SHOWING HOW DIFFICULT IT IS TO GET A LAUNDRESS, FOR THE SENATOR
WANTED ONE, AND NOT KNOWING THE LANGUAGE GOT INTO A SCRAPE, NOT BY
HIS OWN FAULT, FOR HE WAS CAREFUL ABOUT COMMITTING HIMSELF WITH THE
LADIES; BUT PRAY, WAS IT HIS FAULT IF THE LADIES WOULD TAKE A FANCY
TO HIM?
Signora Mirandolina Rocca, who was the landlady of the house where
the Club were lodging, was a widow, of about forty years of age, still
fresh and blooming, with a merry dark eye, and much animation of
features. Sitting usually in the small room which they passed on the
way to their apartments, they had to stop to get their keys, or to
leave them when they went out, and Buttons and Dick frequently stopped
to have a little conversation. The rest, not being able to speak
Italian, contented themselves with smiles; the Senator particularly,
who gave the most beaming of smiles both on going and on returning.
Sometimes he even tried to talk to her in his usual adaptation of
broken English, spoken in loud tones to the benighted but fascinating
foreigner. Her attention to Dick during his sickness increased the
Senator's admiration, and he thought her one of the best, one of the
most kind-hearted and sympathetic of beings.
One day, toward the close of their stay in Rome, the Senator was in
a fix. He had not had any washing done since he came to the city. He
had ran through all his clean linen, and came to a dead stand. Before
leaving for another place it was absolutely necessary to attend to
this. But how? Buttons was off with the Spaniards; Dick had gone out
on a drive. No one could help him, so he tried it himself. In fact,
he had never lost confidence in his powers of making himself
understood. It was still a fixed conviction of his that in cases of
necessity any intelligent man could make his wants known to
intelligent foreigners. If not, there is stupidity somewhere. Had he
not done so in Paris and in other places?
So he rang and managed to make the servant understand that he wished
to see the landlady. The landlady had always shown a great admiration
for the manly, not to say gigantic charms of the Senator. Upon him
she bestowed her brightest smile, and the quick flush on her face
and heaving breast told that the Senator had made wild work with her
too susceptible heart.
So now when she learned that the Senator wished to see her, she at
once imagined the cause to be any thing and every thing except the
real one. Why take that particular time, when all the rest were out?
she thought. Evidently for some tender purpose. Why send for her? Why
not come down to see her? Evidently because he did not like the
publicity of her room at the Conciergerie.
[Illustration: The Senator In A Bad Fix.]
She arrayed herself, therefore, in her brightest and her best
charms; gave an additional flourish to her dark hair that hung
wavingly and luxuriantly, and still without a trace of gray over
her forehead; looked at herself with her dark eyes in the glass to
see if she appeared to the best advantage; and finally, in some
agitation, but with great eagerness, she went to obey the summons.
Meantime the Senator had been deliberating how to begin. He felt that
he could not show his bundle of clothes to so fair and fine a creature
as this, whose manners were so soft and whose smile so pleasant. He
would do any thing first. He would try a roundabout way of making
known his wishes, trusting to his own powers and the intelligence of
the lady for a full and complete understanding. Just as he had come
to this conclusion there was a timid knock at the door.
"Come in," said the Senator, who began to feel a little awkward
already.
"_Epermesso_?" said a soft sweet voice, "_se puo entrare_?" and
Signora Mirandolina Rocca advanced into the room, giving one look at
the Senator, and then casting down her eyes.
"_Umilissia serva di Lei, Signore, mi commandi_."
But the Senator was in a quandary. What could he do? How begin?
What gesture would be the most fitting for a beginning?
The pause began to be embarrassing. The lady, however, as yet was
calm--calmer, in fact, than when she entered.
So she spoke once more.
"_Di che ha Ella bisogna, Illustris simo_?"
The Senator was dreadfully embarrassed. The lady was so fair in his
eyes. Was this a woman who could contemplate the fact of soiled
linen? Never.
"Ehem!" said he.
Then he paused.
"_Servo, devota_," said Signora Mirandolina. "_Che c'e, Signore_."
Then looking up, she saw the face of the Senator all rosy red,
turned toward her, with a strange confusion and embarrassment in his
eye, yet it was a kind eye--a soft, kind eye.
"_Egli e forse innamorato di me_," murmured the lady, gathering
new courage as she saw the timidity of the other. "_Che grandezza_!"
she continued, loud enough for the Senator to hear, yet speaking as
if to herself. "_Che bellezza_! _un galantuomo, certamente--e quest'
e molto piacevole_."
She glanced at the manly figure of the Senator with a tender
admiration in her eye which she could not repress, and which was so
intelligible to the Senator that he blushed more violently than ever,
and looked helplessly around him.
"_E innamorato di me, senza dubio_," said the Signora, "_vergogna non
vuol che si sapesse_."
The Senator at length found voice. Advancing toward the lady he
looked at her very earnestly and as she thought very piteously--held
out both his hands, then smiled, then spread his hands apart, then
nodded and smiled again, and said--
"Me--me--want--ha--hum--ah! You know--me--gentleman--hum--me
--Confound the luck," he added, in profound vexation.
"_Signore_," said Mirandolina, "_la di Lei gentelezza me confonde_."
The Senator turned his eyes all around, everywhere, in a desperate
half-conscious search for escape from an embarrassing situation.
"_Signore noi ci siamo sole, nessuno ci senti_," remarked the
Signora, encouragingly.
