When night fell over the half-drowned city it seemed to Giannella that
ten years of suspense and misery had been compressed into a single day.
The few moments of wild happiness which had illuminated her sky during
Rinaldo's visit had only made the creeping hours afterwards the more
unbearable. As the weight of anxiety increased and no news came of
either Rinaldo or Bianchi, Mariuccia's temper became almost savage; and
Giannella, her hot Scandinavian blood roused at last, suddenly turned
on her and told her that instead of cursing the flood, the city, and
all connected with it she ought to be down on her knees praying for
those who were in danger and asking pardon for her hard-heartedness in
sending the bravest and kindest of men to look for a selfish old fellow
who could be trusted to take the very best care of himself.
Mariuccia stopped short in her stride from window to window and stared
at the girl in amazement. Giannella's eyes were blazing, her cheeks
scarlet, her very hair, usually so goldenly smooth, was flying round
her forehead in wild disorder. Her hands were clenched, and she brought
her heel down on the bricks with a stamp which shook the rickety old
floor.
"You have killed him, I know you have," she cried, all the torrent of
her pent-up wretchedness finding voice in the cry. "You old people
are all alike, only caring for dried-up old creatures like yourselves.
We--we, the young ones, who can think of something besides musty books
and dirty old statues and scraped pennies--we who can love, and suffer
for others, we are nothing. We may break our hearts and cry our eyes
out, and consume with anguish, and nobody cares. 'Gioventú'--youth--you
say, and shrug your shoulders, and forget all about it. Where is
Rinaldo, my fidanzato, I should like to know? Oh, you need not look so
shocked--he is my betrothed, and we will be married whether you or the
padrone or fifty thousand other cruel old people want us to or not.
Madonna mia, who is that?"
Across the torrent of her anger a long knocking had broken, and the
cracked bell in the passage was jangling on its wires. Both the women
changed color. It was the first sound that had come to them from the
outer world since the morning, and it meant tidings. Good? Bad? Their
hearts stood still. Mariuccia, the hardy old peasant, gave out the
most completely, sinking down on a chair with both hands on her knees
and the sweat breaking out on her brow. Giannella stood rigid by the
table, staring towards the door. Then came a second knock, loud and
sharp. She sprang to life and flew to answer it. As she tore at the
chain and bolts, a word came through, the sweetest she had ever heard:
"Giannella, is it you?"
Then the door was open, there was a stifled cry, and Giannella's head
was buried on her lover's shoulder, his arms held her to his heart,
his kisses were on her hair--Rinaldo had come back.
How they rejoiced over him! Mariuccia laid violent hands on the
padrone's stores and cooked him a supper which he never forgot. He told
them, in carefully mitigated form, of the poor Professor's adventure,
dwelling much on the honor and comfort he was now enjoying and as
little as possible on the painful incarceration which had preceded it.
Mariuccia flushed with pride and delight when she learned that her
master was the guest of the revered Cardinal Cestaldini, and Giannella
listened with glowing eyes to the account of the rescue, telling
herself over and over again that her Rinaldo was the most valiant of
heroes for so cleverly and bravely going to the padrone's assistance.
If Rinaldo's part in the exploit lost nothing in the telling it was
only because the young man was too triumphantly happy to deprecate the
applause which Giannella lavished upon him. When at last Mariuccia
ordered him to bed in Bianchi's room--for she would not hear of his
attempting to return to his own lodging that night--he fell asleep in
a whirl of excitement, warmed, comforted, assured of the future, and
indescribably happy to feel that his beautiful, loving Giannella was
under the same roof with him, dreaming of him, somewhere on the other
side of the dingy whitewashed wall.
He awoke the next morning dazed and puzzled at his surroundings and
rather stiff and sore from the exposure and fatigues of the day before;
but he had scarcely opened his eyes when Mariuccia entered with a
cup of steaming coffee, and his clothes, already carefully dried and
pressed, folded over her arm. It was so long since he had had a woman
to take care of him that his heart went out to her, and hers was always
ready to mother another child. So he told her that she was an angel,
and she said he was a good boy--and their compact for life was sealed.
When he came out into the kitchen a little later Giannella was giving
the last touches to a truly Roman summer breakfast, delicate wafers
of smoked ham on one plate, a pile of fresh figs, pale emerald
globes, each carrying its dewdrop of honey at the tip, on another.
An enterprising "fruttarolo" had wheeled his handcart up the Via
Santafede at sunrise and the string and basket had done the rest. A few
fresh carnations, pulled from the cherished window plants, stood in a
glass with sprigs of lavender, and the repentant sunbeams played on a
straw-bound flask of red wine and a carafe of sparkling Trevi water.
