"PAZIENZA."
"We may not make this world a paradise
By walking it together, hand in hand,
With eyes that meeting feed a double strength.
We must be only joined by pains divine
Of spirits blent in mutual memories."
_Spanish Gipsy._
Captain Britton had seldom felt more ill at ease than when he walked
that morning up to the door of the Villa Bruno. A sallow, wrinkled
old servant, with a gay, scarlet neckerchief, was polishing the
door-handle; she nodded to him cheerfully as he approached.
"Good-morning to you, signor; walk in. You'll find the master in the
_salotto_."
She made no sign of leaving her door-handle and duster, and indeed
the Captain had long ago asked leave to walk into his neighbor's
house without ceremony, and the Signora Donati and Carlo, though
disliking his unheralded intrusion, had been far too courteous to
return a negative to the tactless request. He crossed the vestibule
and was about to enter the _salotto_ when a sound of voices within
made him pause, hesitate a moment, and then go instead into an
adjoining room.
He had recognized the voice of Guido Donati, and guessed correctly
that the uncle had driven over in hot haste from Naples on learning
his nephew's startling plan. That he was exceedingly annoyed could
be gathered from the tone of his voice and from the vehement and
extraordinarily rapid utterance, which reminded the Captain of
Carlo's tirade on the preceding night. At last the violent harangue
came to an end, and Carlo's voice was heard; it was low but distinct,
and the Captain could not avoid hearing the words--
"I am sorry to vex you, uncle, but my mind is made up."
"_Madonna Santissima!_ it is made up, is it?" said the other,
furiously. "Then mine, too, is made up; and I am sorry to vex you,
but not a penny of mine shall you ever inherit. Do you understand?"
There was a silence, but Captain Britton could well imagine the
expressive gesture which Carlo would make.
"_Diavolo_!" cried the uncle. "You take it calmly. You think you
will live comfortably enough on that voice of yours, and laugh at the
rich old uncle. You will tell a different tale a few years hence, my
fine fellow, when you have a wife and children to support!"
"I shall never marry," said Carlo, speaking more shortly than the
Captain had ever before heard an Italian speak.
"What?" cried Uncle Guido. "Then you have thrown over your betrothal
for this mad scheme? An apoplexy on you! I'll have no more to do
with such a fool;" and with that he strode out of the room.
The Captain only waited till he was sure the angry man had really
gone, and then he knocked at the door of the _salotto_. Nothing but
a conscientious sense of duty could have induced him to face at that
moment his guest of the previous evening; but there was a certain
rugged loyalty about Francesca's father, and he walked sturdily into
the room, bracing himself up to make the necessary apology. Carlo
was standing at the side window, the sunlight fell full upon him, and
revealed to the Captain a very different face to the one which had
haunted him through the night--a face worn with suffering, but strong
and resolute, spite of its haggard look.
"I beg your pardon for intruding, but the servant told me to come
in," began the Captain, approaching him.
Carlo turned with an inarticulate exclamation, the blood rushed to
his face, and a look of distress dawned in his eyes; he was tired out
with all he had been through, and felt wholly unequal to another
stormy discussion.
But he welcomed his visitor with native ceremoniousness, betraying
only by additional courtesy any remembrance of the quarrel. The
Captain remembered the letter of the morning, and all his kindly
feelings returned to him, as he said heartily--
"Carlo, I have come to apologize for the words which escaped me
yesterday. I regret them more than I can tell you. You had every
excuse for your anger."
Carlo grasped his hand. "No, no," he said, quickly, "I was very much
to blame. I am glad, sir--it is a great relief to me--that last
night was not our parting. I am grateful to you for coming here
to-day."
"I must also apologize for having inadvertently overheard some of
your uncle's words," said the captain, who felt very uncomfortable
when he remembered his involuntary eavesdropping.
"I knew Uncle Guido would be very much against this plan," said
Carlo; and as he spoke he threw himself wearily into a chair facing
Captain Britton's.
The Captain was struck by the look of extreme physical exhaustion
both in the face and the attitude; he began to realize the difference
between his own physique and that of the Italian, and faintly to
understand that Carlo had a greater capacity for feeling pain than he
had himself.
"Did you realize that this scheme of yours--this scheme which I still
most strongly disapprove--would cost you so dear?" he asked abruptly.
"Did you think your uncle would have disinherited you?"
"I didn't think about the money at all," said Carlo; "but I knew he
would be annoyed."
"But does this make no change in your feeling? Are you willing to
lose every single thing you possess, and even to forfeit the respect
of your friends for the sake of this plan?"
"Yes," he said simply; "I am willing, sir."
When he had spoken he let his head drop wearily on to his hand; he
was calm with the calm of blank bereavement, for like the princess in
the poem, he had found that
"Not to fear because all is taken
Is the loneliest depth of human pain."
The Captain sighed. He was not angry now, only very much annoyed at
the impossibility of inducing one bereft of common-sense to see
reason.
