The door was opened to Ragna by Nando--Valentini had never permitted her
to keep a latchkey--the anxiety of whose countenance was changed to
relief at sight of her.
"_Meno male, Signora_, that you have come at last!"
"Why, Nando, what has happened?"
"The Signorini are crying for you, Signora,--the Sor Padrone found them
in mischief and beat them,--beat them as though to break their poor
little bones--"
But Ragna stayed for no more, her heart in her mouth she sped up the
stairs to the room shared by the children.
What had happened was this: while Carolina saw to the preparation of
their _goûter_, they had wandered in search of amusement and finding the
door of Egidio's studio open,--a most unusual occurrence, as he
generally kept the key in his pocket when not at work, had strayed in.
On the large upright easel near the window stood the portrait of a lady,
all but finished, a tall beautiful lady whose white dress and long
scarlet scarf threw into relief the dark beauty of her head and the
slender grace of her figure. The palette with its sheaf of brushes
thrust into the thumb-hole lay carelessly in the box of the easel, as
Egidio had left it on going to luncheon.
The boys stood hand-in-hand, gazing open-mouthed at the canvas which was
lowered to the last notch, as Egidio had been working on the hair and
shoulder-drapery.
"What a beautiful lady," said Mimmo in awed tones, "she must be a
princess!"
"Yeth, a fairy princeth," agreed Beppino, on whom his mother's fairy
tales had made a deep if confused impression.
"I wonder why _babbo_ never lets us come into this nice house?" queried
Mimmo, looking about him--to his childish eyes it seemed a Paradise of
delight.
The model's throne was covered by a Persian carpet on which stood a
carved armchair of the Bargello pattern, and behind, on a screen, hung a
curtain of old blue-green brocade, the same that formed a background to
the beautiful lady. At one end of the long, high-ceilinged room, an old
black-walnut press, square and massive supported some vases of
Capodimonte and old Ginori ware, and above it was a picture of the Padre
Eterno enthroned on clouds, through which the Dove sent golden beams,
while a demon leered from a cave in the lower left hand corner.
Armchairs and _sgabelli_ of various patterns stood about, over some of
them were flung long pieces of drapery, brocades and velvets in soft old
shades, some of them ragged and torn, but all a delight to the eye. At
the other end of the room an old painted _corredo_-chest, the lid turned
up, displayed a tumbled heap of costumes within, over it a panoply of
armour flanked by two racks of small arms, decorated the wall. On a
large round table paint-brushes and tubes of colour made an untidy
litter about a Renaissance jewel-casket of steel damascened with gold,
and an ivory crucifix on an ebony stand. A deep recess held a stack of
half finished portraits, studies, background sketches, bare stretchers
and rolls of canvas. A corresponding recess on the other side of the
door had been turned into a dressing-room for the model. On the
door-lintel stood a small _écorché_, in plaster, and a few heads,
hands, feet and anatomical casts. A lay figure on a divan in the corner,
emerged wildly from a trail of drapery.
The children wandered about exploring it all with fearful delight, ready
to fly at the sound of their father's footstep, for this was forbidden
ground, even to Ragna. As time passed and no alarm came, they grew
bolder, and presently found themselves standing before the portrait,
drawn by its irresistible charm. They stood gazing up at it until
suddenly a brilliant idea occurred to Beppino.
"Let'th help _babbo_," he said.
"Babbo will be angry if we touch his things," objected Mimmo, but
Beppino was obstinate.
"Me going to help _babbo_," he declared and seized a brush. It happened
to be charged with scarlet colour, and left a broad wavering trail over
the lady's white skirt. It was too much for Mimmo; he also seized a
brush and clambered to the stool Egidio used to sit on when painting.
"You do the dress, Beppino, and I'll do the face! It's too dry, give me
that bottle,--I've seen babbo stick his brush in it."
