not even a knife upon his person, then sat down, facing him, and looking
him in the eye with the utmost coolness. It was the first time he had
ever been in such a position, for which he had certainly had no time to
prepare himself, and from which he was not at all sure of extricating
himself unharmed; for as the moon, emerging from behind the _Destatore's
Cross_, fell full upon the young bandit's face, Michel was no longer in
doubt as to the ferocity and treachery of his expression. Nevertheless
Pier-Angelo's son, the nephew of the intrepid Capuchin of Bel Passo,
felt that his heart was untouched by fear, and that the first serious
danger which threatened his young life found him proud and undaunted.
The Piccinino, seeing how near he was, and that his own face was so
illuminated by the moon, tried for a moment the terrifying effect of his
tiger-like eyes; but having failed to make Michel lower his, and
detecting no sign of poltroonery in his face or attitude, he suddenly
sat down beside him and took his hand.
"Upon my word," he said, "although I do my utmost to despise you and
hate you, I cannot succeed; I fancy that you have sufficient penetration
to guess that I would rather kill you than save you, as I have
undertaken to do. You are an embarrassment to me in respect to certain
illusions which you can readily imagine: you balk me in certain hopes
which I cherished, and which I am by no means inclined to renounce. But
I am not bound by my word simply, but by a certain sympathetic feeling
for you which I cannot shake off. I should lie if I said that I love
you, and that it is a pleasant occupation to me to defend your life. But
I esteem you, and that is a good deal. I assure you, you did well to
answer me as you did; for now I can confess to you that this place
sometimes brings on fits of madness; and I have formed terrible
resolutions here on many a momentous occasion. You were not safe with me
a moment ago; and I should not care to hear you utter a certain name
again. Let us not stay here any longer, and do you take this stiletto,
which I offered you once before. A Sicilian ought always to be ready to
use it, and to my mind it is utterly insane to go about unarmed in the
position you are in."
"Let us go," said Michel, mechanically taking the proffered dagger. "My
uncle says that time is important, and that they are waiting for us."
"Waiting for _us_?" cried the bandit, leaping to his feet. "Waiting for
you, you mean! Damnation! I wish that yonder cross and this stone might
both sink into the ground! Young man, you may believe that I am an
atheist, and that my heart is hard; but if you think it is of
ice----Here, put your hand to it, and learn that desire and will have
their seat there as well as in the brain!"
He seized Michel's hand roughly, and held it to his breast. It was
heaving with palpitations of such violence that one would have said that
it was on the point of bursting.
But when they had quitted the ravine, and had left the _Destatore's
Cross_ behind them, the Piccinino began to hum, in a voice as sweet and
pure as the breath of the night, a ballad in the Sicilian dialect, of
which the refrain was:
"Wine makes madness, love makes folly; my nectar is the blood of
cowards, my mistress is my rifle."
After this outburst of bravado, addressed to himself as well as to the
ears of any Neapolitan police who might happen to be within hearing, the
Piccinino began to talk with Michel in a remarkably self-possessed and
tranquil strain. He discussed fine arts, literature, external politics,
and the news of the day, with as much freedom, courtesy, and refinement
as if they were in a salon or on a public promenade, and as if neither
of them had any momentous affair on hand, any exciting subject to
engross his thoughts.
Michel soon realized that the Capuchin had in no wise exaggerated his
pupil's varied knowledge and great talents. In the matter of the dead
languages and classical subjects, Michel was quite unable to hold his
own, for he had had neither the means nor the leisure to go to college
before embracing an artistic career. The Piccinino, seeing that he was
familiar only with translations of the texts which he quoted with an
unfailing accuracy of memory, fell back upon history, modern literature,
Italian poetry, novels, and the stage. Although Michel had read very
extensively for one of his years, and although he had, as he himself put
it, polished and sharpened his mind, hastily, by assimilating everything
that came within his reach, he found that the peasant of Nicolosi, in
the intervals between his hazardous expeditions, in the solitude of his
shady garden, had made even better use of his time than he. It was
wonderful to see a man who could not walk in boots, or breathe in a
cravat, who had never been down to Catania ten times in his life, who
lived in retirement on his mountain, and had never seen the world or
come in contact with cultivated minds, but who had acquired by reading,
reasoning, or the divination of a keen intellect, full knowledge of the
modern world in its most trivial details, as he had acquired in the
cloister knowledge of the ancient world. No subject was unfamiliar to
him; he had learned all by himself several living languages, and he
ostentatiously talked with Michel in pure Tuscan, to show him that no
one at Rome could speak or pronounce it more correctly and melodiously.