"You make light of the loss of income," he said at length; "but how
will you fare supposing you fall ill?"
Carlo looked up with an odd sort of a smile.
"Well, you will think me unpractical," he said; "but I have never
been ill in my life, and I had not considered that possibility.
However, my salary is a tolerably fair one for a novice, and if the
worst comes to the worst there are always the hospitals."
"Carlo," broke in the Captain, "I can't bear to think of one who has
led the life you have led going out into such a world. What would
your poor mother have said to it?"
Carlo's face lighted up as if the suggestion had given him some
unexpected comfort.
"At least our dead understand us," he said, fervently; "they know
that I am trying to keep my promise."
The Captain felt that his small stock of patience would not last much
longer, and Carlo, glancing at him, saw that their parting, though
peaceful, would be final; he knew intuitively that although the
Captain had taken back some of his harsh words, he still regarded him
as at any rate a self-deceived deceiver, a man who under the cloak of
duty veiled his craving for change and excitement, or, at best, as an
enthusiast who could but be despised for giving up solid realities
for foolish dreams. Their friendship was at an end; for, though love
is undying, friendship is quite a different thing, and there are
shocks which it will not survive.
"There is one other thing I wished to say," said Captain Britton,
rising, "and that is, that if you wish you may have one more
interview with Francesca."
Carlo caught eagerly at this boon, and the Captain suggested that he
should return with him to Casa Bella.
"Does she know of----" he hesitated how to put it, "of your decision?"
"I have not spoken to her about it, but I know she infers it," said
the Captain, rather coldly.
Carlo paced the room for a minute, struggling with his emotion; he
was not sure whether he had strength to meet Francesca and tell her
with his own lips that all was over between them.
"If you wish to see her we had better come at once," said the
Captain. "My brother is unexpectedly called back to England, and we
have much to see to to-day."
He was vexed that Donati did not show more gratitude for the
concession he had made, for he was a man who liked to be thanked, and
it had not been easy for him to retract what he had first said.
Something in his tone stung Carlo; he drew himself together.
"_Ebbene, signor_," he said gravely, forgetting his English, as he
often did when much moved, and recovering it with an effort. "If you
will permit it I will accompany you."
They walked away from the Villa Bruno in silence, Carlo thinking of
the Captain's words, "We have much to see to to-day." How calmly he
classed the supreme struggle of his life, the parting that was as
death to him, with the trivial household commotion caused by Mr.
Britton's journey.
But once back in his own house the Captain's kinder feelings
returned; he took Carlo to the Rose-room, then held out his hand
cordially.
"This had better be our final parting," he said, "I leave home on
Thursday. Good-bye, Carlo. Should you even now see fit to give up
this foolish scheme I should be quite willing to reconsider matters."
"My mind is made up, sir," said Carlo, turning sadly away.
"So it appears. Well, I will send Francesca to you."
He closed the door; and Carlo, with a choking feeling in his throat,
looked round the dear, familiar room, the very untidiness of which
breathed of Francesca. The "Dying Gladiator" for Clare reposed
perilously on a shaky pile of books; a kitten was worrying a ball of
red wool on the sofa; and the sock in process of knitting, and which
he knew had been intended for him, lay at a little distance on the
floor. He turned to the window, and looked out at his old friend
Vesuvius with its cloud of smoke, and at the glimpses of blue sea
visible here and there between the trees. Then, with an aching
consciousness that these were left to him, but that he should never
more stand in that little room, he turned and looked round it, as
though he wished to stamp forever on his mind all its girlish
decorations, all its familiar details. But the sound of footsteps
without roused him and dispelled his calm; the door opened, and
Francesca came quickly forward to greet him; she always entered a
room more quickly, yet more gracefully than other people, but now she
almost ran towards him, she wanted him not to notice her wan,
tear-stained face.
If, however, in one sense love is blind, in another it is
all-observant; in one glance he had read all, and in that glance
there came to him the sharpest of his suffering.
Stifling the sobs that rose in his throat he held her in a long,
close embrace, but to speak was impossible; and though there was
comfort and rapture in her presence, yet there was also anguish which
threatened to unman him. At length he put her gently from him, and
turned away that he might fight down his emotion. For a few minutes
there was silence, then he came and sat beside her on the sofa, and,
putting his arm round her, drew her head down on to his shoulder.
"_Carina_," he said, and the mellow baritone voice was firm, yet
terribly sad, "your father would not let me see you last night, but
to-day he allows me this one more meeting with you. He said he had
not spoken to you, but that you knew what had passed between us."
"Yes," she said, her tears raining down quietly, "I knew it must be
so when I heard you go."
They talked sometimes in English, sometimes in Italian, as had been
their custom ever since childhood.
"Darling," he said, tenderly, "I am bound to obey your father's
decree; there could be no right betrothal for us without his consent,
and so you stand free once more. You must try, _carina_, not to let
these three short weeks spoil your life; you will try, my own, my
darling, for it would break my heart if I thought I had ruined your
happiness."
