reasons.
I need not say that your father--dear Clara, I ought to love you, ifonly on his account!--your father wrote me a kind and most warm-heartedletter, accompanied by a most handsome gift--no loan this time, but awedding-gift, and a very noble one. Also he pressed me to come homewith my bride the moment I could endure the voyage. Ah! if I had onlyobeyed him, not Lily and Henry, but myself would have been the victim.
We returned as soon as possible to Vendetta tower, and found the goodSignor in excellent spirits, delighted to see his sweet daughter again,and still more delighted by hope of a little successor to the gray wallsand the olive groves. When this hope was realized, and a lusty younggrandson was laid in his arms, he became so wild in his glory, that hewent about boasting all over the commune, feasting all who came nearhim, forgetting the very name of the blood-revenge. Many a time wereminded and implored him to be more careful. He replied, that his lifewas of no importance now; he had come to his haven among his own dearones, and was crowning the old ship with flowers. Moreover, he knewthat the De' Gentili were of a nobler spirit than to shed the blood of agray-haired man, when institution did not very loudly demand it. And soI believe they were.
Alas! the poor old man!--a thorough and true gentleman as one need wishto see--choleric albeit, and not too wide of mind; but his heart was inthe right place, and made of the right material, and easy enough to getat. He was free to confess his own failings, and could feel for a manwho was tempted. Deeply thankful I am that, before his white beard waslaid low, I acknowledged to him my offence, and obtained his heartyforgiveness. Little Henry was on his lap, going off into smiles ofsleep, with his mother's soft finger in his mouth. At first myconfession quite took the poor Signor aback; for I did not attempt togloss the dishonour of what I had done; but I told him truly that themeanness was not in my nature, and although I had won my pet Lily, theroad ran through hemlock and wormwood. And now I perceived howuncalled-for and stupid the fraud had been.
When the old man recovered a little from the shock caused by thedishonesty--towards which recovery the tears of his daughter and thesmiles of his grandson contributed--he was really glad to find that Iwas not a landed Signor. He rubbed his hands and twitched his beardwith delight, for now his little Enrico would never be taken away to thebarbarous English island. Was he not rightful successor to the lands ofthe Della Croce? and what more could he possibly want? What could hecare for the property in Gloisterio? However, he made us promise thatif the present remarkable baby, Master Henry Vaughan, should ever enjoythe property in the unpronounceable county, Lily's second child, if shehad one, should take the Corsican lordships; for his great fear was,that the Malaspina and Della Croce estates should become a servienttenement to the frozen fields of the North. To express and ensure hiswishes, he had a deed-poll prepared according to his own fancy, read itto us and some witnesses, then signed, sealed, and enrolled it. Thiswas one of the documents which you, my brave Clara, rescued from thatvile, stealthy ghost.
And now, for a short time, we enjoyed deep, quiet, delicious happiness.The crime which had haunted me was confessed and forgiven. Amplypossessed of the means, and even the abundance of life, I was blessedwith strong health again, and freedom among the free. Richest and bestof all blessings, I had a sweet, most lovely, and most loving wife, andloved her once and for all. No more beautiful vision has any poetimagined than young Lily Vaughan sitting under the vine-leaves, her formmore exquisite than ever, her soft-eyed infant in her lap wondering athis mother's beauty, while her own deep-lustred eyes carried to herhusband's, without the trouble of thinking, all that flowed into herheart--joy at belonging to him, hope of bliss to come, fear ofover-happiness, pride in all the three of us, and shame at feelingproud. Then a gay coquettish glance, as quick youth warms the veins,and some humorous thought occurs, a tickle for the baby, and a feint ofcold-shouldering me. But, jealous as I was, desperately jealous, for mylove was more passionate than ever, I can honourably state that Lily'sone and only trial to arouse my jealousy was an ignominious failure,recoiling only on the person of the dear designer. However exactinglittle Harry might be, I never grudged him his double share ofattention. In the first place I looked upon him as a piece of me, stillholding on; and, in the next place, I knew that all he laid claim to wasonly a loan to him, and belonged in fee simple to his father.