Beppino handed up the desired bottle, and a hard brush dipped in
turpentine, gripped firmly in the child's fist was presently scrubbing
diligently backwards and forwards over the freshly painted surface. Oily
streams ran down from the eyes over cheeks and chin, gobs of impasto
spread themselves impartially over the blurred features, the dark of the
hair ran down into the face. Face? It was no longer distinguishable as
such, and under Beppino's vigorous efforts the white satin of the skirt
looked like a Scottish tartan in delirium tremens.
"Beppino," said Mimmo suddenly, in an awed whisper, "her face is coming
off!"
It was at this moment that Egidio entered the studio; he saw the
children and sprang forward. Beppino, waving his brush, called
joyfully,--fear lost in the glory of achievement.
"Babbo! Babbo! we's helping 'oo!"
"Helping indeed!" His eyes roved over the devastated canvas, on which
were spread the ruins of his labour of love and a blind fury gripped
him.
"_Accidento a voi!_" he yelled, and the children shrank from his blazing
eyes and congested face. He seized the two small culprits by their Van
Dyck collars and dragged them over to the side of the room where the
armour was. The children, too frightened to cry, struggled, but he held
them easily with his left hand while he looked about him for an
instrument of punishment; seeing a foil in the rack, he took it down.
The first blow brought an agonized scream from both boys, a scream that
Carolina heard in the dining-room, where she had just finished laying
the table for their _goûter_; and that brought her breathless and with
flying feet to the studio door. There she stood a second, horrified by
the sight that met her eyes. Egidio, his face distorted like that of a
fiend, stood slashing at the children indiscriminately and mercilessly;
the poor little things had put up their arms instinctively to shield
their faces, and each whistling stroke wrung from them a fresh scream,
as it descended. Mimmo's golden curls tossed wildly as he shook in the
grasp of the madman--for Egidio at that moment was mad--his lace collar
was torn, and on his poor little wrist were cruel marks from which red
drops trickled. Being the bigger of the two he partially masked
Beppino.
Carolina paused but for the taking in of a breath, then she sprang
forward and seized in mid-air the hand wielding the foil. Egidio turned
on her with a snarl, infuriated by the interruption.
"Go, woman!" he yelled, "how dare you come here?"
"Stop it!" she answered, "let the children go!"
"I shall punish them as I see fit, I--their father. They have ruined my
work, do you hear? My work of weeks! Look!"
She glanced at the portrait and saw that it was smeared but her
untutored mind could not grasp the extent of the disaster. The sight of
it maddened Valentini again and he made an effort to wrench his hand
from her hold.
"Signore," she pleaded, "remember that they are little, they are only
babies, they did not know."
"Little are they? They are big enough to ruin my work! _Dio santo_, they
shall smart for it!"
Again he tugged at her restraining hands.
"Be careful girl--when I am through with them you shall have your
turn--who do you think you are to interfere with your master?"
He wrenched his arm free with a force that sent her reeling and once
more the foil descended.
She flew at him again, her face blanched, her eyes blazing, a new note
in her voice.
"Have a care yourself!" she shrieked. "Murderer! Assassin! Help! Help!
Murder!"
"Stop that, you fool!" he snarled, but she cried the louder, and he
dropped the children to choke her cries.
The white scared faces of Nando and Assunta peering in at the door
brought him to his senses and he flung the girl off.
"You pack of fools!" he growled, "take that hysterical idiot away and
leave this room! How dare you come here without my orders?"
But Assunta was already by Carolina's side, bending over the children,
whose loud sobbing filled the room.
"Take your silly face from that door, Nando! _Dio mi strabenedica_ if I
don't throw the whole crew of you into the street! Am I to have no peace
in my own home?"
A sound of steps was heard in the passage; Nando felt a hand on his
shoulder thrusting him aside, and Enrico Ferrati entered, glancing about
him in astonishment at the scene before him.
"My God, Egidio! What does this mean? What has happened to the
children?"
Carolina raised her tear-stained face.
"Ah, Signor Dottore! The good God himself has sent you! Look at these
poor innocents, murdered by their father!"
He was kneeling beside them in an instant, examining the welts and cuts
on their little necks and hands, feeling them cautiously
over--fortunately no bones were broken.
