"DOWN INTO HELL TO WIN THE LOVE HE SOUGHT"
It was two hours later, and the Marina was almost deserted. The streets
and squares, too, of the southern city were silent and empty. It seemed
as though all Palermo had gathered together in that sprawling,
whitewashed building, called in courtesy a concert hall. Flashes of
light from its many windows gleamed upon the pavements below, and from
the upper one the heads of a solid phalanx of men and women, wedged in
together, threw quaint shadows across the narrow street. The
tradespeople, aristocracy, and visitors of the place had flocked
together to the concert, frantically desirous of hearing the great
singer who although so young, had been made welcome at every court in
Europe. It was an honor to their island city that she should have
visited it at all; much more that she should choose to sing there; and
the quick Palermitans, fired with enthusiasm, rushed to welcome her. The
heavy slumberous air was still vibrating with the shout which had
greeted her first appearance, and the echoes from across the scarcely
rippled surface of the bay were lingering among the rocky hills on the
other side of the harbor.
The Sicilian heard it as he threaded his way toward the poorer part of
the city, and a dull red glow burned for a moment in his sallow cheeks.
It maddened him that he, too, was not there to join in it, to feast his
eyes upon her, and listen to the matchless music of her voice. Was she
not more to him than to any of them? So long he had carried her image in
his heart that a curious sense of possession had crept into all his
thoughts of her. He was frantically jealous, heedless of the fact that
he had no right to be. He would have felt toward the man on whom
Adrienne Cartuccio had smiled, as toward a robber. She was his, and his
only she should be. Years of faithful homage and unabated longing had
made her so. His was a narrow but a strong nature, and the desire of her
had become the mainspring of his life. His she should surely be! No
other man had the right to lift his eyes to her. As he hurried through
those silent streets, he forgot her many kindly but firm repulses.
Jesuitical in his love, any means by which he might win her seemed fair
and honorable. And to-night, though he was stooping to treachery to
possess himself of this long coveted jewel, he felt no shame; only his
heart beat strong and fast with passionate hope. The moment had come at
length for him to play his last card, and at the very prospect of
success heaven itself seemed open before his eyes.
He had been threading his way swiftly, and with the air of one well
acquainted with the neighborhood, through a network of narrow streets
and courts, filthy and poverty stricken. At last he came to a sudden
pause before a flight of steps leading down to the door of a small wine
shop, which was little more than a cellar.
From the street one could see into the bar, and the Sicilian paused for
a moment, and peered downward. Behind the counter, a stout,
swarthy-looking native woman was exchanging coarse badinage with a man
in a loose jersey and baggy trousers. There seemed to be no one else in
the place, save another man who sat in the darkest corner, with his head
buried upon his arms.
The Sicilian only hesitated for a moment. Then he pulled his soft hat
lower over his eyes, and lighting a cigarette, to dispel as far as
possible the rank stale odor of the place, stepped down and entered the
wine shop.
Evidently he was not known there. The woman stared curiously at him as
she passed the glass of curacao for which he asked, and the man scowled.
He took no notice of either, but, with his glass in his hand, made his
way across the sawdust-covered floor to the most remote of the small
tables.
A few feet only from him was the man who slept, or who seemed to sleep,
and all around quaint shadows of the tall buildings outside stealing in
through the open window almost shut the two men off from the rest of the
wine shop where the gas jets hung. The Sicilian smoked on in silence;
his neighbor commenced to move. Presently the woman and her admirer
resumed their talk, with their heads a little closer together and their
voices lowered. They were absorbed in themselves and their coarse
flirtation. The man sipped more liquor, and the woman filled his glass
with no sparing hand. The strong brandy ran through his veins quicker
and quicker. He tried to embrace the woman, and failed, owing to the
barrier between them. He tried again, and this time partially succeeded.
Then he tried to clamber over the counter, but missed his footing and
fell in a heap on the floor, where he lay, to all appearance, too drunk
to get up--helpless and stupefied.
