It was the first Sunday in October, the jewel day of the Roman year.
Tiny clouds, mere flecks of transparent silver, chased each other
across the pale sapphire of the sky; a delicate breeze was dancing up
from the sea; the campagna looked like a mantle of gold fretted at
the rim with a crest of melting amethyst, where the Albans and the
Sabines, Soracte and the Cimmerian hills, lifted their strong yet
tender outlines to round the horizon in. The swallows, dainty sybarites
who take their pleasures seriously, were marshaling their airy forces
for migration, the wise old veterans, who have made the journey for
many an autumn, teaching the neophytes the secret of long flight,
shepherding them into their places in the V-shaped squadrons where the
strongest winged of the silver-breasted patriarchs cleaves the air like
a sentient arrow head, taking advantage of every current that sets in
the chosen direction, sailing gently on with it where it helps, and
the flock may sweep forward without a stroke, yet rising with instant
decision at the precise distance from the ground where flight would
lose its impetus. Perfect mathematicians, tracing their angles on
viewless maps--wary old commanders husbanding their followers' strength
to the last moment, seconded by a score of experienced officers who
accompany and follow the flock, herd in the would-be stragglers,
scold the lazy, encourage the weak, place the youngest of all in the
center of the battalion so that the encounter with a contrary breeze
may be broken for them and the untried wings helped by the fanning
of stronger pinions behind--who that has watched the mobilizing of
the swallows' army during the three weeks of the autumn, when the
Staff consults on the housetops and sends its drill sergeants out to
teach the recruits their business and train them into condition for
miracles of enduring flight--who that has watched this would ever dare
to arrogate the splendors of intelligence to mankind alone? Were one
race on this earth as dutiful to racial obligations, as perfect in
obedience, in endurance, in family discipline and military instinct as
the swallow--that race would rule the world.
"Rondinella, pellegrina," Giannella murmured as she watched the
swallows from her workroom window on that Sunday morning, "I envy you
no longer. Fra Tommaso's pigeons are happier than you. One abiding home
for them, one home for me. And God grant I may never have to leave it.
Si, Mariuccia, I am ready."
Yes, she was ready for her marriage. Robed in silk of the October
heaven's own blue even as Rinaldo had dreamed of her, with a white
veil over the golden hair that had so long been shaded by the black,
a little string of pearls round her soft neck, white prayer-book and
white rosary in the still whiter hands--a flush of gay carnation on
the cheek, the happiness of morning in her innocent eyes--Giannella
was ready for her marriage. The dark days were over; the sentinels of
sorrow and privation that had so long guarded her narrow path had shed
their somber armor now, and stood revealed, bright spirits of love and
trust, bidding her pass forward to the sunny glades beyond.
As Mariuccia entered, Giannella came and kissed her old friend tenderly
and then stood back to admire her splendid appearance. The treasured
costume had come out of the goatskin trunk at last; here was the full
skirt of flowered silk, the scarlet corselet and sleeves, the gold
trimmings, the lace shawl and apron--creamy with the kiss of Time. But
Time seemed to have forgiven Mariuccia a score of years this morning;
the erect old figure was almost supple in its buoyancy, there was
color in her cheeks, a sparkle in her eyes, her head was held high, as
if to show off the fine fat pearls dangling from her ears. Her bosom
heaved with pride under a long heavy string of new red coral--and her
shoes creaked excruciatingly as she moved, for in the triumph of her
heart she had commanded that brigand of a shoemaker to put a double
"scrocchio" into each solid hole. Cipicchia! If people turned their
heads to look at her to-day, all the better for them!
Giannella's admiration found no time for expression, for behind
Mariuccia appeared another figure, that of the Professor, solemnly
resplendent in full evening dress, white tie and white gloves. He
seemed happy too this October morning, and as he came forward to
present Giannella with an enormous bouquet of white camellias, his
eyes shone cheerfully behind a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles given to
him by Rinaldo and henceforth to be kept for great occasions. There
was nothing in his look or manner to suggest regrets, and if he had
had to struggle with depression and remorse, he had evidently bested
his enemies and turned them into peaceful denizens of the house of
his soul. The Cardinal, on the plausible pretext of Signor Bianchi's
illness, had himself seen to the transfer of Giannella's property into
her own keeping; and since the hour he had bidden his friend good-night
in the summer dusk, no word or look of those around him had reminded
the Professor of his fault. De Sanctis had been gently put aside by
the prelate when he offered to draw up the marriage contract. "No,
Guglielmo mio," said Carlo Bianchi's friend, "we will employ someone
else. You are too intimate with all the parties. You might have a
moment's distraction and neglect an important point. That would never
do."
The young lawyer was nettled. "The Eminenza is afraid my sharp tongue
might disturb the general harmony," he ventured to remark. "But have I
not promised silence as to all inconvenient facts? Surely I might be
trusted to keep my word."