"Take them to their room, my good girl, undress them and put them to
bed. I shall come presently--you can put some compresses on these
bruises, and wash the cuts with the solution in the big green bottle on
the Signora's dressing table. Go, Mimmo caro, go, Beppino mio, Zio Rico
is here and will come to you. There now, don't cry! There is nothing to
be afraid of, it is all over!"
Carolina took Mimmo in her arms and staggering a little under his
weight, led the way, Assunta following with Beppino.
"Go also, my friend," said the Doctor to Nando, "I shall ring if you are
wanted."
Nando slunk off in his turn, casting many curious backward glances.
Ferrati waited till the last footstep had died away then he raised his
eyes from the foil he had picked up and was fingering.
"And now will you tell me what all this means, Egidio?" he asked
quietly.
Valentini shrugged his shoulders sulkily.
"I was merely giving the children a little richly deserved punishment."
"Punishment! They are covered with cuts and welts and bruises! Thank
Heaven they are still wearing their thick winter clothes--You might have
killed them, Egidio, you would have, if you had not been stopped in
time. As it is, it is a miracle that they are not maimed for life! Are
you mad to think of touching the tender body of a child with a thing
like this?" He bent the flexible blade of the foil, "I tell you that if
their clothes had not protected them, you would have cut the flesh of
those babies to ribbons!"
"But look, Rico," Valentini burst forth passionately, "look what they
have done! I come in here and I find they have ruined my work, the
picture that was to make my reputation--and that I shall have no chance
to do again, if I could, for she has gone away!"
He wheeled the easel about, and Ferrati gazed aghast on the havoc
wrought.
"My God, Egidio," he exclaimed, "this is awful!"
"And yet you blame me for punishing--" he said bitterly, but Ferrati
interrupted him.
"You had provocation, I will admit; this is a terrible disappointment.
But you are a man, Egidio, and to allow your rage to get the better of
you to the extent that you would have murdered--yes, _murdered_ is the
word--those innocent children--"
"Innocent!"
"Yes, certainly, innocent. Can you suppose for a minute that a child of
that age would be capable of a deliberate act of malice such as this?
Think man, think how easily you might have killed them, and how would
you have met your wife with their blood on your hands?"
"Oh, Ragna!" said Egidio sneeringly.
"Where is she?"
"I suppose she is gadding about somewhere, as usual."
Valentini looked at him keenly.
"That is another thing, in fact it was that I was coming to you about
when I heard Carolina's screams of 'murder'. You are not treating your
wife as you should, Egidio, and as I was partly responsible for the
marriage, I cannot stand aside and let things go on as they have been
doing. As your friend, as the friend of both of you, I feel that I can
be silent no longer."
"So she has been to you with her complaints!"
"She has done nothing of the sort; Ragna is not the woman to complain of
her husband to anyone--you should know your wife better by this time."
He paused, but Valentini his eyes sulkily fixed on the carpet, merely
shrugged his shoulders.
"No, I speak only of what Virginia and I have seen with our own eyes and
heard with our own ears. You speak slightingly to Ragna and of her, in
public; you humiliate her and make her life unbearable. What you say and
do in private I have no means of knowing, but I can see that your wife
both fears and hates you."
"She has an impossible character," said Egidio petulantly, like a child
taken to task. Ferrati seemed always to have this mysterious power of
domination over him, the result, perhaps, of the man's clear-eyed
honesty.
"She is pretentious, rebellious against my authority; she is ungrateful
for all I have done for her, she lies; I tell you she is impossible."
"Let us talk this over," said Ferrati glad to have at last something
definite to take hold of. "I will take you up point by point, and we
will find out how much foundation there is for what you say. I believe
it is all a misunderstanding."
"It is not, I can't be deceived about my own wife, I know her better
than she knows herself."
"There is where you are wrong. Your wife is not perfect--no human being
is, but you wilfully blind yourself to her good qualities and exaggerate
her defects. Now take this, you call her pretentious," he flung his arms
round Valentini's shoulders and forced him to pace slowly up and down
the room--"I do not think her so. She is a beautiful woman, she is
clever--I have read her publications and they are excellent,--she may
have a little weakness for titled friends."