The woman peered over at him with a sneer on her face. Then she arranged
the bottles in their places, and called out a noisy greeting to the
Sicilian who was smoking silently among the shadows with only the red
tip of his cigarette visible in the darkness. He made no reply. She
yawned, and looked downward at the drunken man once more. There was no
sign of life in his coarse face. He was wrapped deep in a drunken sleep,
and he still had money in his pockets. Ah, well! It should be hers when
these two strangers had gone.
She turned to a little recess behind the bar, and, approaching the wall,
looked at herself in a cracked looking-glass which hung there. Something
in her hair needed rearrangement, and she remained there straightening
it with her fingers. From where she stood she was within hearing
distance if any one descended the steps and entered the wine shop, so
she did not hurry. The contemplation of her coarse features and small
black eyes seemed to inspire her with a strange pleasure. She remained
at the glass, turning her head from side to side with a curiously
grotesque satisfaction. Then one of her large glass earrings was dull.
She took it out, and rubbed it vigorously on her skirt, humming a
popular tune to herself the while. The whole thing took time; but what
matter? There was no one in the vault save two drunken men, and another
who chose to sit in the darkness without making any response to her
advances. If a fresh customer had descended the greasy stone steps, and
pushed open the rickety swing door, he would have found her in her
place, ready with the usual coarse greeting or jest, should he chance to
be a neighbor or an acquaintance. Meanwhile, she was happy where she
was.
In the wine shop itself things were not exactly as she supposed. No
sooner had her back been turned, than the man near whom the Sicilian had
seated himself slowly raised his head, and looked around. Assured of her
departure, and after a moment's contemplation of the man who lay upon
the floor to all appearance so hopelessly drunk, he turned toward the
Sicilian.
"My orders, Signor," he whispered. "It is to be to-night?"
"Yes."
"The Signorina will not listen to reason, then?"
In the darkness the Sicilian felt the deep flush which stole into his
olive cheeks. He was not there without an effort. In all his deeds and
thoughts he had always reckoned himself as others had reckoned him, an
honorable man. His presence in this place, and the means he was stooping
to use, filled him with the most intense humiliation. Only one thing was
stronger--his passionate love for Adrienne Cartuccio.
"Do not breathe the Signorina's name," he muttered. "Receive your
instructions, but make no comments."
"Command, Signor; I am ready," was the whispered answer.
"First; have you succeeded as you expected? The carriage and mules and
men?"
"In ten minutes I could have them all here, Signor. The task was not
easy, but it is accomplished. They are at the Signor's disposal. All
that remains is for you to give the orders."
The Sicilian was perfectly silent for a moment. The darkness hid his
face--hid the shame which for a moment lowered it, the shame which an
honorable gentleman feels when he stoops to dishonor. It passed away
before the stronger feeling, and when he spoke his tone was firm though
low.
"It is well. Listen, Pietro. The attempt is to be made to-night, in
three hours' time. You will be prepared? The notice is sufficient?"
"More than sufficient, Signor. The sooner the better. The mouths of my
men are closed with gold, and they are carefully chosen; but, one and
all, they love the wine, and wine, in its way, is as powerful as gold.
See that animal yonder, Signor. My men love the drink as well as he, and
before he reached that state he might have chattered away a dozen
secrets."
The Sicilian watched the man who was lying on the sawdust-strewn floor.
Something in his breathing attracted him, and he leaned forward.
"Is he asleep, do you think?" he whispered. "I thought I saw his eyes
open."
Pietro rose, and crawling like a cat, drew close to the drunken man. He
passed his hand lightly over him, and listened to his breathing. Finally
he crept back to his seat.
"That is no spy!" he whispered; "he is only a common fisherman, and he
is stupefied with drink. I watched him when he came in. Proceed, Signor.
Let me know your plans."
