Rinaldo learned from the servant in the hall that the women had left
the palazzo in haste, saying something about going to San Severino.
So he hurried thither by the tortuous side ways whence the water was
already draining rapidly. Meanwhile Mariuccia was standing in the
archway leading to the chapel of the Bona Mors, in excited colloquy
with Fra Tommaso. When the old sacristan understood the facts his face
beamed with satisfaction. Mariuccia's was not less radiant, though it
showed that she was still deeply impressed by the recent revelations.
To her the whole thing was a two-fold wonder--her Giannella's good
fortune, and a visible answer to her many prayers; also the vindication
of her sorely-tried belief in the rich relations "over there" whom
she had materialized for Giannella so many years ago out of her own
sense of the fitness of things. "Oh, Fra Tommaso mio," she cried,
"how I thank you for your good prayers. Surely you have obtained this
great happiness for me that Giannella does not go to her husband's
people like a beggar! My brother's daughters, even, brought enough to
be well received by their mothers-in-law--to be able to hold up their
heads on Sundays with the rest, and she, poor little thing, she was to
be married 'cola camicia,' without a sheet or a towel, or a pair of
earrings! No, the Madonna knew that it would break my heart. She has
spared me this shame. Giannella can show cupboards full of linen when
the rich mamma from Orbetello comes to poke her nose about in the young
people's house; she can make presents to the sisters of her husband, we
can send the confetti in beautiful gilt boxes! Quick, give me two of
your biggest candles. I have the money here for them--and light them
for me on the altar of the Addolorata."
Fra Tommaso spread out his hands in deprecation. "Never mind about
paying for these candles, commara. I will gladly make you a present of
them, for I rejoice in your felicity. Did I not always tell you that
all would happen as you wished? The Biondina has grown up an angel--the
relations were there all the time, they have proved rich, and have
died in good dispositions, for all of which virtues may God reward
them and rest their souls. And here is the good, handsome young man
whom you had figured to yourself for Giannella's husband! Signorino,
my most respectful felicitations and good wishes to you and the young
lady." This last to Rinaldo, who at that moment arrived upon the scene.
He had caught a few words of the rhapsody, but they conveyed little
to him. Old people like Fra Tommaso could not speak without certain
extravagances of voice and gesture; they only meant that he was feeling
well and that his heart was even fuller than usual of sympathy with his
kind. Mariuccia had apparently announced the intended marriage, and the
good wishes of course referred to that. "I thank you, Fra Tommaso," he
answered, smiling at the sacristan's enthusiasm. "I am very much to be
congratulated, and I am flattered to know that you think my betrothed
is in the same good case. I hope you will soon ring the bells for a
fine wedding Mass. But," he turned to Mariuccia, "where is Giannella?
And why did you two run away so suddenly? I was just coming to see you
safely home."
"Go and ask Giannella," Mariuccia replied triumphantly. "Let her tell
you what sent us here in such a hurry. We did not get so very wet
either." She turned up her foot to take a look at the sole of her boot.
"She is in the chapel inside there, the usual place."
Rinaldo found Giannella kneeling as she had knelt on that first
morning, her face hidden in her hands, the white rosary slipping
through her fingers. He stood beside her, and this time she raised her
head and looked up into his face. Her own was very calm and radiant.
She slid her hand into his and motioned to him to kneel beside her.
"God has been good to us," she whispered. "Finish the rosary with me,
and then I will tell you what has happened."
An hour or two later the three were sitting at the round table in the
Professor's dining-room. Mariuccia had hastily got together a simple
feast, and the board was decorated by a great bunch of flowers pressed
upon her by Fra Tommaso, who had snipped off many a cherished carnation
and oleander blossom to send a "bel bocché" to the Biondina.
Rinaldo had been told the story and was frankly delighted. "Not for
myself," he protested; "as for me, I am indifferentissimo about riches.