"Yes," the Cardinal said, "your tongue would keep silence, I am
assured. But all the good will in the world will not banish that little
demon of malice and mockery from your glance and tone. So we will not
expose you to temptation. When all is over, the demon will find no fun
in making trouble, and then, if you wish, you can cultivate intimacy
with the Signor Professore and the Goffis. Just now, my son, it is
better for you to keep away from them."
So Bianchi had enjoyed a short space of carefully-guarded convalescence
for body and mind. When he was able to leave his room he had had an
ecstatic hour over the Greek head, which was temporarily reposing on a
velvet cushion in the Cardinal's study. It was quite as beautiful as he
had thought when he found it in the wet darkness of the crypt, and he
had drawn much soothing and peace of spirit from the preparation of an
article on it, which _The Archæological Review_ would carry to lovers
of art all over the world. Yet he had not forgotten Paolo Cestaldini's
little sermon on reparation, and various pretty gifts from him had been
sent to the appartamentino on the roof where the sposini were to begin
life together.
Now he was to take the bride to the church, and it was with much
stateliness that he offered her his arm and led her through the dark
passage, through the green door which she had so often run to open
for him, and down into the courtyard, where the carriage was waiting
for them. Mariuccia, after taking one look at the fire and another at
the collation on the dining-room table, hurried after them, thrusting
the heavy doorkey into the long-unused pocket of the best dress. She
laughed as she felt some hard objects there and discovered them to be
pellicles of pitted sugar. "Confetti! They must have lain there since
Stefano's marriage, more than thirty years ago. Mamma mia, we do grow
old!"
As the little party ascended the steps of the San Severino, Giannella
trembling a little and looking indeed as lovely as the "youngest
Madonna," Mariuccia pulled three large silver pieces from the corner of
her new pocket handkerchief and presented them to the expectant beggars.
The habitués of the porch were fewer by two than in the old days; the
parish epileptic had died suddenly and happily on the altar steps while
attending Mass; the footless baby had grown--not up, but big, and he
pattered about in great contentment on padded hands and knees; it was
understood that he had pensioned off his shiftless parent and had a
nice little home of his own. The blind man was truly blind now, and
the privileged cripple by the door was absent on rainy days, owing to
rheumatism, but on a fine Sunday morning he still raised the leather
curtain with his old grace. The blessings that followed the bride and
her companions were loud and long, and the many churchgoers, hurrying
to Mass before rushing out to the country for the day, stood smilingly
aside to let the wedding party pass in.
Just within the doorway the bridegroom was waiting with a company
of his friends, all in evening dress and wearing flowers in their
buttonholes. Peppino, bubbling over with whispered fun, was trying to
calm Rinaldo, who, between discomfort in the unaccustomed costume,
tight white gloves which would not fasten properly, and doubt as to
which of his pockets contained the ring and which the gold and silver
coins he must produce when the priest should bid him endow Giannella
with all his worldly goods, had worked himself up to a condition allied
to frenzy. The sight of Giannella restored him to some command of
himself, and by the time they were kneeling together before the altar
of the Addolorata he could forget earthly preoccupations, listen to
the padre's exhortations on the duties of the married state, and pray
with true and humble faith never to fail in love and honor to his dear
beautiful bride.
They came out when it was all over with the happiest light on their
faces, and though their hearts were only conscious of each other they
paused to return the kind wishes of their friends. Among these was Fra
Tommaso, beaming with satisfied benevolence. Rinaldo drew him aside and
slipped a gold piece into his hand. "Fra Tommaso mio," he said, with
some show of contrition, "I have a sad confidence to make to you, and
since this is a festal day, please promise me your pardon."
"You do not look very sorry about it, signorino," replied the old
man. "What are you giving me gold for. Here, take it back. You owe me
nothing."
"Oh yes, I do," said Rinaldo. "I have several times occupied your
loggia and paid nothing for it."
"My loggia?" exclaimed the sacristan, "how could you have done that?"
"I got there--from mine," was the reply, "and when I found that I
could see from there into my fidanzata's window, well, I came again.
I even spoke to her from there. Was not that a dreadful sin? But you
must forgive me, and I will give you another beautiful pigeon, my
Themistocles, who sometimes consented to carry a bit of a love letter.
You will not give him that exercise, and he will grow fat and rejoice
your heart with his funny tricks."
"Themistocles? He wear a silver collar? He carried your love letters
to the Biondina? Oh, God be praised. You have lifted a weight from my
soul." And Fra Tommaso clasped his hands and raised thankful eyes to
heaven.
"What do you mean? Explain!" cried Rinaldo, puzzled beyond expression.