Michel took so much pleasure in listening and replying to him, that he
forgot for a moment the distrust which so complicated a mind and a
character so difficult to define naturally inspired in him. He made the
rest of the journey almost unconsciously, for they were then following
a smooth and safe road; and when they arrived at the park of Palmarosa,
he started with surprise at the thought of finding himself so soon in
Princess Agatha's presence.
Thereupon all that had happened to him during and after the ball passed
through his memory like a series of strange dreams. A delicious emotion
stole over him, and he no longer felt very indignant or very much
horrified at the pretensions of his companion, as he reflected upon
those which he himself cherished.
XXVI
AGATHA
Michel himself opened the little gate at which the path which they had
followed came to an end, and, having crossed the park diagonally, stood
at the foot of the staircase cut in the steep rock. The reader will not
have forgotten that the Palmarosa palace was built against a precipitous
slope, and formed three distinct buildings, which ascended the mountain
backward, so to speak; that the topmost floor, called the Casino, being
more isolated and cooler than the others, was occupied, according to the
invariable custom of the country, by the most distinguished person in
the family; that is to say, the mistress's apartments were on a level
with the summit of the cliff, which was transformed into a garden, of
small extent but most charming, at a great height, and on the opposite
side from the main façade of the lower floors. There the princess lived
in retirement, as in a luxurious hermitage, having no need to descend
the staircase of her palace, or to be seen by her servants, when she
chose to take a walk in the fresh air.
Michel had previously seen this sanctuary, but very hurriedly, as we
know; and when he was sitting there with Magnani during the ball, he was
so excited and talking so earnestly that he had not observed its
arrangement and its surroundings.
When he came out upon that terrace with the Piccinino, after scaling the
cliff, he obtained a better idea of its location, and observed that it
was so disposed that it was in fact a little fortress. The staircase cut
in the rock was much better adapted for a means of exit than of
entrance; it was so crowded between two walls of lava, and so steep,
that a woman's hand could easily have hurled back an insolent or
dangerous visitor. Moreover, there was on the last stair, with nothing
in the way of a landing between, a small gilt gate, unusually high and
narrow, hung between two slender marble columns as smooth as the masts
of a ship. On the outer side of both these columns was the sheer
precipice, with nothing to grasp except heavy iron scroll-work in the
style of the seventeenth century, fashioned to represent fantastic
dragons, bristling with spikes in every direction; a decoration that
served a double purpose, and was very difficult to surmount when one had
no purchase and a precipice under his feet.
This fortification, if we may so describe it, was not without its
utility in a region where brigands from the mountain carried on their
operations in the valleys and the plain, even to the very gates of the
cities. Michel observed the defences with the satisfaction of a jealous
lover, but the Piccinino glanced at them with an air of contempt, and
even went so far as to say, while they were ascending the staircase,
that it was a sugar-plum citadel, which would be very effective at a
dessert.
Michel rang the prescribed number of times, and the gate was immediately
opened. A veiled woman stood there, impatiently awaiting them. In the
darkness, she seized Michel's hand as he entered the garden, and the
young artist, recognizing the Princess Agatha by that gentle pressure,
trembled and lost his head, so that the Piccinino, who did not lose his,
quietly removed the key which Michel had placed in the lock as he rang
the bell. The bandit placed it in his belt after closing the gate, and
when Michel remembered his oversight, it was too late to repair it. They
had all three entered the princess's boudoir, and that was not the
moment to seek a quarrel with a man so entirely free from timidity as
the _Destatore's_ son.