"Me want to tell you this!" burst forth the Senator. "Clothes--you
know--washy--washy." Whereupon he elevated his eyebrows, smiled,
and brought the tips of his fingers together.
"_Io non so che cosa vuol dir mi. Illustrissimo_," said the Signora,
in bewilderment.
"You--you--you know. Ah? Washy? Hey? No, no," shaking his head, "not
washy, but _get_ washy."
The landlady smiled. The Senator, encouraged by this, came a step
nearer.
"_Che cosa? Il cuor me palpita. Io tremo_," murmured La Rocca.
She retreated a step. Whereupon the Senator at once fell back again
in great confusion.
"Washy, washy," he repeated, mechanically, as his mind was utterly
vague and distrait.
"_Uassi-Uuassi_?" repeated the other, interrogatively.
"Me--"
"_Tu_" said she, with tender emphasis.
"Wee mounseer," said he, with utter desperation.
The Signora shook her head. "_Non capisco. Ma quelle, balordaggini ed
intormentimente, che sono si non segni manifesti d'amore_?"
"I don't understand, marm, a single word of that."
The Signora smiled. The Senator took courage again.
"The fact is this, marm," said he, firmly; "I want to get my
clothes washed somewhere. Of course you don't do it, but you can
tell me, you know. Hm?"
"_Non capisco_."
"Madame," said he, feeling confident that she would understand that
word at least, and thinking, too, that it might perhaps serve as a
key to explain any other words which he might append to it. "My
clothes--I want to get them washed--laundress--washy--soap and
water--clean 'em all up--iron 'em--hang 'em out to dry. Ha?"
While saying this he indulged in an expressive pantomine. When
alluding to his clothes he placed his hands against his chest,
when mentioning the drying of them he waved them in the air. The
landlady comprehended this. How not? When a gentleman places his
hand on his heart, what is his meaning?
"_O sottigliezza d'amore_!" murmured she. "_Che cosa cerca_," she
continued, looking up timidly but invitingly.
The Senator felt doubtful at this, and in fact a little frightened.
Again he placed his hands on his chest to indicate his clothes; he
struck that manly chest forcibly several times, looking at her all
the time. Then he wrung his hands.
[Illustration: The Senator In A Worse Fix.]
"_Ah, Signore_," said La Rocca, with a melting glance, "_non e d'uopo
di desperazione_."
"Washy, washy--"
"_Eppure, se Ella vuol sposarmi, non ce difficolta_," returned the
other, with true Italian frankness.
"Soap and water--"
"_Non ho il coraggio di dir di no_."
The Senator had his arms outstretched to indicate the hanging-out
process. Still, however, feeling doubtful if he were altogether
understood, he thought he would try another form of pantomime.
Suddenly he fell down on his knees, and began to imitate the action
of a washer-woman over her tub, washing, wringing, pounding, rubbing.
"_O gran' cielo_!" cried the Signora, her pitying heart filled with
tenderness at the sight of this noble being on his knees before her,
and, as she thought, wringing his hands in despair. "_O gran' cielo!
Egli e innamorato di me non puo dirmelo_."
Her warm heart prompted her, and she obeyed its impulse. What else
could she do? She flung herself into his outstretched arms, as he
raised himself to hang out imaginary clothes on an invisible line.
The Senator was thunderstruck, confounded, bewildered, shattered,
overcome, crushed, stupefied, blasted, overwhelmed, horror-stricken,
wonder-smitten, annihilated, amazed, horrified, shocked, frightened,
terrified, nonplused, wilted, awe-struck, shivered, astounded,
dumbfounded. He did not even struggle. He was paralyzed.
"_Ah, carissimo_," said a soft and tender voice in his ear, a low,
sweet voice, "_se veramenta me me ami, saro lo tua carissima sposa_--"
At that moment the door opened and Buttons walked in. In an instant
he darted out. The Signora hurried away.
"_Addio, bellisima, carissima gioja_!" she sighed.
The Senator was still paralyzed,
After a time he went with a pale and anxious face to see Buttons. The
young man promised secrecy, and when the Senator was telling his story
tried hard to look serious and sympathetic. In vain. The thought of
that scene, and the cause of it, and the blunder that had been made
overwhelmed him. Laughter convulsed him. At last the Senator got up
indignantly and left the room.
But what was he to do now? The thing could not be explained. How could
he get out of the house? He would have to pass her as she sat at the
door.
He had to call on Buttons again and implore his assistance. The
difficulty was so repugnant, and the matter so very delicate, that
Buttons declared he could not take the responsibility of settling it.
It would have to be brought before the Club.
The Club had a meeting about it, and many plans were proposed. The
stricken Senator had one plan, and that prevailed. It was to leave
Rome on the following day. For his part he had made up his mind to
leave the house at once. He would slip out as though he intended to
return, and the others could settle his bill and bring with them the
clothes that had caused all this trouble. He would meet them in the
morning outside the gate of the city.
This resolution was adopted by all, and the Senator, leaving money to
settle for himself, went away. He passed hurriedly out of the door. He
dared not look. He heard a soft voice pronounce the word "_Gioja_!" He
fled.
Now that one who owned the soft voice afterward changed her feelings
so much toward her "gioja" that opposite his name in her house-book
she wrote the following epithets: _Birbone, Villano, Zolicacco,
Burberone, Gaglioffo, Meschino, Briconaccio, Anemalaccio_.