Charney had long ceased to find amusement in these gratuitous mural
inscriptions; and if he still occasionally played the sculptor with his
wooden table, his efforts produced nothing now but germinating plants;
each protected by a cotyledon, or a sprig of foliage, whose leaves were
delicately serrated and prominently nerved. The greater portion of
the time assigned him for exercise was spent in contemplation of his
plant—in examining and reasoning upon its developement. Even after his
return to his chamber, he often watched the little solitary through his
prison-bars. It had become his whim, his bauble, his hobby—perhaps only
to be discarded like other preceding favourites!
One morning, as he stood at the window, he observed the jailer, who
was rapidly traversing the courtyard, pass so close to it that the stem
seemed on the point of being crushed under his footsteps; and Charney
actually shuddered! When Ludovico arrived as usual with his breakfast,
the Count longed to entreat the man would be careful in sparing the
solitary ornament of his walk; but he found some difficulty in phrasing
so puerile an entreaty. Perhaps the Fenestrella system of prison
discipline might enforce the clearing of the court from weeds, or other
vegetation. It might be a _favour_ he was about to request, and the Count
possessed no worldly means for the requital of a sacrifice. Ludovico had
already taxed him heavily, in the way of ransom, for the various objects
with which it was his privilege to furnish the prisoners of the fortress.
Besides, he had scarcely yet exchanged a word with the fellow, by whose
abrupt manners and character he was disgusted. His pride recoiled, too,
from placing himself in the same rank with the fly-catcher, towards
whom Ludovico had acknowledged his contempt. Then there was the chance
of a refusal! The inferior, whose position raises him to temporary
consequence, is seldom sufficiently master of himself to bear his
faculties meekly, incapable of understanding that indulgence is a proof
of power. The Count felt that it would be insupportable to him to find
himself repulsed by a turnkey.
At length, after innumerable oratorical precautions, and the exercise of
all his insight into the foibles of human nature, Charney commenced a
discourse, logically preconcocted, in hopes to obtain his end without the
sacrifice of his dignity—or, to speak more correctly, of his pride.
He began by accosting the jailer in Italian; by way of propitiating his
natural prejudices, and calling up early associations. He inquired after
Ludovico’s boy, little Antonio; and, having caused this tender string to
vibrate, took from his dressing-box a small gilt goblet, and charged him
to present it to the child!
Ludovico declined the gift, but refused it with a smile; and Charney,
though somewhat discountenanced, resolved to persevere. With adroit
circumlocution, he observed, “I am aware that a toy, a rattle, a
_flower_, would be a present better suited to Antonio’s age; but you can
sell the goblet, and procure those trifles in abundance with the price.”
And, lo! _à propos of flowers_, the Count embarked at once into his
subject.
Patriotism, paternal love, personal interest, every influential motive
of human action, were thus put in motion in order to accomplish the
preservation of a plant! Charney could scarcely have done more for his
own. Judge whether it had ingratiated itself into his affections!
“_Signor Conte!_” replied Ludovico, at the conclusion of the harangue,
“_riprendi sua nacchera indorata!_ Were this pretty bauble missing from
your toilet-case, its companions might fret after it! At three months
old, my bantling has scarce wit enough to drink out of a goblet; and with
respect to your gilly-flower—”
“_Is_ it a gilly-flower?” inquired Charney, with eagerness.
“_Sac à papious!_ how should I know? All flowers are more or less
gilly-flowers! But as to sparing the life of yours, eccellenza, methinks
the request comes late in the day. My boot would have been better
acquainted with it long ago, had I not perceived your partiality for the
poor weed!”
“Oh! as to my partiality,” interrupted Charney, “I beg to assure you—”
“Ta, ta, ta, ta! What need of assurance,” cried Ludovico. “I know
whereabouts you are better than you do. Men _must_ have _something_
to love; and state prisoners have small choice allowed them in their
whims. Why, among my boarders here, _Signor Conte_ (most of whom were
grand gentry, and great wiseacres in their day, for ’tis not the small
fry they send into harbour at Fenestrella), you’d be surprised at what
little cost they manage to divert themselves! One catches flies—no
harm in that; another—” and Ludovico winked knowingly, to signify the
application—“another chops a solid deal table into chips, without
considering how far I may be responsible for its preservation.” The
Count vainly tried to interpose a word: Ludovico went on: “Some amuse
themselves with rearing linnets and goldfinches; others have a fancy for
white mice. For my part, poor souls, I have so much respect for their
pets, that I had a fine Angora cat of my own, with long white silken
hair, you’d have sworn ’twas a muff when ’twas asleep!—a cat that my
wife doated on, to say nothing of myself. Well, I gave it away, lest the
creature should take a fancy to some of their favourites. All the cats in
the creation ought not to weigh against so much as a mouse belonging to a
captive!”