Agatha had been warned and as fully advised as possible of the character
and habits of the man with whom it was necessary for her to enter into
relations; she was too much of a Sicilian to have any serious prejudices
against the profession of bandit, and she was determined to make the
greatest pecuniary sacrifices in order to make certain of the
Piccinino's services. Nevertheless, she felt, at sight of him, a painful
emotion which she had difficulty in concealing from him; and when he
kissed her hand, gazing at her with his bold and mocking eyes, she was
conscious of a painful feeling of discomfort, and her face changed
perceptibly, although she was able to maintain an affable and courteous
demeanor.
She knew that her first care must be to flatter the adventurer's secret
vanity, by showing him much consideration and calling him _captain_ to
his heart's content. So she did not fail to bestow that title upon him
as she invited him to sit at her right hand, while there was a more
familiar kindliness in her manner of waving Michel to a chair partly
behind her, near the back of her couch. Then, leaning toward him without
looking at him, and resting her elbow close to his shoulder, as if to be
prepared to call his attention by a movement apparently accidental, she
attempted to enter upon the business before them.
But the Piccinino, noticing this manœuvre, and apparently considering
that he was too far away from her, left his chair and unceremoniously
seated himself beside her, on the sofa.
At that moment the Marquis della Serra, who had probably been waiting in
an adjoining room for the conversation to begin, entered noiselessly,
saluted the bandit with silent courtesy, and sat down near Michel, after
shaking hands with him. Michel felt reassured by the presence of the man
whom he could not help looking upon as his rival. He had already begun
to wonder if he should not soon be tempted to throw the Piccinino out of
the window; and as such an exploit might well have some serious result,
he hoped that the bandit would be so far restrained by the marquis's
grave face and dignified bearing, that he would not dare to overstep the
limits of propriety.
The Piccinino knew that he ran no risk of being betrayed by the Marquis
della Serra; indeed it pleased him to see that great nobleman offer him
pledges of the alliance about to be made with him, to which the marquis
must necessarily become a party.
"So the Marquis della Serra, too, is my friend and my accomplice?" he
said to Agatha, in a reproachful tone.
"Signor Carmelo," replied the marquis, "you doubtless know that I was a
near kinsman of the Prince of Castro-Reale, and that, consequently, I am
your near kinsman. I was very young when the _Destatore's_ true name was
discovered by the police of Catania, and perhaps you are aware that I
rendered the outlaw some important services at that time."
"I am familiar with my father's story," replied the young bandit, "and
it is enough for me to know that the Marquis della Serra has transferred
to me the good-will with which he honored him."
Gratified in his vanity, resolved not to play a ridiculous rôle, and
equally resolved to make everybody's will bend beneath his own, the
Piccinino desired to carry out his purpose with spirit and good taste.
So he speedily assumed a graceful and dignified attitude on the sofa,
and imparted to his insolent and lustful glance an expression of
benignant and almost respectful interest.
The princess broke the ice, and set forth the business in hand
concisely, in almost the same words that Fra Angelo had used to induce
the young wolf to leave his den. The Piccinino listened to her
exposition, and his face did not betray the profound incredulity that
lay behind his apparent attention.
But when the princess had finished, he coolly renewed his question as to
the will, and declared that, in case it had already been abstracted, the
kidnapping of Abbé Ninfo would seem to him a very tardy precaution, and
his own intervention a source of useless trouble and _expense_.
Princess Agatha had not been horribly unhappy to no purpose. She had
learned to detect the wiles of concealed passions, and her skill in that
respect was not derived from her simple and straightforward mind, but
acquired at her own expense in her relations with natures directly
contrary to her own. So she very soon concluded that the _captain's_
scruples were feigned, and that he had some secret motive which it was
most essential to discover.
"Signor captain," she said, "if you have formed that opinion of my
position, we must stop here, for I have asked to see you much more for
the purpose of obtaining your advice than of telling you my ideas.
However, be good enough to listen to some details which it was not in
Fra Angelo's power to give you.