I had satisfied myself that Giannella could never want for anything,
not even for the drive on Sundays, the theater once a fortnight, and
the three week's villeggiatura in September, all of which are a wife's
due. All this I could have provided easily, and I give you my word as a
galantuómo that neither my family nor my friends should ever have known
that Giannella had no dowry. The linen we would have bought little
by little, and she should have embroidered it all in her maiden name
as is proper; so that when everything was ready, and we ask my good
mamma and the girls to come and see us, they would have beheld that
they must treat her with all respect. They are disinterested; yes, we
have never disquieted ourselves about money in my family, but certain
things are expected, as you know, and I should not have wished them to
be wanting. Nevertheless, this good fortune will bring a great increase
of happiness. Giannella can have many more pleasures, and there will
never be any anxieties. I shall continue to work perseveringly--we will
live in peace and much comfort; and all the money we do not spend we
will put aside for the education of our sons and the doweries of our
daughters. Mariuccia must live with us and grow fat--better late than
never, Sora Mariuccia mia! And we shall be the happiest family in Rome!"
"And we will have the padrone--I mean the Signor Professore, to dinner
every Sunday," said Giannella, who had been listening breathlessly to
Rinaldo's description of the enchanting future; "poor man, he will be
so lonely without us two women."
Rinaldo made a wry face. "I think I could do without the Signor
Professore," he ventured to say. "Without rancor, I must confess that
the part he has played in all this is most inexplicable, if he is at
all an honest man, which (Mariuccia, you must forgive me) I sadly
doubt. In fact I suspect--"
But Giannella laid her fingers on his lips. "You suspect nothing,
Rinaldo mio. Are you rude enough to say that I am so ugly and so stupid
that he could not fall in love with me--properly in love? Can you doubt
that his affection prompted him to arrange a charming little surprise
for me when I should come of age? Incredulous one, that is the evident
truth, and to controvert known truth is mortal sin."
"It requires a robust act of faith to accept your definition, my
angel," said Rinaldo, "but I suppose I must. Behold a new dogma!
Signor Carlo Bianchi is a disinterested old fellow with a singularly
susceptible heart. Fiat! Rome--that is to say, Giannella has spoken.
Doubt becomes transgression. I doubt no more."
"Amen," came in Mariuccia's deepest tones from across the table,
where she has paused in splitting a fresh fig to listen frowningly
to Rinaldo's arraignment of the padrone's conduct. Now she smiled
contentedly at her two light-hearted children, finished her fig to the
last drop of honey, and dipped her fingers in the glass water bowl
which is never wanting on the poorest Roman table. "Come, bambini,"
she said, "we will drink his health. May my poor little padroncino
recover immediately and come back to his own home."
The three glasses were raised whole-heartedly; when they were set down,
it was evident that Charity had once more closed her eyes to find her
way.
* * * * * * *
As the day wore to its close, the half-drowned city seemed to raise
its head and, turning from the muddy deposits at its feet, to look up
at the clear new blue of the sky with deep thankfulness that the long,
depressing scirocco was over; that, although September was still to
come, the heat of the summer was broken and the ever-desired autumn
near at hand. A fresh breeze, with a touch of tramontana in it, was
blowing down over Soracte and the Cimmerian hills, and fretted with
crisp wavelets the stretches of yellow water which still trespassed on
Ripetta and the neighboring streets. On roof-garden and window-ledge
little lemon-trees and verbena bushes spread green arms to the tempered
sunshine, to the cool wind; swallows sailed joyously in ever-rising
circles, their white breasts flashing like silver shields as they
turned to the low sun, their shrill cries filling the air with sharp,
clear sound. Far away, behind Saint Peter's, the sky was streaked into
long level bars of gold and rose and crysophrase, bars where feathery
cloudlets caught and hung like notes of floating flame--the score of
some symphony played by the seraphs very far away.
The sunset light shone softly into the windows of a bedroom in Palazzo
Cestaldini, and illuminated two faces, that of a sick sinner and his
friend. The Professor looked more gaunt and pale than ever sitting
up against his pillows in the spotless, ascetic little room. The
doctor had confided to the chaplain that the sick man appeared to have
something on his mind--could the Eminenza perhaps exercise the kind
condescension of paying him a visit? The Eminenza who had only been
waiting for the medico's permission, glided in a few moments later,
dismissed his attendant, and drew a chair to the bedside.