The windows were open, the sky was blue; across the way Fra Tommaso's
flowers were lifting their heads again in a fringe of white and red,
and the pigeons were circling and calling to each other. The setting of
the picture was all that was gay and sweet, but the picture itself was
so enchanting that Rinaldo saw little else just then. Some rarer gold
seemed to have been shed on Giannella's hair this morning, there was a
new tenderness in her gray eyes, and her heart was so full of happiness
that she smiled unconsciously, and at any chance word elusive dimples
of laughter showed themselves at the corners of her pretty mouth. The
brightness of the day and the ease at her heart had made her unwilling
to put on her old dark dress. She had found, among a few things of
her mother's which Mariuccia had kept for her, a faded muslin, white
sprigged with pink, and this she had shaken out and put on, pinning a
flower where the open neck sank away from her fair throat, and a ribbon
round the long old-fashioned waist. Mariuccia understood, and nodded
approvingly when Giannella came out of her little room looking like a
rose in bloom; and Rinaldo, when he joined them, understood too, and
took her hands in his and whispered, "Good-morning, sposina mia."
The storm was over and the sun had begun to shine on Rome again, and
on Giannella's life at last; and though happiness was such a new thing
to her, she knew it for what it was and took it to her heart in all
simplicity, in perfect trust that it would never fail her again.
When Rinaldo was lighting his first cigarette Mariuccia announced
that, come what might, she was going to see for herself how the
padrone was getting on. She was sure he must need her after all he
had gone through--and he only just getting over that dreadful cold,
poverino--and of course there was nobody in the Cardinal's household
who could replace her at his bedside. What good were a lot of men to a
sick person, she would like to know?
Rinaldo did not say that he was doubtful of her reception in the
strictly celibate domicile, but he protested that no woman could get
through the streets. The water had already subsided considerably, but
it still lay deep in some places while others were an expanse of mud
and slush not to be braved by petticoats. All this moved Mariuccia
not at all; she had made up her obstinate old mind, and all Rinaldo
obtained was that she would wait another hour or two. Then he would try
to pilot her to the Via Tresette, from which one could gain the narrow
alley leading to the back entrance of Palazzo Cestaldini, a facility
which had only been revealed to himself the night before. In spite of
his assurances that the doctor would certainly not allow the Professor
to be moved for two or three days, Mariuccia insisted on preparing her
master's bedroom for his reception. A huge warming-pan was placed in
his bed, the window was tightly closed, and sundry acrid-smelling herbs
were set on the fire for a "decotto" according to an ancient country
prescription quite infallible against the results of a chill.
While she came and went, Rinaldo and Giannella sat and talked in low
tones. All their future lay before them to play with and every detail
of it was an enchanting subject to plan and think for. Now that he was
so near her Rinaldo felt that it would be absurd to wait till October
to be married, five whole weeks. No, that joyful event should take
place as soon as the appartamentino could be furnished, and Giannella
must come with him and choose every single thing. What sort of paper
would she like in the salotto--amber color, or mazarin blue with gold
flowers? (Both were much admired, he heard.) As for the bedroom,
Rinaldo had seen that of a newly-married friend, and the walls were
covered with pink roses as big as cabbages tied with blue ribbon. Oh,
it was most beautiful, and so gay. Giannella would be sure to like it,
and the roses would make it seem like summer all the year round.
The roses flushed up in Giannella's cheeks just then; she became
silent, and finally dropped her eyes before Rinaldo's steady ardent
gaze. "What is it, my angel?" he asked, leaning forward anxiously.
"Does it not make you happy to know that you will so soon, in a few
days, core of my heart--be my own little wife?"
"Too happy--I am too happy," she replied. "It almost hurts. Give me
time, amore mio--a girl must take breath."
"Plenty of time to do that between now and next Sunday!" he declared.
"Five whole days. Is that not enough? I wish it could be to-morrow,
to-day."
"Five days," cried Giannella. "But, Rinaldo, we could not be ready for
weeks. Think of all there is to do. Papering, furnishing, the linen to
get and sew--oh, it is dreadful that you should have all this great
expense, that I cannot do even a little to help in it. If they had only
let me earn money during these years. It is terrible to feel that I
have been so useless."
"Giannella mia," said Rinaldo, looking very wise, "I will tell you
a secret. I do not believe I should ever have fallen in love with a
woman who was earning her living. It takes something away--something
very light, very delicate--I am too stupid to explain it properly--but
just what makes a woman adorable. It would break my heart if one of my
sisters should think of doing such a thing. What are the men there for?
We are very simple people, I and my family, but we are too proud for
that. If we cannot keep our women in decency and comfort, we might as
well throw ourselves into the river at once."
"But I had no family," said Giannella; "but for Mariuccia, and the
padrone who let me stay here with her, I should have been brought up to
a trade, like other poor girls."
Rinaldo interrupted her with something like sternness. "Giannella, once
for all, please forget all that. Thank Heaven Mariuccia understood her
responsibilities and carried them out nobly. We will make it all up
to her. And Signor Bianchi is not and has never been your 'padrone.'
Please stop speaking of him in that manner. Your father was a gentleman
and you belong to his class. The word 'padrone' offends me."
"I would never do that," she cried, "forgive me, my heart. It is just a
habit that I have grown up with, because Mariuccia always speaks of the
Professor like that. But I too must tell you something. We cannot--be
married--quite so soon as you wish, because I am still determined that
those two, Signor Bianchi and the Princess, must be quite reconciled
and willing. Oh, you do not know how much I love you--it would
kill me to be parted from you. But when I come to our dear, pretty
appartamentino I must leave peace behind me. Then I can bring peace
with me. Disturbances, contradictions, there must be none of these to
remember on that day. Signor Bianchi must be our good friend always.