"My uncle the cardinal has made a will in which he constitutes me his
sole heir; and it was only about ten days ago that, on his way from
Catania to his villa of Ficarazzi, where he now is, he made a détour in
order to pay me a visit which I did not expect. I found my uncle in the
same physical condition as when I saw him a little while before, at
Catania; that is to say, helpless, deaf, and unable to speak distinctly
enough to make himself understood without the assistance of Abbé Ninfo,
who knows or guesses his desires with rare sagacity--unless he
interprets or translates them to suit himself with unmeasured insolence!
However, on that occasion, Abbé Ninfo seemed to me to follow my uncle's
wishes in every respect; for the object of that visit was to show me the
will, and to inform me that the cardinal's affairs were in perfect
order."
"Who showed you the will, signora?" said the Piccinino; "for his
eminence cannot move his arm or his hand at all, can he?"
"Patience, captain, I will not omit any detail. Doctor Recuperati, the
cardinal's physician, had charge of the will, and I understood clearly
enough, from my uncle's glances and his excitement, that he did not wish
that document to leave his hands. Two or three times Abbé Ninfo came
forward to take it, on the pretext of handing it to me, and my uncle
glared at him with his terrible eyes and roared like a dying lion. The
doctor replaced the will in his portfolio and said to me: 'I beg that
your ladyship will not share his eminence's anxiety. However great the
esteem and confidence inspired by Abbé Ninfo, this paper having been
entrusted to my keeping, no other person than myself--not even the Pope
or the king--shall touch a document of so much importance to you.'
Doctor Recuperati is an honorable, incorruptible man, and as firm as a
rock in emergencies."
"True, signora," said the bandit, "but he is stupid, and Abbé Ninfo is
not."
"I am well aware that Abbé Ninfo is audacious enough to invent some
sort of a fable and lead the excellent doctor into a commonplace trap.
That is why I have requested you, captain, to remove that hateful
schemer from the scene for a time."
"I will do it, if it is not too late; for I should not care to risk my
bones for nothing, and especially to endanger my reputation for talent,
for which I care more than for my life. Once more, signora, do you think
that it is not too late to resort to this expedient?"
"If it is too late, captain, it has been so not more than two hours,"
replied Agatha, observing him closely; "for, two hours ago, I paid a
visit to my uncle, and the doctor, at a sign from him, showed me the
paper once more, in Abbé Ninfo's presence."
"And it was the same?"
"Absolutely the same."
"There was no codicil in Ninfo's favor?"
"Not a word had been changed or added. The priest himself, who blandly
pretends to be interested in my behalf, and whose every sidelong glance
seems to say to me: 'You will have to pay me for my zeal,' insisted on
my re-reading the paper carefully."
"And you did it?"
"I did it."
The Piccinino, in view of the princess's self-possession and
tranquillity, began to form a more exalted idea of her merit; for
hitherto he had seen in her nothing more than a seductive and charming
woman.
"I am very well satisfied with these explanations," he said; "but,
before taking any steps, I must know something more. Are you quite sure,
signora, that within the last two hours Abbé Ninfo has not taken Doctor
Recuperati by the throat and extorted that paper from him?"
"How can I know, captain? You alone can tell me, when you have consented
to begin your secret investigation. However, the doctor is a strong and
brave man, and his simplicity would not go so far as to allow himself to
be robbed by a weak, chicken-hearted creature like Abbé Ninfo."
"But what would prevent Ninfo, who is a scoundrel of the first order,
and has relations with all the greatest villains in the country, from
hiring a _bravo_, who, for an _honorable_ reward, may have lain in wait
for the doctor and murdered him--or who is all ready to do it at this
moment?"
The tone in which the Piccinino presented this suggestion caused the
three persons who were listening to him a painful shock.
"Poor doctor!" cried the princess, turning pale; "can it be that such a
crime has been planned or executed? In heaven's name, explain yourself,
signor captain!"
"Never fear, signora, that crime has not been committed; but it might
have been, for it was determined upon."
"In that case, signor," said the princess, seizing both the bandit's
hands with a gesture of entreaty, "pray go at once. Save the life of an
honorable man, and make sure of the person of a vile knave, capable of
any crime."
"And suppose the will falls into my hands during the battle?" said the
bandit, rising but not releasing the princess's hands, which he had
seized in a firm grasp as soon as they touched his.