“Well thought, well expressed, my worthy friend!” cried Charney, piqued
at the inference which degraded him to the level of such wretched
predilections. “But know that this plant is something more to me than a
kill-time.”
“What signifies? so it serves but to recall to your mind the green tree
under which your mother hushed your infancy to rest, _per Bacco!_ I give
it leave to overshadow half the court. My instructions say nothing about
weeding or hoeing, so e’en let it grow and welcome! Were it to turn out a
tree, indeed, so as to assist you in escalading the walls, the case were
different! But there is time before us to look after the business—eh!
_eccellenza?_” said the jailer, with a coarse laugh. “Not that you
hav’n’t my best wishes for the recovery of the free use of your legs and
lungs; but all must come in course of time, and the regular way. For if
you were to make an attempt at escape—”
“Well! and if I were?” said Charney, with a smile.
“Thunder and hail!—you’d find Ludovico a stout obstacle in your way! I’d
order the sentry to fire at you, with as little scruple as at a rabbit!
Such are my instructions! But as to doing mischief to a poor harmless
gilly-flower, I look upon that man they tell of who killed the pet-spider
of the prisoner under his charge, as a wretch not worthy to be a jailer!
’Twas a base action, _eccellenza_—nay, a crime!”
Charney felt amazed and touched by the discovery of so much sensibility
on the part of his jailer. But now that he had begun to entertain an
esteem for the man, his vanity rendered it doubly essential to assign a
rational motive for his passion.
“Accept my thanks, good Ludovico,” said he, “for your good-will. I own
that the plant in question affords me scope for a variety of scientific
observations. I am fond of studying its physiological phenomena.”
Then (as Ludovico’s vague nodding of the head convinced him that the
poor fellow understood not a syllable he was saying) he added, “More
particularly as the class to which it belongs possesses medicinal
qualities, highly favourable to a disorder to which I am subject.”
A falsehood from the lips of the noble Count de Charney! and merely to
evade the contempt of a jailer, who, for the moment, represented the
whole human species in the eyes of the captive.
“Indeed!” cried Ludovico; “then all I have to say is, that if the poor
thing is so serviceable to you, you are not so grateful to it as you
ought to be. If I hadn’t been at the pains of watering it for you now and
then, on my way hither with your meals, _la povera picciola_ would have
died of thirst. _Addio, Signor Conte!_”
[Illustration]
“One moment, my good friend,” exclaimed Charney, more and more amazed
to discover such delicacy of mind so roughly enclosed, and repentant at
having so long mistaken the character of his jailer. “Since you have
interested yourself in my pursuits, and without vaunting your services,
accept, I entreat you, this small memento of my gratitude! Should better
times await me, I will not forget you!”
And once more he tendered the goblet; which this time Ludovico examined
with a sort of vague curiosity.
“Gratitude, for _what, Signor Conte_?” said he. “A plant wants nothing
but a sprinkling of water; and one might furnish a whole parterre of them
in their cups, without ruining oneself at the tavern. If _la picciola_
diverts you from your cares, and provides you with a specific, enough
said, and God speed her growth.”
And having crossed the room, he quietly replaced the goblet in its
compartment of the dressing-box.
Charney, rushing towards Ludovico, now offered him his hand.
“No, no!” exclaimed the jailer, assuming an attitude of respect and
constraint. “Hands are to be shaken only between equals and friends.”
“Be my friend, then, Ludovico!” cried the Count.
“No, _eccellenza_, no!” replied the turnkey. “A jailer must be on his
guard, in order to perform his duties like a man of conscience, to-day,
to-morrow, and every day of the week. If you were my friend, according
to _my_ notions of the word, how should I be able to call out to the
sentinel, Fire! if I saw you swimming across the moat? I am fated to
remain your keeper, jailer, _e divotissimo servo_!”
[Illustration]
[Illustration]