Bianchi, sufficiently recovered to be grateful for this honor, began to
express his regret for having caused so much trouble in the illustrious
household, but the Cardinal forbade him to waste his strength in
unnecessary words, and in the most natural way made it appear that all
the honor and all the regrets were his. The Professor was to understand
that the master of the house and everyone else connected with the
recent events would never cease to reproach themselves for their part
in the catastrophe, and all that the Cardinal personally desired was an
opportunity to make some reparation. Was there not something he could
do for his good friend, some matter of business, great or small, which
might suffer by delay, and which the Professor could comfort his host's
heart by permitting him to attend to for him? In a life all devoted to
study, little things were apt to escape one, as he knew too well by
personal experience; he himself, he declared, was the most forgetful
of men, and during his recent indisposition, when he was lying awake
with fever, several neglected details had come back to him with painful
but wholesome persistence. He said that he had thus been led to make up
his mind to clear them off once for all; indeed to put all his personal
affairs into such good order and safe hands, that, if a real illness
came, and Heaven pleased to call him away, his poor soul should have no
distractions on the journey. That was sure to be a serious expedition
in any case, and one did not want to be weighed down with unportable
baggage!
The suave voice ran on, with the echo of gentle laughter here and
there; the wise, untroubled eyes seemed to see all the sick man's inner
perturbations, and smiled their promise of comradeship and help; and,
as the words ceased, the brotherly hand laid itself on the Professor's
hot fingers with a strong, beneficent clasp that seemed to say, "If
temptation still lingers near, we will overcome it together."
The sick man gazed at his comforter in ever-increasing wonder. Was it
true, then, that very holy persons could see into the minds of others;
needed no words to tell them what was passing there? Ah no, he was
growing fanciful; the Cardinal was no doubt talking academically, in
amiable generalities, like any polished man of the world. How could he
dream of the specters of fear and remorse which had crowded round Carlo
Bianchi in that horrible, submerged crypt? Before the final collapse
had robbed him of consciousness, every dream of the past three months
had been renounced, with vows, on condition of being brought out
alive, had been renounced again, with frenzied persistence, when death
loomed near and rescue failed. No allurement on earth should tempt
him to go back on his promises, to find himself in corporal peril and
mortal sin again at one and the same time. He had pondered how to begin
a confidence which was necessary to the instant clearing up of his
account towards Giannella, for he needed help, and there was no one,
except his host, whom he could entrust with a delicate commission.
"How well your Eminence understands a scholar's mind," he said at last.
"How true it is that Science, like Sara, is a jealous mistress, and
will have the house to herself. Poor earthly matters are turned out,
homeless Hagars and Ishmaels, to take their chance, uncared for and
forgotten."
The Cardinal looked amused. It was funny to have Scripture quoted at
him by a layman. The Professor continued more gravely, "Since your
Eminence is so very kind, there is a small matter which occurred to me
as I was lying here. But I hesitate to trouble you with such trifles."
"Nothing which can conduce to your comfort is a trifle, my dear
friend," the Cardinal replied, "and it would rejoice me to have to
take any trouble for you, but I fear you will not favor me so greatly.
Is the matter connected with your household? Your servant and the
Signorina Brockmann were here this morning, inquiring anxiously for
your respected health. The doctor satisfied them on that point, but
would not permit you to be disturbed."
"I am very much obliged to him," exclaimed Bianchi. "I mean, I should
prefer to see them later--when this little affair is regulated. The
truth is--it had passed from my mind--but there is some money," he
brought out the word with a half-impenitent sigh, "and also papers,
which should have been put into Giannella's hands in a week or
two--when she comes of age. Perhaps, considering all things, she had
better take them over--and--have the business explained to her now. It
will save time--and--would it be possible for your Eminence to send
a person of confidence to my apartment, with this key?" He fumbled
nervously under his pillow, where Domenico had bestowed the contents of
his pockets the night before, and drew out a rusty key. "The secretary
by the window, in my study--second shelf on the left hand--a parcel
tied up with a red string. If I could have it brought to me? But I am
ashamed of giving so much trouble."
"My chaplain will fetch it himself, at once," the Cardinal assured him;
"he is most careful and trustworthy. If you will kindly touch that bell
at your side?"
The summons was quickly answered and Don Ignazio received his orders
and departed to carry them out. "And now, amico," said the Cardinal,
leaning back in his chair, and folding his fingers tip to tip
while he looked into the Professor's face with a pleasant light of
satisfaction on his own, "if you are not too tired to bear a little
more conversation, I have a story to tell you, a love story. Figure to
yourself how badly I shall tell it. But it concerns two good young
people, your Giannella and a very respectable young man. And though
love stories are nearly as far from your province as from mine, I think
this one will interest you. Shall I go on?"