The Sicilian continued, speaking as rapidly as possible. He had
conspired before, but honorably, and with men of his own rank. But
here--in this low den, with such a companion--it made his heart sick. He
was only anxious to get away as speedily as possible.
"To-night the Signorina sings at the Town Hall. She leaves there at ten
o'clock, on foot, accompanied only by another lady and a manservant who
is in my pay. She will dismiss her carriage, and walk. The road to the
Villa Fiolesse, you know. They will pursue it past the turn, thinking to
follow a winding path which leads from it into the grounds of the villa
about half a mile further on. The road is quite deserted there, and
sheltered by pine groves. At the entrance to the first grove the cart
and mules must be in waiting--also your men. There will be no
resistance; but, above everything, Pietro, remember this--no discourtesy
or roughness to either of the ladies. Let them be treated firmly, but
with the utmost respect. Remember that one will be my wife, and the
other is my sister!"
"But you yourself, Signor! Shall you not be there?"
"No! If all goes well, I shall follow, and join you at Ajalito. At that
place more mules must be purchased, as we shall take the mountain road
to the Castle of Marioni, and the cart will be useless. Is all clear to
you, Pietro?"
"It is clear, Signor!"
"It may be that you will require more money. Here are a hundred francs.
Use what you will."
"I shall use all of them, Signor. To be well served requires good pay.
The Signor shall be well served."
"Spend it as you will, and come to me afterwards for your own reward. I
will go now to make my own preparations. Be faithful this night, Pietro,
and your fortune is secured. I am not one to forget a service!"
"The Signor is a prince," Pietro answered, bowing. "See, the moon is
behind a cloud. It is a propitious moment to leave this place without
being observed. I, too, must go, but outside our ways lie apart."
"Come, then," the Sicilian answered, rising quickly. "But one last
caution, Pietro. See that your men understand perfectly that, for any
rudeness or ill-usage to either of the Signorinas, they will answer to
me with their lives. It may be that I shall not join you before
daybreak. If so, remember that the man who offends those whom you guard,
by so much as a look, shall die. His corpse shall whiten on the
mountains for carrion crows to peck at!"
"It is well, Signor. There is no fear."
They crept out of the door, opening and closing it noiselessly, ascended
into the street, and separated. The sound of their footsteps died away
upon the rude stone pavements. For a minute or two unbroken silence
reigned in the wine shop.
"Diabolo!"
The exclamation came from the man who had fallen while endeavoring to
embrace the hostess, and who since, to all appearance, had been in a
drunken sleep. A very remarkable change had come over him. He was
sitting bolt upright on the floor, shaking the sawdust from his hair,
and his dark eyes were no longer vacant, but bright and full of
excitement. He peered cautiously over the counter. The woman who had
repelled his advances was still loitering near the looking-glass. Then
he stole softly on to his feet, and walking on tip-toe, and without the
slightest difficulty, left the place. Outside he simulated once more the
walk of a drunken man, and staggered down the street and out of sight.
Presently the hostess of the place, having arranged her head-dress to
her own satisfaction, came out behind the counter. She leaned over and
looked for her drunken admirer. After all, he had money in his pocket,
and he was not such a bad fellow. She would take him into her little
room behind, and let him sleep for a while more comfortably. But--but
where was he? He was not there. She turned the light higher and looked
around. There was no one in the room at all. Two hopelessly drunken men
and the stranger had left the place without making the slightest sound,
or without calling for more drink. It was incredible. But it was true.
The wine-shop keeper had never been so surprised in her life. Not only
was she surprised, but she was frightened. The thing was beyond belief.
The sweat broke out upon her forehead, and she crossed herself. The
devil himself must have come and fetched them away, and, if so, why
should he not fetch her. She was wicked enough. What a horrible thought.
Half a dozen men, the crew of a fishing boat, suddenly entered the
court, filling the air with their voices, and descended the steps. She
came to herself while serving them, and commenced to forget her fright.
But she did not mention that little occurrence, and the very thought of
a drunken man for days afterwards made her shudder.