At this time I wrote to my brother again, announcing the birth of ourboy, and that we had made him his namesake; dispensing, too, with allfurther reserve on the subject of our marriage. This letter was neverdelivered to your dear father. That much I know, for certain; and atone time I strongly suspected that our cold-blooded, crafty foecontrived to intercept it. But no; if he had, he would have knownbetter afterwards.
After that cowardly onslaught upon my bride and myself, I had of courselearned all I could of the history of this Lepardo. He was the only sonof the Signor's only brother, but very little was known of him in theneighbourhood, as he came from Vescovato on the east side of the island.He was said to have great abilities and very great perseverance, andunder the guardianship of his uncle had been intended and partlyeducated for the French Bar. But his disposition was most headstrongand sullen; and at an early age he displayed a ferocity unusual even ina Corsican. Neither had he the great redeeming trait of the islanders,I mean their noble pat
riotism. One good quality, however, he didpossess, and that was fidelity to his word. With one of thecontradictions so common in human nature, he would even be false inorder to be true: that is, he would be treacherous wherever he wasunpledged, if it assisted him towards a purpose to which he wascommitted. While he was yet a boy, his intended career was cut short byan act of horrible violence. He disliked all the lower animals, horsesand mules especially; and one day he was detected by a master of thePaoli College, screaming, and yelling at, and lashing, from a safedistance, a poor little pony whom he had tied to a fence. The master,an elderly man, very humane and benevolent, rebuked him in the mostcutting manner, and called him a low coward. The young villain ran off,with his eyes flashing fire, procured a stiletto, and stabbed the poorman in the back. Then he leaped on the horse he had been ill-treating,and pricking him with the dagger, rode away furiously in the directionof Bastia. The pursuers could not trace him through the wild mountaindistrict, but it was believed that he reached the town and took refugein an English brig, which was lying off the harbour, and sailed forGenoa that evening. The pony was found dead, lying by the roadside withthe brute's dagger in its throat. No wonder Lily, who told me all this,with true Corsican rage in her eyes, no wonder my Lily hated him. Evenas a little girl, for she was but ten years old when he disappeared, shealways felt a strong repugnance towards him. He was about six yearsolder than Fiordalisa, and four years younger than I; so when he shot atLily, he must have been three-and-twenty. It was reported that afterhis disappearance he took to a sea-faring life, and made himself veryuseful, by his knowledge of languages, in the English merchant service.Quarrelling with his employers, he was said to have resorted tosmuggling in the Levant, if not to downright piracy.
Clara, for reasons I cannot explain, I wish you to follow my story stepby step in its order, noting each landing-place. To do this withadvantage, you must have the dates carved upon each of the latter:therefore I beg you to copy them as you pass.
I arrived in Corsica, as you heard, during the month of May, 1829. Onthe 12th of August in that same year I first beheld my Lily. That day Iremember, beside other reasons, because I had wondered, as I rode idlyalong, whether my brother was opening his usual Highland campaign, andwhether he would like to shoot the muffrone. Lily and I were married onthe 21st of March, 1830, when I was twenty-seven years old: and ourlittle Henry first saw the light on the 24th of December following, morethan two years before your birth. Your father having no children asyet, I looked upon my Harry as heir presumptive to these estates.Although your birth appeared to divest him of the heirship, it hassince, through causes then unknown to me, proved otherwise; and if hewere living now, he would in strict law be entitled to this propertyafter my death. But if he were alive, he never should have an inch ofit, that is if I could prevent it; because in strict righteousness allbelongs to you. And now I hold the property in fee simple, under an Actwhich abolishes fines and recoveries; for I have suffered so much fromremorse, ever since your dear mother's death, that even before you savedmy life, dearest child, I enrolled a deed in Chancery, which gives medisposing powers; and as I think you know, I made thereupon a willdevising the lands to you. This also was one of the documents youcaught that vile hypocrite stealing.
To return to the old Signor. He was now as happy as the day was long,and desirous, as an old man often is, to set on foot noteworthy schemes,which might survive his time. Of this desire I took advantage toinoculate him with some English views. It was rather late to learnanother catechism, at threescore years and five; but a green old age washis, hale and hearty as could be. "Why should all those noble olivesshed, and rot upon the ground, all those grapes of divers colours be ofno more use than rainbows? Why should all the dazzling marbles slumberin the quarry, the porphyry of Molo, the verde antique of Orezza, theParian of Cassaconi, the serpentine near Bastia, and the garnets ofVizzavona--nay even the matchless white alabaster--
"Mother of our Lord, I have got such pretty stuff in my cavern on thegulf of Porto. Some one told me it was the very finest alabaster. Butthen it would require cutting out." The last thought seemed a poser.