The Professor turned a shade paler and his face twitched slightly, but
he begged the Eminenza to proceed.
So the Cardinal, in few and direct words, gave him the history of the
little romance, described Goffi's circumstances and the disinterested
affection which he appeared to entertain for the girl, ignored
altogether the fact of the Professor's own intentions regarding her,
and the support so cunningly obtained thereto from the Princess, and
wound up by drawing an alluring picture of Giannella's old protector
and friend received as the honored and beloved guest in the cheerful
household, where, as age approached, he would find that atmosphere
of intimacy and affection which he had never had time to create for
himself. There would be young voices, fresh interests, little children
to take on his knee, the home, in fact, for which the Italian has no
name and has never needed one but which he understands and cherishes
with reverent care. The Churchman, who had put all family joys aside to
follow the strict counsels of perfection, described these things with
such tenderness and charm that some secret chord in his hearer's heart
was touched. Bianchi turned away his face, but put out his hand timidly
in search of his friend's. The mute appeal was instantly met, and this
time the Professor's fingers clung almost convulsively to those of
Paolo Cestaldini, who laid his other hand over them and sat thus for
awhile, letting the little spring of long-foregone emotion have its way
in silence in the other's heart.
At last Bianchi spoke, low and huskily. "Eminenza, there was a young
man once, who put his youth behind him, not as you did, for the love of
God, but for ambition, desire of distinction, the saving of money, for
leisure to study, study, study, undisturbed by the claims of the heart,
of the family. And those things which were meant to be his servants
became his masters, and used his strength, his eyesight, his very life,
and gave him uncertain payments, sometimes generous, sometimes cruel
and bitter. But the years had passed and there was nothing else. And he
cheated himself into believing that he desired nothing else. But he was
always a little hungry, in his soul, for Religion, finding he did not
need her, had left him to himself. Then, when he was growing old, came
two temptations, a young girl in whom he began to take pleasure and
comfort, and money, which had always appeared to him a very desirable
thing. A little silence, a little harmless deception--and both, he
thought could be his. So he snatched at them--and fell, in intention
he fell, almost in deed." Here Bianchi turned his head and gazed at
the Cardinal very sadly through his spectacles. "Eminenza, how can he
regain his self-respect? How can he come and go in such a home as you
describe, when, but for a terrible and sudden warning, he would have
stolen the girl, and her fortune too, for his own solitary impoverished
self? Dove mai? Poveraccio, he can never look her or her husband in the
face--and they can never see him without remembering and detesting his
disloyalty."
"If I knew that man of whom you speak," the Cardinal replied gravely,
"I would say to him, 'Amico mio, even for sins of intention some
chastisement is due, and perhaps you might put what you call the loss
of self-respect against that account, though in truth the loss you
deplore seems more like the loss of self-confidence. That, to poor
human nature, is like cutting off the finest branch of the tree, but
on the scar may be grafted two sweet and healing fruits, humanity and
vigilance. But for this shock who knows but that self-confidence might
have led you even more helplessly astray in time to come? Therefore,
friend, you are not poorer, but richer, by the deprivation.' And as
for the other point, that of how the persons concerned may regard
him, I would tell that man that very happy people have no time to
remember and detest. There is no room for resentment in hearts that
are full of joy and affection. A kind word, a pleasant look, a little
service rendered--and these good souls say to themselves, 'Behold,
it was all a mistake! How stupid we were to think he wished us ill.
Why, here is a good true friend--how could we ever have believed
him an enemy?' And should the poor man feel the need of making some
reparation, how many opportunities he will have of showing kindness,
of giving wise advice, of reconciling those small differences which
must arise from time to time even in the most united families! If he
ever really meditated an injury, he will convert it into a thousand
benefits which the recipients will bless him for, never dreaming that
he owes them anything, that he is paying them a debt. Oh, Professor
mio, only a priest knows what miracles of kindness and self-sacrifice
self-accusation can bring forth. Blessed are those who weep over their
own faults! Their tears are turned to sunshine for others ere they
fall."
The sun had long set, the swift night had darkened the room, and the
Cardinal could not see his friend's face. His good-night blessing
was answered in an almost inaudible whisper, but, as he passed out,
something like a sob fell on his ear. The Professor's heart had come to
life at last.