"No," said Fra Tommaso, "I shall not tell you. But you cost me my
dinner one day, O assassin, and many tears. Bad boy," and he laughed
happily, "I will keep the money now and spend it in Masses for the Holy
Souls whom I have teased with most unnecessary prayers. There run along
to your sposina, and do not send me that evil bird--he would finish in
my soup."
Peppino was beckoning and Rinaldo, hurried away, leaving the problem
unsolved. In five minutes he had forgotten all about it, for the
Cardinal had sent the chaplain down to say that he wished to see the
sposini and give them his blessing. The bridegroom's supporters paused
on the threshold of the prelate's apartment, but the chaplain drove
them all in and the Cardinal, after greeting Rinaldo and Giannella,
had a cheery word for everyone, and especially for Peppino, whom he
had not had a chance to thank for his share in the memorable rescue,
and whose bright face and roguish smile delighted his heart. For his
friend Bianchi he had the warmest of welcomes, a little allusion to
their common interests, a remark about their last interview, to show
all concerned, in the most delicate way, that the Professor was still
his honored friend.
Then he had some gifts to distribute; for "Botti's Mariuccia" a rosary
blessed by the Pope and a sprig of olive from Gethsemane, gifts which
he knew would be most precious to the unlearned, faithful heart, and
she wept for joy on receiving them and on finding that her feudal lord
remembered her name. When the chaplain began to lead the visitors away
to refresh them with coffee and sweetmeats, the Cardinal called Rinaldo
and Giannella to his side. Opening a drawer in the table, he took out a
small case and gave it to Giannella, saying that his sister had sent it
for her, with all good wishes for her happiness. Within lay a beautiful
miniature of Guido Reni's Addolorata and a few words in the Princess's
own handwriting, pious felicitations, through which glowed something
quite warm and kindly, and the request with which Teresa Santafede's
epistles always closed, "Pray for me."
Giannella was touched and delighted. Only one good friend had been
silent on this happy day, dear Signora Dati "of good memery," but
Giannella had sent her a little message when she said her prayers that
morning. Now, now that all was duly done and ended, her thoughts found
answer in Rinaldo's eyes. "Andiamoci? Shall we go together, we two who
are one, shall we go into our garden of happiness?"
Ah, there were a few things to be seen to first. Mariuccia's collation
had to be enjoyed. The Professor, charmed with the new sensation of
playing host to a gay young party, proposed healths; Sora Amalia,
mindful of future patronage, climbed the stairs with an armful of
flowers and a basket of fresh eggs, and was brought in and made to take
part in the feast. Then Peppino, by some magic, produced Rinaldo's
new morning suit and effected for him a grateful transformation in
the Professor's bedroom. Giannella's finery was covered with a crape
shawl, for it would be bad luck for a bride to change her dress before
she left her old home. Then the two were seen downstairs by all the
boys, and packed into the carriage waiting to take them to Albano for
a week's honeymoon, which was to include the joy of a visit to Mamma
Candida and the ever-dear Teresina and Annetta.
"Madonna mia," exclaimed Giannella as the carriage passed out of the
portone and Rinaldo, curiously shy now, drew her hand into his, "who
can support so much happiness?"
Don Onorato, who had learned trouble and wisdom in the last three
years, saw them pass. The story had all been told him by the maestro di
casa. "Beati loro!" he sighed, "I am glad that poor little girl has had
some good luck at last. I wonder if happiness will ever climb the grand
staircase?"
On the fourth landing of the third staircase the door was still open.
Mariuccia listened till the last young footstep had died away, then
she turned back into the passage and found herself face to face with
the Professor. He looked at her sadly. "Well, Mariuccia," he said, "I
suppose you will want to go over to the appartamentino at once, so as
to have all things ready when the sposini come back? Of course, there
is much to do--I quite understand, and doubtless that young woman you
have engaged for me will be satisfactory. Still--if you could wait--for
a day or two longer--" He looked at her wistfully.
Mariuccia laughed, but the laugh was a little shaky, "A day or two
longer?" she repeated, as she untied her lace apron and began to fold
it up. "Another twenty years, if God wills. Did you think I was going
to leave this quiet house and that noble kitchen to have my head
worried off my shoulders by two children who will laugh and chatter all
day and never remember the hours of their meals till they are hungry?
No, no, padroncino mio. The young woman is for them, she will laugh and
chatter with them--youth with youth. There will be three babies--till
the Madonna sends them a fourth. As for you and me, we stay together.
Do you figure to yourself that I would trust you, and your linen, and
your digestion--to a stranger? Dove mai? What an idea! Come take off
those beautiful clothes that I may put them away. Your others are all
ready on the bed in there. You will not want any dinner now, after all
those 'gingilli' and sweet wines--but this evening you shall have--let
me see--a fritto dorato--but of those! Eh, padroncino mio? It will be
like old times, just you and me!"
THE END