"She fills my house with knaves and fools. She continues to receive
people I have forbidden her to see, I won't have it! She--"
"Sh! let me continue, when I have finished you shall say what you have
to say. I repeat, you call her pretentious, my opinion and that of
everyone who knows her is that she is modest and unassuming. As for her
friends--" he wheeled suddenly looking Egidio in the eyes, "what right
have you to object to them? Do you suppose your escapades, the way you
spend your evenings, to be unknown? This woman, the original of this
portrait, what right had you, knowing her for what she is, standing to
her in the relation in which you did--what right had you, I say, to
bring her here, into the house where your wife lives?"
His voice was like a trumpet-call, and Egidio's eyes fell.
"You say that she rebels against your authority--but if that authority
is a tyranny? She is not a child, she is a responsible woman and the day
has gone by when a husband's word was law. In virtue of what superior
powers do you arrogate to yourself the right to guide and control your
wife as though she were a minor child? But if obedience is what you
require you must be moderate in your commands, lighten your yoke, fit it
to the neck that is to wear it. I don't wonder that Ragna finds your
exercise of authority unreasonable. Now for the ingratitude--in what way
is she ungrateful? And after all, my dear friend, why should she be
grateful, what more have you done for her than she has done for you?"
Egidio's jaw dropped. "Your marriage was a contract entered into on both
sides with full knowledge of the circumstances. You knew her condition,
you knew, for she told you, that she did not love you--you offered her
your name and protection in exchange for the advantage of her society.
Well, has she not fulfilled her part of the contract? Has she not been a
model wife and mother, faithful, true to you in word and deed? Has she
not given you a son of whom any man might be proud? What more could you
expect of her? Granted that Mimmo--that his presence in the house must
be hard at times, but he is a dear affectionate child, whom no one could
help loving--and you knew beforehand what you were undertaking.
Remember, the child was never foisted on you, as seems sometimes to be
your conviction. Here are three of your points disposed of--frankly I
cannot see that you have a leg to stand on!"
Egidio opened his mouth to protest but closed it again; indeed what
could he say without letting his friend see that it was the loss of
Ragna's expected fortune, in hopes of which he had married her, that lay
at the root of his grievance. He had so often proclaimed his
disinterestedness that he could not very well abandon the position; and
more than this he feared Ferrati's condemnation and wished to keep his
good opinion. Anything he could say would but put himself in a most
unflattering light. Seeing he had no answer to make, Ferrati continued.
"You accuse her of lying--how and when does she lie? I have held her,
ever since I first knew her, for the personification of truth."
"Well," said Egidio uneasily, his arraignment of Ragna seemed hard to
substantiate, somehow, before this stern judge, "she says she has no
housekeeping money when I know she must have. She saves and pinches, to
send my money to her pauper family; she gives away the presents I have
made her."
"If she chooses to stint herself in order to help her family, and in
such a way that the household does not suffer by it, I do not see what
you have to complain of. Is it not natural for her to wish to help her
own kith and kin? Would not you do the same? And why do you oblige her
to ask you for every _centesimo_? Why do you insist on even buying her
clothes for her instead of letting her do it herself? If you tyrannize
over her you must expect that she will develop a slave's vices--but I
can still see no evidence of a direct lie on her part; at most, she may
be guilty of an occasional, and considering your conduct, most excusable
equivocation! Now, my friend, you have come to a turning-point, you
must realize that yourself. By your own fault, I don't say
consciously--but still by your own actions, you have come to this pass,
that the relations between you and your wife, are, by your own
admission, impossible--and that you are both of you miserable, and but
for outside intervention you would be standing here now a murderer, as a
result of your ungovernable temper--the murderer of the children you
really love better than anything else in the world. Pull up man! For
God's sake, pull up and start out afresh! I know Ragna will meet you
half-way. Can't you see where you are going, at this rate?"