He will be much happier like that, and will soon forget that he ever
had this silly caprice about wanting to marry me. And the Principessa
has been good to me. But for her, amore mio, I should be an ignorant,
untaught creature, quite unfit to be your wife. So you owe her some
gratitude, and I a great deal. When you see her and explain everything
she will be sure to agree with you--who could help it? And it is not
long to wait. She will return in the beginning of October."
"And take another six weeks to find time to see me--and six more to
make up her mind," was Rinaldo's scornful reply. "You are quite right,
Giannella, we certainly ought to have her most excellent blessing, but
I shall go to Santafede to get it. I do not mind that, my dear. I would
travel round the world to please you. As for Bianchi--I am going to ask
the Cardinal to bring him to reason as soon as the old fellow is able
to listen to it. Your gentle heart shall be satisfied, and then--"
"Then," said Giannella, suddenly bending over and laying her fresh
lips on his hand, "then there will not be one little cloud in my whole
world. You will have to pretend to be cross with me sometimes, to keep
me from dying of happiness."
Mariuccia came and stood beside them, her hands on her hips and a funny
grimace in her old face. "When you have done chattering, you two," she
said, "perhaps you will condescend to remember that we must go out. I
am not in love--and I want to get my padrone into his own bed. It is
nearly twelve o'clock." And she smiled down on them benevolently.
Giannella ran off to change her dress, and soon returned, a bit of
lovely primness in her black frock, with the lace coif over her smooth
hair. The house was locked up and they all went down together. By
picking their steps carefully they reached their destination without
patent disaster, and were received by Domenico--Rinaldo warmly, but the
women with the reserve proper to an ecclesiastical household, where
such visitors came but rarely and were not encouraged. Leaving them
all in the second anteroom the major-domo went to inform his master of
their arrival.
"Eminenza, I grieve to disturb you"--this was the invariable opening
of Domenico's communications--"but that young gentleman, Signor Goffi,
is in the sala, with two females who wish to see Signor Bianchi. And
Signor Goffi--he seems most respectable and polite--begs the great
favor of a few minutes' audience. I told him that I would ask, but that
of course--at this hour--"
"But yes, of course I will see him," the Cardinal exclaimed. "Have I
not to thank him for averting the most terrible of disasters? Who are
the women?" he inquired, with instinctive suspicion of anything in
petticoats.
"An old servant and a young lady--rather pretty," Domenico responded.
"They say they live with the Signor Professore, and are anxious about
his health."
"Tell them to wait a minute," said his master. "Bring Signor Goffi
to me, and then go and see if the Professor is well enough to be
troubled with these persons. And one thing more, Domenico. You say
that the water has subsided in the streets--send a man at once to
Signor De Sanctis, and ask him to favor me with a visit as soon as he
conveniently can. I am anxious to hear his explanation of his unusual
conduct yesterday."
Out in the sala the two women were conversing in whispers, a little
overawed by the stillness and the majesty of their surroundings, though
Mariuccia took on a certain air of proprietorship and looked quite
scornfully at the lacqueys in the outer room, mere hired servants
who could boast no connection with the finest family on earth. She,
Mariuccia Botti, belonged to the Cestaldini, and had a right to feel
at home in the palace which, she informed Giannella, was not nearly so
grand as the one at Castel Gandolfo.
Rinaldo meanwhile was elaborating the idea with which Giannella's
remonstrances had inspired him. Personally he did not care a fig
what Bianchi might think or feel about their marriage, but since she
wished him to smile on it, smile he must, and fortune was putting into
Rinaldo's hands the very best means of accomplishing that miracle.
The Professor, still shuddering under the impression of yesterday's
horrible fright, should be brought to open his heart to his gallant
rescuer (why throw away the benefit of a good action?) and the
Cardinal, the great holy Cardinal, who could preach so eloquently
that he could cause the most hardened sinners to be dissolved with
contrition, he should use his authority and persuasion to effect this
happy result. Now he must think of how best to lay his case before the
prelate, and as he sat in the sala, staring at the high armoried canopy
which indicated that this was a princely house, he pondered whether
to begin his appeal in a strain of noble, reckless passion such, as
would touch an ordinary man of the world, or, more appropriately,
in one of gentle humility. The latter seemed more advisable on the
whole, and he began to rehearse an opening declaration of modesty and
single-heartedness--in all of which, despite his sense of dramatic
fitness, the good fellow would have claimed no more than his due, when
Giannella turned to him with a little remark. He looked into her sweet,
intelligent face and all apprehension left him. He felt that he had
but to remember it and the right words would be given to him. Oh, that
he could show her to the great man whose interest he wished to arouse.
There would be small need for his own pleading after that. Who would
not be glad to serve her?
Then Domenico appeared, to conduct Rinaldo to the Cardinal. He told the
women that the doctor was with the Signor Professore; would they wait a
little and he would find out whether they could see him afterwards?