"Love ought not to weaken us," she said tremulously, for in her heart
she felt that apart from Carlo she should be like a rudderless boat.
"These three weeks ought to give me courage for the rest."
There was indescribable sadness in the last two words.
"Ah, darling," cried Carlo, passionately, "don't speak of your
beautiful young life like that."
And then he was silent again. All the strength and ardor of their
mutual love seemed to rise up against the Captain's decree; if for
the present they were fain to obey it and to part, yet hopes for the
future would rise; perhaps each intuitively knew what was in the
other's heart, but no words passed between them; indeed, when Carlo
did speak it was almost as if he wished to reason away any brightness
which might hover over their future.
"You see, my darling," he said, "even should this immediate danger no
longer keep me from you, even if Nita no longer needed me, I shall
have cut myself off from you hopelessly,--we must face that. I shall
by that time, if I succeed at all, be to the world Donati the singer,
and your father would certainly not choose me for his son-in-law.
Then, again, Uncle Guido has disinherited me, so that if I give up
the stage I should be penniless and more or less unfitted for work as
an advocate."
"Has he indeed disinherited you? Oh, Carlino, what troubles you have
had! Don't let me be another, darling. See, I'll not cry any more;
we must think of what is still left us. The worst they can do to us
is to keep us apart; they can't kill our love, they can't check our
prayers for each other--the best part, the highest part no one can
meddle with."
He held her closely, murmuring tender Italian words of endearment;
and the clock on the mantel-piece ticked on inexorably, measuring all
too quickly the time which, when they were parted, would move with
leaden feet. Rosalind should surely have said "parting lovers"
rather than a "thief going to the gallows" when asked, "Who gallops
Time withal?" And still they lingered over the sweet, unwritable
talk till the clock relentlessly struck twelve, and roused them to
the recollection of the outer world.
Then Francesca drew off her engagement ring, and placed it in his
hand.
"There, Carlo," she said, steadily, "I give you back the ring and
your troth, and I will obey my father, and will neither hear from you
nor write to you; but more than that no woman can promise, for love
is not made and unmade to order."
Carlo put on the ring, which from a token of union had now become
changed to a token of separation. He was too heart-broken to speak,
and after a long pause it was Francesca who at length broke the
silence.
"Tell me a little more of the sort of life you shall live," she said,
gently.
So he told her all that he knew, which was little enough; how he
should live with the Merlinos, try to win his sister's love, study
hard for his profession, do his best to be a credit to Piale.
"And you?" he asked. "There will be new neighbors for you at Villa
Bruno, but it is hardly likely that it will be used by another
occupant except during the summer months."
"Ah! will it be let?" asked Francesca, her eyes filling. "Well, I
hope we shall not know the people who take it. For the rest,
darling, you can picture me as living the old life, going into Naples
on Sunday, teaching Sibyl, rowing with Florestano. But for this next
month we are to go for a cruise in the _Pilgrim_, and perhaps next
year I may go to England."
"You would like to be with Clare?"
"Yes; though I suppose father will not like me to tell her now of
these three weeks, and it will be hard that she should never know.
Carlo, why should not you go to see Clare when you are in England?"
He shook his head.
"She would disapprove too strongly of my change of professions," he
said; "and it is not a change that I can explain to all the world.
Then, too, she lives in your uncle's house, and, after what has
happened, he would hardly care to have me there."
"Uncle George likes you very much," said Francesca, quickly.
Carlo did not reply, but he thought differently. It was not then,
however, that he could care to discuss so trifling a matter; time was
passing, and he knew that Captain Britton must already be expecting
him to go. The thought broke down all his self-control; his calmness
gave place to a passionate outburst of love and grief, which recalled
to Francesca his sudden change in the belvedere when he had first
asked for her love.
She clung to him now as she had done then, but it was not of love and
present bliss which she spoke.
"Patience, Carlo _mio_; patience," she whispered. "It is, after all,
that which we need."
The word brought back to him the recollection of his dying father,
and calmed the tumult of feeling. He held her sweet face between his
hands, looked long into those pure eyes, and grew strong once more.
"_Pazienza!_" he murmured, clasping her again in his arms. "God have
you in His keeping."
* * * * *
At the gate of Casa Bella Mr. George Britton, much to his dismay,
chanced to encounter the owner of Villa Bruno, quite the last man he
would have chosen to meet. All that he could do was to assume that
nothing had happened, and to bid him a courteous farewell. He held
out his hand.
Carlo turned upon him a face which haunted the kindly Englishman for
many months to come. But, even in his anguish, he could not be
otherwise than courteous; a look of effort passed over his deathly
features, and
"With pale lips
That seemed to motion for a smile in vain,"
he said, as he bowed over the Englishman's hand, "_Buon viaggio,
signor! A rivederci!_"