Valentini fairly squirmed under his friend's kindly hand. The indictment
was terribly severe; it was the first time in his life that anyone had
dared speak to him so openly and so authoritatively. It found him
unprepared, bereft of his usual armour of carefully arranged
appearances. The incident of the children had shaken him more than he
cared to admit. If he had but little affection for Mimmo, Beppino was
the very apple of his eye; but he would not willingly have done physical
harm even to Mimmo. He, in common with many so-called "bad" men, had an
instinctive love of children and animals and in spite of his violent
temper nearly always won their affection. He was shocked to think to
what his violence had led him--so much so that he could hardly believe
it. Indeed had there been no witnesses he would have denied his action
and in a short time would positively have persuaded himself that no such
thing had taken place. He was not a man, however, to acknowledge himself
in the wrong and Ferrati knew him well enough, not to expect it of him;
it was enough that he should answer, as he presently did:
"My life, certainly, is anything but happy. A man generally looks
forward to finding at least peace in his own home, but that has not
been my lot--although if ever a man slaved from morning to night and
gave up everything for his family, I am that man!"
It was quite true that he worked hard, but he would have worked equally
hard with no family to provide for, industry was in the nature of the
man.
"However, ungrateful though they be, _I_ shall keep on. I was a fool to
get married, I see that now, if it had not been for that attack of
typhoid--but I shall keep on sacrificing myself, I can't help it, I am
never happy unless I am doing something for others. What do I care for
money for myself?"
He threw out his arms in a noble gesture, at which Ferrati could not
help smiling.
"I must think of the future of the children! By the way," he added
almost shamefacedly, taking Ferrati's arm, "let us go to them and see
that they have taken no harm--you see I don't bear malice--"
"Let us finish all that there is to say first," said Ferrati, anxious to
wring some concession for Ragna from this unusually promising occasion.
"We were talking of your wife."
"Oh, well, yes, Ragna. She was most insolent to me last night, mad with
jealousy and perfectly insufferable--you don't know what it is, Rico, to
have a jealous wife! just think, she imagined some perfectly ridiculous
thing between me and that slattern, Carolina. It seems impossible to
have so little _criterio_. You wouldn't believe, Rico, the things she
said! She almost got the better of my patience!" Ferrati smiled grimly.
"We had more words this morning and in a fit of rage she said she would
leave me, and I told her to go--_a quel paese_. _Peggio per lei!_"
His voice rose as he found a vent for his repressed feelings, he almost
forgot Ferrati's presence in the joy of shifting to other shoulders the
blame which in his heart he knew to be his. He paused, drawn to his full
height, his eyes burning.
"It is always the same story 'put a beggar on horseback and he'll ride
to the Devil!' I married her out of the gutter--"
"I beg your pardon, Egidio," broke in Ferrati's stern voice, "you did no
such thing and if you set any value on my friendship, you will never
repeat those words."
Valentini cast a furtive side glance at him.
"Oh, well, have it as you will. I married her _colla camicia_--it
amounts to the same--she has nothing of her own, so the worse for her if
she goes off, as she will soon find out. Then she will beg to be taken
back and I won't, I swear I won't."
"What!" cried Ferrati horrified, "do you mean to say you have actually
driven away your wife, the mother of your child?"
"If she went it was of her own accord."
"Then she has gone?"
Had he come too late? Had Ragna actually found courage to throw off her
bondage?
"When I came in, Assunta told me that the padrona had Nando call her a
carriage just after luncheon, and she has not come back yet."
Suddenly he flung himself on a chair by the table, his fingers clutching
his hair, prey to a violent fit of self-pity.
"Oh, Rico, I am the unhappiest man on the earth! My wife, the woman for
whom I sacrificed my whole life, has deserted me! The base ingratitude,
the heartlessness of it! Think of a woman deserting her husband and
children! My head will burst with the strain of it all. Oh, why was I
such a fool as to marry? And a woman like that! All my life is sorrow
and disappointment and _gratta-capi_."
He was thoroughly unstrung. He had never thought that Ragna would take
him at his word when he bade her begone, but by now he had thoroughly
convinced himself that she was gone, and his little world rocked on its
foundations. Most of all, he was sorry for himself, he felt ill-used and
sore.
Ferrati seated himself, facing Valentini across the table; he spoke, and
his voice was incisive and authoritative.
"Do you realize what you have done? You have accused your wife of
jealousy, but I know, and all Florence knows, Egidio, that she has good
reason to be. However, she is patient and bears with it all until you
outrage every sense of decency by running after her own maid in her own
house--you need not deny it, I have seen the way you look at Carolina.
Then because she dares reproach you with your conduct you drive her
away, for that is what it amounts to. Do you realize what this means to
you? Your wife is loved and respected here, and when the story of her
leaving you comes out, as it surely will--what will the world say of
you?"
He had deliberately touched the chord of Egidio's susceptibility to
public opinion, the one to which he responded most readily.
"The world knows me, I am not afraid of the world--it is Ragna who will
be condemned."
"Ah, there you are wrong, the world is not so easily hoodwinked as you
choose to think; there are more whispers afloat as to your conduct than
you dream of. There are a number of people already, who accept you only
on your wife's account, and if that were not enough, _I_ am here," he
drew himself up, his stern eyes fixed on Valentini, "if I am
questioned, as I am sure to be, I shall answer the truth!"
Valentini bounded on his chair.
"I thought you were my friend--a nice one you are indeed! I have
nourished a viper in my bosom--I--"
"I am your friend, Egidio, your best friend, if you only knew it, for I
am the only one who dares speak the truth to you without fear or favour.
But my friendship cannot compel me to deceit to an unworthy end. I shall
tell the truth to the world, and you, Egidio, must make that truth such
that it may be told without shame to yourself. You must persuade your
wife to come back."
"Persuade her, humble myself to her? Never."
But Ferrati had seen the wavering in his eyes,
"Well, then, leave the 'persuasion' to me."
"You can tell her that I am willing to forgive her, if you like, that I
am willing to consider that nothing has come between us--See, I am ready
to make concessions, to add one more sacrifice--"
The battle was won, or at least as far as Valentini was concerned; the
vague stirring of regret for his violence, the fear of his friend's
judgment, the thought of his life without the comforts of a well-ordered
home--even the thought of losing Ragna herself, although she had come to
be but a _souffre douleur_, had undermined his obstinacy, and the threat
of the condemnation of society had been the finishing touch. His
declaration of his willingness to "forgive" his wife was, however, all
that he could be brought to admit, as Ferrati well knew. It must be
taken as the capitulation it signified, and acted upon without further
discussion. Remained the problem of Ragna; where was she? Would she
return? And, above all, could she be persuaded to resume the burden of
Valentini's ill-humour? At least Ferrati intended that she should have
the assurance of his friendship and his help in future, for now, after
this revealing scene with Valentini he had the weapons for her
protection ready to hand.
"Ebbene?" asked Valentini impatiently, anxious to put an end to the
interview. "Are you or are you not going to see the children?"
"Of course!" said Ferrati, rising, "poor little things, I had almost
forgotten them! But," he added, sharply, turning to the other who was
preparing to accompany him, "you must stop here, the sight of you might
throw them into convulsions. Wait here, Egidio, and I will come down and
report to you when I have seen them."
"Oh, very well," growled Egidio, his mouth twitching with discomfiture,
"have it your own way!"
He thrust his hands into his trousers' pockets and slouched moodily up
and down the studio. It had been a most unpleasant day for him, the
culminating point of many, and the worst of it was he had come out of it
with anything but flying colours. The curious part of it was that he
felt weak, back-boneless, his rage had burnt itself out--for the time.
He could not understand it. He lit a _toscano_ and chewed it
meditatively as he marched up and down. The fact was that the interview
with Ferrati had cowed him; like all bullies he was a coward at heart
and his friend's fearless condemnation had as effectually crushed him as
physical chastisement would have done. He had met one stronger than
himself, and was obliged to recognize the fact. In an astonishingly mild
humour, he awaited events.