THE GLOVED HAND
To make his joke more complete Pasotti reproached his wife for having
repeated to Signor Giacomo Don Giuseppe's speech concerning the
necessity of a marriage. The poor deaf woman was thunderstruck; she knew
nothing either of a speech or of a marriage, and protested that this was
a calumny, entreating her husband not to believe it, and was nearly
beside herself because the Controller still appeared to harbour a
suspicion. This malicious man was preparing a treat for himself; he was
going to tell Signor Giacomo and Don Giuseppe that his wife wished to
make amends for the harm she had done, and bring about a truce; in this
way he would get all three together at his house, and from behind a door
would enjoy the delicious scene that must ensue between the wrathful
Signor Giacomo, the terrified Don Giuseppe, and the deaf and distracted
Barborin. But his plan failed, for his wife could not wait, and ran off
to the "Palace" to clear herself.
She found Don Giuseppe and Maria in a state of the most extraordinary
agitation. Something tremendous had happened to them, something that
Maria wished to tell, and Don Giuseppe did not. However, the master
yielded on condition that she should not shout, but should convey her
news by signs. Meeting with opposition on this point also, he, in his
prudence, became furious, and the servant did not insist.
A rumour had spread of a case of cholera at Lugano, the victim being a
man who had come there from Milan, where the disease had broken out; so
Don Giuseppe had arranged to have all provisions for the kitchen come
from Porlezza instead of Lugano, and had entrusted the commission to
Giacomo Panighet, the postman, who brought the letters to Valsolda, not
three times a day, as at present, but twice a week, as was the
comfortable custom in the little world of long ago. Now, not five
minutes before Signora Pasotti's arrival, Giacomo Panighet had brought
the usual basket, and in the bottom of that basket, beneath the
cabbages, they had discovered a note addressed to Don Giuseppe. It ran
as follows:--
"You, who play at primero with Don Franco Maironi, should warn
him that the air of Lugano is far better than the air of Oria.
"TIVANO."
Maria silently exhibited the basket, which was still full, to Signora
Pasotti, and by clever acting illustrated the manner of discovery of the
letter, which she gave her to read.
As soon as the deaf woman had finished reading, a strange, indescribable
pantomime began between the three. Maria and Don Giuseppe, by dint of
gesticulations and rollings of their eyes, expressed their surprise and
terror; Barborin, half frightened, half dazed, stared open-mouthed, from
one to the other, the letter still in her hand, as if she had
understood. As a matter of fact she had made out only that the letter
must be terrible. Presently a thought struck her. She held the letter
out to Don Giuseppe with her left hand, while with her right forefinger
she pointed to the word _Franco_; then she crossed her wrists with a
questioning gesture; and as the others, recognising that the sign meant
handcuffs, nodded their heads violently in confirmation, she became half
frenzied, so great was her affection for Luisa, and forgetting the
matter that had brought her there, she explained by signs, as if both
the others had been deaf also, that she would go straight to Oria, see
Don Franco, and give him the letter.
She started to rush away, cramming the letter into her pocket, and with
hardly a word of leave-taking to Don Giuseppe and Maria, who, greatly
distressed, were trying in vain to get hold of her, to detain her and
recommend all possible precautions. But she slipped through their
fingers, and her great, tall bonnet quivering, her old grey skirt
dragging, set off at a trot towards Oria, where she arrived quite out of
breath, with her head full of gendarmes, inspections, scenes of terror
and of grief.
* * * * *
She went up the stairs of the little Ribera garden, making straight for
the hall, where she saw there were visitors. She recognised the Receiver
and the Imperial and Royal Commissary of Porlezza, and was terrified,
believing they were come for the terrible blow, but then she perceived
Signora Bianconi and Signor Giacomo Puttini, and once more breathed
freely.
The Commissary, seated in the post of honour on the large sofa, next to
the Engineer-in-Chief, talked a great deal, with much fluency and
brilliancy, looking oftenest at Franco, as if he were the only person
present upon whom it was worth while to waste breath and wit. Franco,
lounging in an armchair, was mute and sullen, like one who, in the house
of another, perceives a bad odour which good manners forbade him either
to flee from or curse. They were discussing the Crimean campaign, and
the Commissary was praising the plan of the allied powers to attack the
colossus in that vital point, his ambition. He spoke of the Russian
barbarities, and of the autocrat himself in such terms as to cause
Franco to tremble in his dread of an Anglo-Franco-Austrian alliance, and
Carlascia to open his eyes wide, for he still held the views of 1848,
and looked upon the Czar as a good friend of the family. "And you,
Signor First-Political-Deputy, what do you think of it?" said the
Commissary, turning his sarcastic smile upon Signor Giacomo. Puttini
winked his little eyes very hard, and having felt his knees all over,
replied: "Most respected Signor Commissary, I know little about Russia,
France, or England, and I care still less. I let them settle their own
affairs. But, to speak the truth, I am sorry for that poor dog
'Papuzza.' He was as quiet as a young chicken until they worried him,
then when he called for help, fifty rushed to his aid, and now they are
all upon him, devouring everything they can grab; and whether poor
'Papuzza' win or lose, he will have nothing left but his shirt."