"Well, father"--so I called him now--"when Harry has finished his tooth,suppose we go all together in the yacht and see it."
And so we did; and it was worth a voyage all the way from London only tolook at it. Pillars of snow, pellucid, and fancifully veined, like aglacier shot with sea-weed; clean-working moreover, and tough, and ofeven texture, as I proved to my Lily's delight. There is now a smallpiece in the drawer of my walnut-wood desk. But I took home a squareblock with me, and under my wife's most original criticisms, worked itinto a rough resemblance of the baby Henry. Perhaps I have a naturalturn for sculpture, perhaps it was a wife's flattery; but at any ratethe young mother was so charmed with it, that in one of her pensivemoments she even made me promise, that if she died soon and alone, Iwould have the little recumbent figure laid upon her breast.
Meanwhile the Signor was gayer than ever: he told us to have no anxietyabout anything less than a score of children; to such effect would hework his great olive grounds, quarries, and vineyards. Some ingeniousplan he formed, which delighted him hugely, but was past mycomprehension. As fast as he quarried his alabaster, he would plantyoung vines in the holes, and every one knew how the vine delighted torun away over the rocks. So at once he must set off for Corte, thecentral town of the island, to procure a large stock of toolswell-tempered in the Restonica. That turbulent little river possesses amagic power. Its water is said to purify steel so highly that it nevercan rust again. I have even heard that the cutlers of Northern Italyimport it, for the purpose of annealing their choicest productions. Formy part, little as I knew of commerce, I strongly recommended thatarrangements for shipping and selling the alabaster should be made,before it was quarried. But the Signor scorned the idea.
Having in prospect all the riches of Croesus, and in possession enoughto make us happy, and having worked, as we thought, uncommonly hard, weall four indulged in a tour through Sicily and Italy, proposing to visitand criticise the principal marble quarries. By the time we had doneall this and enjoyed it thoroughly--dear me, how my wife was admired inthe sculptor's studio!--and by the time we had fallen to work again,surveyed and geologised all the estates, taken, or rather listened to,long earfuls of advice, settled all our plans summarily over theRogliano, and reopened them all the next morning, by this time, I say,nearly three years of bliss had slipped by, since my recovery from thelingering wound; and it was now the summer of 1833. My loving wife wastwenty years old, and we were looking forward to the birth of a brotheror sister for Harry. Meanwhile we had heard of your birth, whichdelighted us all, especially my Lily. She used to talk, in the fond waymothers discover, to Harry, now gravely perched up on a stool, about hislittle sweetheart away in the dark north country.
It was in the month of July 1833 that the Signor found he could nolonger postpone his visit to Corte. Alone he would go, riding hisfavourite jennet, as sure-footed as a mule, and as hardy as a mustang.Behind him he slung his trusty fusil, with both barrels loaded, for hehad to traverse a desert and mountainous district haunted by banditti.He was to travel through by-ways to Novella, and so on to the bridgewhere the roads from Calvi and Bastia meet, put up in rude quartersthere for the night, and follow the steep descent to the town of Cortenext day. In vain we begged him to take some escort, or at least to letme go with him. No, I must stop to guard the Lily and the littlesnow-drop; could he possibly take me at such a time from home, and did Ithink a Della Croce was afraid of bandits? It was a Monday morning whenhe left the tower, and he would be back on Saturday in good time forsupper. He kissed and blessed his Lily, and the little snow-drop as hecalled young Harry, who cried at his departure; and then he gave me tooan earnest trembling blessing. By this time he and I had come to loveeach other, as a father and a son.
I went with him quite to the borders of the commune; and there, in amountain defile, I lit for him his cigar. W
ith some dark foreboding, Iwaited till I saw him reach and pass the gap at the summit of the rise.There he turned in the saddle to wave his last adieu, and his beard,like a white cloud, floated on the morning sky.
Clara Vaughan, Volume 3 (of 3) Page 4