"The will, signor captain?" she replied, energetically. "Of what moment
is half of my fortune, when it is a question of saving victims from the
assassin's dagger? I care not what happens to the will. Seize the
monster who covets it. Ah! if I thought that I could satisfy his
resentment by giving it up to him, he might long ago have looked upon
himself as its undisturbed possessor!"
"But suppose that I become its possessor?" said the adventurer,
fastening his lynx eyes on Agatha's; "that would not suit Ninfo, who
knows very well that his eminence is in no condition to make or even to
dictate another. But would you, signora, who have been imprudent enough
to tell me what I did not know, who have informed me to what a
ridiculous custodian a document of so great importance has been
entrusted--would you be perfectly at ease?"
The princess had understood for a long time that the bandit would do
nothing unless he could see a possibility of obtaining possession of the
will to his own advantage. She had powerful reasons for being ready to
sacrifice it to him, and to hand over an enormous sum to him without
regret, when he should come to bargain with her for the restitution of
her proof of inheritance; for everybody knew, and the bandit, who seemed
to have studied the affair so carefully beforehand, probably was not
ignorant of the fact, that there was an earlier will in the hands of a
notary, which disinherited Agatha in favor of a distant relation. In a
paroxysm of hatred and resentment against his niece, the cardinal had
made that first will, and had made no secret of the fact. To be sure,
when he became so ill, and received from her marks of sincere respect
and affection, he had made different arrangements. But he had left the
previous will in existence, in case it should be his pleasure to destroy
the new one. When the wicked have a good impulse, they always leave a
door open for the return of their evil genius.
Agatha had already made up her mind with respect to the Piccinino's
ambitions; but by the way in which he allowed them to appear, she
understood that there was a large admixture of vanity in his avarice,
and she had the fortunate inspiration to gratify both of the bandit's
passions at the same time.
"Signor de Castro-Reale," she said, making an effort to pronounce a name
that she abhorred, and to confer it upon him as a title rightfully
belonging to the _Destatore's_ natural child, "the will would be so safe
in your hands, that I should be glad if I could place it there myself."
Agatha had conquered. The bandit's head was completely turned, and
another passion, which was contending with greed in his heart, gained
the upper hand in a twinkling. He put both of the signora's trembling
hands to his lips and bestowed upon them a kiss so long and so
passionate that Michel and the marquis himself shuddered. Another hope
than that of wealth took possession of the Piccinino's brain. A violent
passion had sprung to life within him on the night of the ball, when he
saw her admired and coveted by so many men whom she did not even deign
to notice, himself included; for she believed that she had never seen
him before this interview, although he hoped that she was simply
pretending not to recognize his face.
He had been incited especially by the apparent hopelessness of such a
conquest. Although somewhat disdainful and apparently chaste with the
women of his own station, the Piccinino had the appetites of a wild
beast; but vanity filled so large a place in all his instincts that he
rarely had an opportunity to satisfy them. This time the opportunity was
still uncertain, but the prospect was most intoxicating to his
enterprising, obstinate nature, fruitful in expedients, and enamored of
difficult exploits, reputed to be impossible.
"Well, signora," he cried at last, in a chivalrous tone, "your
confidence in me proceeds from a noble heart, and I will not fail to
justify it. Have no fear for Doctor Recuperati: he is in no danger
whatsoever. It is quite true that Abbé Ninfo made a bargain this very
day with a certain man, who promised to murder him; but, not only does
the abbé propose to wait until the cardinal is on his death-bed, which
is not the case as yet, but the dagger which is to strike your friend
will not leave its sheath without my permission. There is no reason for
such great haste, therefore, and I can safely return to my mountain for
a few days. Ninfo is to come in person to advise us of the favorable
moment to bury the knife in the good doctor's ample waistcoat, and, when
that moment comes, instead of performing that agreeable duty, we will
seize the abbé's person, begging him to enjoy the mountain air with us
until it shall please your ladyship to restore his liberty."
The princess, who had been perfectly self-possessed thus far, became
perturbed and replied in a quivering voice: