Mariuccia, having decided on her course of action, had confided to
Giannella her intention of appealing to Signorino Goffi. She would look
for him in church in the morning, and if he was not there, she would
find him out at the top of Sora Amalia's house. Did not Giannella think
that a fine idea? The padrone had managed to enlist the most excellent
Princess on his side (Mariuccia had by this time concluded that the
Princess's verdict was given upon insufficient information, and might
be combated without impiety); well, she and Giannella would also find a
defender, and he at any rate should labor under no misapprehension as
to the true state of affairs. Then, closing the window so as to admit
no breath of the night air, which the Romans look upon as fatal, she
set all the doors open and retired to her cave beyond the kitchen on
the other side of the passage.
Giannella had waited until the sound of her deep breathing came
regularly through the darkness. Then, panting for air, she had gently
closed her door and opened her window. Better malaria than asphyxia,
she thought.
When she crept back to bed after her talk with Rinaldo it seemed as
if the little room was full of light and sweet music. Oh, God was
good, life was divine. No one in the world had ever been so happy as
she! Long she lay awake, going over every word her lover had spoken,
remembering every glance of his eyes, every expression of his face
which told her that he was all hers, forever and ever. When at last
she fell asleep, the chill airs of dawn were wandering through the
blind, and its first light showed her resting as peacefully as a child,
heartache and fever gone together, the round cheeks smooth as rose
leaves, the baby gold of the hair flung wide over the pillow and half
veiling the young white hands that lay crossed on her breast.
So Mariuccia found her when she stole in before going out to the
church, and an exultant pride in her Giannella's loveliness rose in her
heart and brought a little moisture to her faithful old eyes. "Madonna
mia," she whispered, "were you more beautiful when Monsignore Gabriele
came and knelt before you and said, 'Ave gratia plena?' Oh, you must
indeed have had her poor mother under your mantle when she bore this
flower! Poverina, she never lived to rejoice over her, but that was
just as well, since she would not have known how to bring her up. But
there are heretics and heretics, eh, Madonne mia bella? And that poor
little thing knew no better, did she? She kissed your picture and the
crucifix when I held them to her lips, and she died for her baby--and
as for Signor Brockmann, good man, he never refused a paoletto to the
Cappuccino when he came to beg--and this angel has prayed for her
parents' souls ever since she could speak--oh, they may say what they
like, Mother of Mercy, but you will see to it that she finds her poor
papa and mamma in paradise. I am quite sure of that."
Softly she went out locked the door and took away the key, for was not
the unfortunate padrone, possessed of demons and no longer responsible
for his actions, sleeping at the other end of the house? She crossed
herself as she passed his door, and then, catching up her big umbrella,
for the morning was cloudy, she hurried off to San Severino, where Fra
Tommaso was ringing with a will for the first Mass.
Rinaldo descended a few minutes later and hastened to the side chapel,
where he found Mariuccia already ensconced in her accustomed place.
She was saying her rosary with great fervor. Once she turned to the
young man with a look of tremendous meaning, and as soon as the last
Gospel was ended rose from her knees and strode towards the door.
Rinaldo followed and found her waiting for him in the outer court where
he and Giannella had learned to know one another. The fountain was
splashing rather sadly under a threatening sky; a drop or two of rain
fell, blotching the flags; the beggars looked singularly depressed, and
altogether the air was somewhat tragedy laden.
"Where can we speak as two alone?" the old woman asked wheeling round
and facing the artist. Her black eyes were snapping under the colored
handkerchief she had thrown over her head on entering the church, and
her iron-gray hair was crinkling more fiercely than usual round her
low, dark forehead. She was evidently in fighting mood and Rinaldo
hailed the symptoms joyfully. Between them they would make an end of
all this rubbish about impossible marriages and imaginary obligations.
He could have fought the world single-handed this morning.
At Mariuccia's question he glanced up sideways at the distant
balustrade of his terrace, the spot whence he had first caught sight
of Giannella. "Well, Sora Mariuccia," he said, "if you will be so
complaisant as to climb ninety-three steps, we can discourse with much
tranquillity in my studio up there. We shall have the place all to
ourselves, at least."
"If steps were destined to kill me I should be in San Lorenzo now," she
replied, shrugging her shoulders. "Let us go up."
He led the way past the dairy to the side door and his companion
followed him up to the top landing without once pausing to take breath.
He flung the door open and stood aside to let her pass in, and she was
advancing when she suddenly backed against him with a scream of terror.
"Madonne mia Santissima, what is _that_?"
Rinaldo, supporting her in his arms, looked over her shoulder and broke
into uncontrollable laughter. His trusty lay figure was stretched on
the floor in horrid disarray, one stiff, discolored arm raised as if
protesting against the ravages of Themistocles, who sat on its head,
tearing viciously at its matted locks. Nothing so corpse-like and
ghastly had ever saluted Mariuccia's vision, and she was trying hard
not to faint. Suddenly Themistocles flew up with a moth-eaten ringlet
in his beak. This was the last stroke. Mariuccia covered her face with
her hands and rushed back, moaning, to the head of the stairs. Rinaldo
was beside her in a moment, entreating, reassuring, laughing.
"Don't be alarmed," he pleaded, "it is only my mannechino, my
model--what I paint from, you know. I should have warned you. Donkey
without heart that I am, to give you such a fright! Come, I will show
you." He drew her back into the room. "I was in a hurry to get down
to the church this morning and knocked the old cripple over and never
stopped to pick it up."
She turned her eyes unwillingly on the gruesome object while he
bestowed it safely against the wall. Then she found courage to laugh at
herself a little and sank, rather exhausted, into the chair of state,
which Rinaldo pulled forward for her. She made a strange picture there,
a homely sybil in peasant dress, with the strings of red coral round
her neck and the gold earrings in her ears. Her brow was knitted with
thought, her wrinkled hands grasped the two arms firmly; and behind
her, on either side of her majestic old head, the bloated gilt cherubs
dimpled and simpered as they had dimpled and simpered for powdered
beauties and courtly prelates in days gone by.
Rinaldo, perched on a stool opposite, took in the quaint picture and
made a mental note of it for future reference. Now he was in a hurry to
get to the business which had brought her there--without letting her
perceive that he knew something of it already.
"I am so glad you wish to speak to me," he began. "It is a pleasure to
see you here. Is there anything I can do to serve you, my dear Sora
Mariuccia?"
"Yes, there is, since you are so kind," she replied; "a very important
matter, a thing that is giving us much disquiet, Giannella and me.
Indeed, to tell you a secret, signorino, it has really made Giannella
ill."
"Is she not better this morning?" he asked unguardedly and with a
mysterious smile.
"How did you know she was ill?" Mariuccia's question was sharply put.
He hastened to retrieve his mistake. "Oh, Sora Amalia told me, and I
was deeply grieved to hear it. I have been praying for her recovery."
"You are a good boy," said Mariuccia, approvingly, "and your prayers
have been answered, for she is certainly better this morning. She was
sleeping like an image when I came out. But when she begins to go
about the house again, the Signor Professore (who is the best of men
you understand, only a little irritable just now) will begin to make
trouble--but trouble! Oh, Signorino Rinaldo, there seems no end to it,
and what can I do? You will help us, will you not?"
"Only command me, command me," he cried, clasping his hands
imploringly. "I would die to serve her--and you," he added hastily.
Mariuccia looked round, then leaned forward and spoke in a stage
whisper. "The padrone wants to marry her--in two weeks--and it is I,
who have lived with him for twenty years, who tell you this--if he
wants to, he will. When the devil gets into him--God forgive me for
speaking so of my own master--he is as obstinate as a mule, and, in one
manner or another, is sure to get his way. Giannella is a good obedient
child, and he persuaded the most excellent Princess to tell her that
it was her duty to consent. But if the Princess, who is a most noble
Christian, had known half what I know, she would let herself be eaten
by wolves before she tried to give him the girl. For he will starve
her to death--he cannot help it, that is the way the good God made
him, poor man--I know what I am talking about. Oh, what is the matter?
Madonna mia, are you going to have a fit?"
For Rinaldo's face had turned alarmingly red, his eyes were half
closed and the veins stood out swollen and purple on his temples,
which he was hammering with his clenched fists. Mariuccia ran to him
and pulled his hands down from his head and shook him violently. Then
he seemed to come to himself. The flush ebbed from his face, leaving
him of a ghastly paleness, his arms fell at his sides, and he sank,
limp and exhausted, into the chair she had just quitted. She hastened
to bring him a drink of water, and when he had swallowed it he looked
up gratefully saying, "Thank you, I am better now----" He seemed to
speak with difficulty. "Pray excuse me. I was overcome for a moment.
You were telling me--oh, the words will choke me--that Bianchi--is
persecuting Giannella--that assassin, that executioner--he--"
"Stop," cried Mariuccia; "you shall not speak of the padrone like that.
He is a good man. It is not his fault. You will understand when I tell
you how it all happened. Three months ago--"
"Three months," Rinaldo exclaimed; "but why did you not tell me? Do you
not know that I adore Giannella? that I do not see the hour to marry
her myself?"
"Traitor," thundered the old woman, "have you been daring to make love
to her in secret? You whom I took for a galantuómo, a man of honor--a
good Christian? Imbecile, donkey that I have been to trust you!"
Her outbreak of righteous wrath was terrifying, and Rinaldo, who, when
not angry, was quite a gentle and unwarlike person, quailed under it
for a moment, and was half inclined to believe that he had behaved very
badly. But only for a moment. He remembered that there had never been
the slightest intention of deceiving Mariuccia or anybody else; that it
was only because she had stayed at home during the Professor's illness
that he had not spoken to her before. How he and Giannella had come
to understand each other was their own affair; he would submit to no
catechism on that point.
Mariuccia was opening her mouth to speak again, but he held up his
hand for silence, and, coming close to her, looked her squarely in
the eyes. "Sora Mariuccia," he said, "your first opinion of me is the
right one. I am an honest man and, I hope, a good Christian. I love
your Giannella so truly that since I first saw her I have had one
thought only, to make her my wife. I have never spoken one word to
her which I could not have spoken in church at the foot of the altar
with all the saints in paradise listening to me. I was only waiting
for an opportunity of opening my heart to you. I consume with love for
her--and I know that she loves me. I am not rich, but I can maintain
her in all comfort and decorum--though not as she deserves. Would
anything in the world be too good for her? No, but I will make her the
happiest woman in Rome. I promise you that. And you, dear, kind Sora
Mariuccia, you will leave that cataplasm of a Professor and come and
live with us, will you not?"
He took both her hands in his, and there was great earnestness in his
bright eyes. He looked so true and gentle and handsome that Mariuccia's
heart became as melting wax. She threw her arms round his neck and
kissed him on both cheeks; then she stood back and looked at him again,
laughing and crying at once.
"Figlio mio bello, I see, I understand. You have a heart of gold.
Forgive me for that outburst. What would you have? I was frightened
for a moment. You see I have kept Giannella like the Bambino Gesú down
there in the church, under glass. Till this year she never went out
alone except for the few yards from our door to San Severino and for
the marketing close by. She has never spoken to a stranger--except
you--she is a flower of candor, her soul is as pure as the wax on the
altar. What would you have? The world is bad and I am only a stupid old
woman, and I was frightened. But now let us discourse reasonably."
She sat down again and Rinaldo drew his stool close to the big chair
and prepared to listen. She laid a hand on his knee and went on very
seriously. "If you want to marry Giannella, you must persuade two
persons, my padrone--oh, do hear me patiently!" for Rinaldo seemed on
the point of interrupting her--"yes, my padrone, and the most excellent
Princess----"
"But what has that old lady got to do with it?" he asked, frowning.
"A great deal," was the reply. "She gave Giannella nine years' splendid
education, she is her godmother of First Communion--and she is my
principessa. Do you think I am one of the profane, to go against one
of the family like that? No indeed. Why, none of my relations would
ever speak to me again. It would be a great sin. And the padrone told
her what he wanted and persuaded her that it was right. And she sent
for us and gave us both such a talking to that for a little while we
almost thought she was right too. What would you have? A great person
like that, so pious, with so much learning and cleverness! Of course
Giannella had not a word to say, and as for me, I did not dare to open
my mouth. And that was a big mistake. For afterwards I perceived that
the Principessa could not understand what she did not know, and that I
ought to have told her something--that this caprice, this extravagance
of my poor master has come suddenly upon him, that it is against his
nature and clearly of the devil."
"You really talk very strangely, Sora Mariuccia," said Rinaldo. "Do you
not think that any man who knew Giannella would wish to marry her if he
could--even as I hope to do?"
"I never expected you to take the padrone's part," she retorted
laughing. Then she went on more seriously. "But listen to me,
signorino. To me you appear a good boy, honest and kind and truly
simpatico, but that is not enough. You will not get my consent until
you have satisfied the parroco that you are fit to be Giannella's
husband. He will want to see your baptismal certificate, and your
ticket of this year's Easter Communion, and also the police report of
your conduct generally. If he is satisfied, we will order the confetti,
my son, but I say nothing till then."
"He will be satisfied," Rinaldo assured her, more thankful than he had
ever expected to be that his record would bear scrutiny; "but tell me,
I must know, how far does the Professor's real power over Giannella
extend? Is he her legal guardian? That would give us trouble."
"Legal guardian indeed!" snorted Mariuccia. "Only girls with dowries
require those. Not a poor child who would have been taken to the Pietá
if I had had the heart to let her go there! Why, the padrone was always
telling me that that was the place for her. He grumbled at me for
bringing her into the house. He never took any notice of her till three
months ago--and then, from one day to another--he is crazy to marry
her. I astrologized my head for weeks to find out what had changed him
all in a moment like that. Then I perceived," she leaned closer and
spoke in a whisper, "that an evil enchantment was laid upon him."
"Really? And by whom?" Rinaldo asked dubiously.
Then Mariuccia related the story of the strange lawyer's visit, of how
Giannella had been called in and interrogated, and of how the master
looked better pleased than she had ever seen him before. "And," she
wound up triumphantly, "that very evening--no, the next--he finds out
that Giannella cooks polpetti divinely; then he wants her to take care
of his books. The lawyer comes again--an apoplexy to him--and the next
thing we know is that Giannella is good, that she is pretty--that
Heaven destines the padrone to be her husband. How does it appear to
you, signorino? To me it is magic of the most wicked."
Rinaldo was walking up and down the studio in great excitement.
"Magic?" he cried; "no, Sora Mariuccia, I see worse than that. We have
here a great mystery. I fear some of her parents' relations have heard
how good and beautiful Giannella is, and are trying to take her away
from Rome. Naturally the Professor--who must have eyes and a heart
somewhere, poveraccio--does not wish to lose her--I told you no man
could help loving her--and has thought of this as the only way to keep
her here. But we must know, we must know. You are right. I must find
that lawyer. He will tell us what it all means. Oh, for Heaven's sake,
try to remember his name."
"I never heard it," she said; "he gave Giannella a card and she did
not read it, and when we looked for it later it was gone. We only know
he was a lawyer because the padrone called him 'Signor Avvocato' while
Giannella was in the room."
"We must get hold of that card," Rinaldo declared. "When you go home
tell Giannella to look for it everywhere--she will find it, I am sure.
And I will come to the entrance of the palazzo this evening at Ave
Maria, and you will be so good as to come down and give it to me. After
that, leave it to me--I make it my affair. I would spare you the stairs
and come up, dear Sora Mariuccia, but the Professor might see me, and
he must suspect nothing as yet. Oh, tell Giannella--"
But Mariuccia did not wait to hear the love messages. Fra Tommaso's
bells were pealing the hour, eight o'clock, and the padrone would
expect his coffee in precisely fifteen minutes. She sped downstairs
at a wonderful pace, opened her huge umbrella on the doorstep, which
was wet with rain, and nearly knocked down Sora Amalia, who was in her
doorway exchanging the day's news with Sora Rosa opposite. They both
looked after the retreating figure and nodded to one another sagely.
"I told you so," cried the lady of the dairy triumphantly. "You see!
they make the arrangements."
"La Biondina will at least have the salad at her door," replied Sora
Rosa, "and that is a fine thing. But she will never have tomatoes at
three baiocchi a pound after she marries that rich Signorino Goffi!
Trust me!"