This nickname "Papuzza,"--a Venetian distortion of _Babbuccia_
slippers--Signor Giacomo applied to the Turk. "Papuzza" personified
Turkey in the form of one ideal Turk, with a huge turban, a long beard,
a big belly, and slippers. Puttini, the peaceful, half free-thinker, had
a weakness for the lazy, placid, easy-going "Papuzza."
"Don't worry," the Commissary laughed. "Your friend 'Papuzza' will come
out all right. We are his friends also, and will not allow him to be
mutilated or bled."
Franco, frowning sternly, could not refrain from grumbling.
"Nevertheless, that would be a great injustice towards Russia."
The Commissary was silent, and Signora Peppina, displaying unusual tact,
proposed going out to see the flowers.
"A good idea!" said the engineer, who was very glad to have the
discussion interrupted.
While passing from the hall to the little garden the Commissary took
Franco's arm familiarly, and whispered in his ear: "You are right, you
know, about the injustice; but there are certain things we government
officials may not say." Franco, who was greatly astonished at this
utterance, felt as if the touch of the Imperial and Royal hand were
burning him. If this man had had a more Italian face he would have
believed him, but with that Kalmuc countenance he did not believe him,
and allowed the subject to drop. But his companion resumed it in a low
tone, as he leaned over the parapet above the lake, and pretended to
examine the _ficus repens_ that covered the wall.
"You yourself should avoid certain expressions," said he. "There are
fools who might place false interpretations upon them." And he gave a
slight nod in the direction of the Receiver. "Be careful, be careful!"
"Thank you," Franco replied, dryly, "but I hardly think I shall need to
be careful." "We can never be sure, never be sure, never be sure!" the
Commissary murmured, and, followed by Franco, he moved away towards the
spot where the Receiver and the engineer were discussing the subject of
tench, near the few steps leading down to the second terrace of the
little garden.
Close at hand stood the famous red box with the jasmine.
"That red does not look well, Signor Maironi," said the mastiff, _ex
abrupto_, and he threw up his hand with a gesture that meant, "Away with
it!" Just then Luisa looked into the garden from the hall, and called
her husband. The Commissary turned to his zealous acolyte, and said
sharply, "Drop that!"
Signora Pasotti was leaving, and wished to salute Franco. He would have
shown her out through the garden, but she, anxious to avoid going
through so many ceremonies with those other gentlemen, preferred to go
down by the inside stairs, and Franco escorted her as far as the
street-door, which stood open. To his great surprise Signora Pasotti,
instead of passing out, closed the door, and began an excited and
perfectly unintelligible pantomime, accompanying it with short sighs and
rollings of the eyes; after this she took a letter from her pocket and
offered it to him.
Franco read, shrugged his shoulders, and put the letter in his pocket.
Then as Signora Pasotti kept on recommending flight, flight--Lugano,
Lugano, in despairing pantomime, he smiled and reassured her by a
gesture. She once more seized his hands, and once more the lofty bonnet
(which had a tipsy inclination towards the right), and the long black
curls, trembled in earnest supplication. She strained her eyes wide,
pushed out her lips as far as possible, and laid her forefinger against
her nose to indicate silence. "With Pasotti also!" she said; and these
were the only words she spoke during the whole interview. Then she
trotted away.
Franco went upstairs again, thinking about his position. This might be a
false alarm, just as it might also be a serious matter. But why should
they arrest him? He tried to remember if he had anything of a
compromising nature in the house, and could recall nothing. It flashed
across his mind that his grandmother might have been guilty of some
perfidy, but he at once banished the thought, reproaching himself, and
postponed a decision until he should have spoken to his wife.
He returned to the little garden, where the Commissary, as soon as he
caught sight of him, asked him to point out the dahlias Signora Peppina
had been praising. Upon learning that they were in the kitchen-garden he
proposed going there with Franco. They could go alone, for indeed all
the others were ignorant on the subject of dahlias. Franco accepted.
The conduct of this little police-spy in gloves puzzled him, and he
sought to discover if it could in any way be connected with the
mysterious warning.
"Listen, Signor Maironi," the Commissary began resolutely, when Franco
had closed the gate of the kitchen-garden behind him. "I wish to say a
word to you."
