(_Monthly Story._)
That evening the house of Ferruccio was more silent than was its wont.
The father, who kept a little haberdasher's shop, had gone to Forli to
make some purchases, and his wife had accompanied him, with Luigina, a
baby, whom she was taking to a doctor, that he might operate on a
diseased eye; and they were not to return until the following morning.
It was almost midnight. The woman who came to do the work by day had
gone away at nightfall. In the house there was only the grandmother with
the paralyzed legs, and Ferruccio, a lad of thirteen. It was a small
house of but one story, situated on the highway, at a gunshot's distance
from a village not far from Forli, a town of Romagna; and there was near
it only an uninhabited house, ruined two months previously by fire, on
which the sign of an inn was still to be seen. Behind the tiny house was
a small garden surrounded by a hedge, upon which a rustic gate opened;
the door of the shop, which also served as the house door, opened on the
highway. All around spread the solitary campagna, vast cultivated
fields, planted with mulberry-trees.
It was nearly midnight; it was raining and blowing. Ferruccio and his
grandmother, who was still up, were in the dining-room, between which
and the garden there was a small, closet-like room, encumbered with old
furniture. Ferruccio had only returned home at eleven o'clock, after an
absence of many hours, and his grandmother had watched for him with eyes
wide open, filled with anxiety, nailed to the large arm-chair, upon
which she was accustomed to pass the entire day, and often the whole
night as well, since a difficulty of breathing did not allow her to lie
down in bed.
It was raining, and the wind beat the rain against the window-panes: the
night was very dark. Ferruccio had returned weary, muddy, with his
jacket torn, and the livid mark of a stone on his forehead. He had
engaged in a stone fight with his comrades; they had come to blows, as
usual; and in addition he had gambled, and lost all his soldi, and left
his cap in a ditch.
Although the kitchen was illuminated only by a small oil lamp, placed on
the corner of the table, near the arm-chair, his poor grandmother had
instantly perceived the wretched condition of her grandson, and had
partly divined, partly brought him to confess, his misdeeds.
She loved this boy with all her soul. When she had learned all, she
began to cry.
"Ah, no!" she said, after a long silence, "you have no heart for your
poor grandmother. You have no feeling, to take advantage in this manner
of the absence of your father and mother, to cause me sorrow. You have
left me alone the whole day long. You had not the slightest compassion.
Take care, Ferruccio! You are entering on an evil path which will lead
you to a sad end. I have seen others begin like you, and come to a bad
end. If you begin by running away from home, by getting into brawls with
the other boys, by losing soldi, then, gradually, from stone fights you
will come to knives, from gambling to other vices, and from other vices
to--theft."
Ferruccio stood listening three paces away, leaning against a cupboard,
with his chin on his breast and his brows knit, being still hot with
wrath from the brawl. A lock of fine chestnut hair fell across his
forehead, and his blue eyes were motionless.
"From gambling to theft!" repeated his grandmother, continuing to weep.
"Think of it, Ferruccio! Think of that scourge of the country about
here, of that Vito Mozzoni, who is now playing the vagabond in the town;
who, at the age of twenty-four, has been twice in prison, and has made
that poor woman, his mother, die of a broken heart--I knew her; and his
father has fled to Switzerland in despair. Think of that bad fellow,
whose salute your father is ashamed to return: he is always roaming with
miscreants worse than himself, and some day he will go to the galleys.
Well, I knew him as a boy, and he began as you are doing. Reflect that
you will reduce your father and mother to the same end as his."
Ferruccio held his peace. He was not at all remorseful at heart; quite
the reverse: his misdemeanors arose rather from superabundance of life
and audacity than from an evil mind; and his father had managed him
badly in precisely this particular, that, holding him capable, at
bottom, of the finest sentiments, and also, when put to the proof, of a
vigorous and generous action, he left the bridle loose upon his neck,
and waited for him to acquire judgment for himself. The lad was good
rather than perverse, but stubborn; and it was hard for him, even when
his heart was oppressed with repentance, to allow those good words which
win pardon to escape his lips, "If I have done wrong, I will do so no
more; I promise it; forgive me." His soul was full of tenderness at
times; but pride would not permit it to manifest itself.
"Ah, Ferruccio," continued his grandmother, perceiving that he was thus
dumb, "not a word of penitence do you utter to me! You see to what a
condition I am reduced, so that I am as good as actually buried. You
ought not to have the heart to make me suffer so, to make the mother of
your mother, who is so old and so near her last day, weep; the poor
grandmother who has always loved you so, who rocked you all night long,
night after night, when you were a baby a few months old, and who did
not eat for amusing you,--you do not know that! I always said, 'This boy
will be my consolation!' And now you are killing me! I would willingly
give the little life that remains to me if I could see you become a good
boy, and an obedient one, as you were in those days when I used to lead
you to the sanctuary--do you remember, Ferruccio? You used to fill my
pockets with pebbles and weeds, and I carried you home in my arms, fast
asleep. You used to love your poor grandma then. And now I am a
paralytic, and in need of your affection as of the air to breathe, since
I have no one else in the world, poor, half-dead woman that I am: my
God!"
Ferruccio was on the point of throwing himself on his grandmother,
overcome with emotion, when he fancied that he heard a slight noise, a
creaking in the small adjoining room, the one which opened on the
garden. But he could not make out whether it was the window-shutters
rattling in the wind, or something else.
He bent his head and listened.
The rain beat down noisily.
The sound was repeated. His grandmother heard it also.
"What is it?" asked the grandmother, in perturbation, after a momentary
pause.
"The rain," murmured the boy.
"Then, Ferruccio," said the old woman, drying her eyes, "you promise me
that you will be good, that you will not make your poor grandmother weep
again--"
Another faint sound interrupted her.
"But it seems to me that it is not the rain!" she exclaimed, turning
pale. "Go and see!"
But she instantly added, "No; remain here!" and seized Ferruccio by the
hand.
Both remained as they were, and held their breath. All they heard was
the sound of the water.
Then both were seized with a shivering fit.
It seemed to both that they heard footsteps in the next room.
"Who's there?" demanded the lad, recovering his breath with an effort.
No one replied.
"Who is it?" asked Ferruccio again, chilled with terror.
But hardly had he pronounced these words when both uttered a shriek of
terror. Two men sprang into the room. One of them grasped the boy and
placed one hand over his mouth; the other clutched the old woman by the
throat. The first said:--
"Silence, unless you want to die!"