Franco who was descending the few steps leading from the threshold of
the gate, stopped with a clouded brow. "Come here," the Commissary added
imperiously. "What I am about to do is perhaps not in accordance with my
duty, but I shall do it, notwithstanding. I am too good a friend of the
Marchesa, your grandmother, not to do it. You are in great danger."
"I?" Franco inquired, coldly. "In danger of what?"
Franco was endowed with a rapid and sure intuition of the thoughts of
others. The Commissary's words agreed perfectly with the message
Barborin had brought; still, at that moment he felt that the little
police-spy harboured treachery in his heart.
"In danger of what? Of Mantua!" was Zerboli's reply.
Franco did not flinch upon hearing the awful word, synonym of
incarceration and the gibbet.
"I need not fear Mantua," said he. "I have done nothing to deserve
Mantua."
"Nevertheless----!"
"Of what am I accused?" Franco repeated.
"You will soon find out if you remain here," the Commissary replied,
laying stress upon the last words. "And now let us examine these
dahlias."
"I have done nothing!" Franco once more repeated. "I will not leave."
"Let us see these dahlias, let us see these dahlias," the Commissary
insisted.
Franco felt that he should thank this man, but he could not. He showed
him his flowers with just that amount of civility that was
indispensable, and with perfect composure. Then he conducted him from
the kitchen-garden to the house, talking of some obscure Professor
Maspero, and of his secret method of combating _oidium_.
In the hall they were discussing another and far worse form of _oidium_.
Signora Peppina was harassed by a terrible fear of cholera. She
recognised that cholera served as a warning to every good Christian to
make his peace with God, and that when we are at peace with God, it is
indeed a blessing to be called to the next world, "but still, this body
of ours, you know! This precious body! And when you reflect that we have
only one!"
"The cholera," said Luisa, "might do no end of good, if it had any
sense, but it has not. You see," she whispered to Signora Peppina as
Bianconi rose and went towards the Commissary, who had returned with
Franco, "the cholera is quite capable of taking you, and leaving your
husband." At this extraordinary remark the terrified Peppina started
violently, exclaiming: "_Jesusmaria!_" and then, perceiving she had
betrayed her true feelings, that she had not exhibited that tenderness
for Carlascia of which she was always prating, she clutched her
neighbour's knee, and bending forward, said in an undertone, her face as
red as a poppy: "Be quiet, be quiet, be quiet!"
But Luisa was no longer thinking of her. A glance from Franco had warned
her that something had happened.
* * * * *
When all the visitors had departed, Uncle Piero sat down to read the
_Milan Gazette_, and Luisa said to her husband: "It is three o'clock.
Let us go and wake Maria."
When he and she were alone in the alcove-room, instead of at once
opening the shutters, she inquired what had happened. Franco told her
everything, from Signora Pasotti's letter to the Commissary's strange
communication.
Luisa listened with a serious face, but without exhibiting any sign of
fear. Then she examined the mysterious note. Both she and Franco were
aware that among the government agents at Porlezza there was one honest
man, who, in 1849 and 1850 had saved several patriots by a timely
warning. But they were also aware that this honest man was ignorant of
the rules of orthography and grammar, and the note Barborin had brought
was perfectly correct. As to the Commissary, it was well known that he
was one of the most malicious and treacherous of the government's tools.
Luisa approved of the answer her husband had made him.
Franco himself was well aware of all this, but he could find no
plausible explanation for this persecution. Luisa, however, had one in
mind which contempt for the grandmother had suggested to her. This
Commissary was a good friend of the grandmother's, he himself had said
so, thereby displaying, so he thought, the refinement of cunning. In the
Commissary's glove there was the talon of the Marchesa. She meant to
strike not Franco alone, but all the others as well, and they were to be
reached through him who maintained the family with the fruit of his
labours, out of the kindness of his generous heart. She knew from
speeches which had been repeated to her by the usual hateful gossips,
that the grandmother hated Uncle Piero because Uncle Piero had made it
possible for her grandson to rebel against her, and to live comfortably
enough in rebellion. Now they were seeking for a pretext to strike him.
The flight of the nephew would be a confession, and, for a government
like the Austrian, a good pretext to strike the uncle. Luisa did not say
so at once, but she let him see that she had an idea, and little by
little, her husband drew it from her. When she had told him, though in
his heart he believed she was right, he nevertheless protested in words,
defending his grandmother against an accusation which seemed too
monstrous, and which rested on so slight a foundation. At all events
husband and wife agreed perfectly in their resolve not to flee, but to
await further developments. They therefore wasted no time in making or
discussing suppositions. Luisa rose and went to open the shutters, and
standing in the full light, she turned to look smilingly at her husband,
stretching out her hand to him. He pressed it and shook it, his heart
aflame, but his tongue speechless. They felt like soldiers, who,
conscious of the distant roar of cannon, are being led along a quiet
road, towards what fate God only knows.