Many sacrifices of a similar kind, however, were now required of Charney.
The epoch of fructification is arrived. The brilliant petals of many of
the flowers have fallen, and their stamens become useless: decaying, like
the cotyledons, after the first leaves had attained maturity. The ovary
containing the germ of the seeds begins to enlarge within the calyx. The
fertile flowers lay aside their beauty, like matrons who, in achieving
their maternal triumphs, begin to disdain for themselves the vain
adornments of coquetry.
The Count now devotes his attention to the most sublime of all the
mysteries of nature, the perpetuation of created kinds, and the
reproduction of life. In opening and analyzing a bud detached some time
before from the tree, by the injury of an insect, Charney had noticed
the primary germ destined to fertilization, but demanding protection
and nutriment from the flower before its feeble organization could be
perfected. Admirable foresight of nature, as yet unexplained by the
logic of science. But now the reproduction of a future Picciola is to
be completed; and the narrow seed must be made to comprehend all the
development of a perfect plant. The curious observer is to direct his
notice to the fecundation of the vegetable egg; and for this purpose,
Picciola must be submitted to further mutilation. No matter! She is
already preparing herself for the reparation of her losses. On all sides
buds are reappearing. From every joint of her stem, or branches, new
shoots are putting forth to produce a second flowering.
[Illustration]
In pursuance of this task, Charney soon took his usual seat with the
grave demeanour of an experimentalist. But scarcely had he cast his
eyes upon the plant when he is shocked by the air of languor apparent
in his favourite. The flowers inclining on their peduncles seem to
have lost their power of turning towards the sun; their leaves curling
inwards their deep and lustrous verdure. For a moment Charney fancies
that a heavy storm is at hand, and prepares his mats and osier bands to
secure Picciola from the force of the wind or hail. But no! the sky is
cloudless—the air serene—and the lark is heard singing out of sight,
overhead, secure in the breathlessness of the blue expanse of heaven.
Charney’s brow becomes overcast. “She is in want of water,” is his first
idea; but having eagerly fetched the pitcher from his chamber, and on his
knees beside the plant, removed the lower branches, in order at once to
reach the root, he is struck motionless with consternation. All—all—is
explained. His Picciola is about to perish!
While the flowers and perfumes were multiplying to increase his studies
and enjoyments, the stem of the plant, also, was increasing unobserved.
Enclosed between two stones of the pavement, and strangled by their
pressure, a deep indentation first gave token of her sufferings, the
surface of which being at length crushed and wounded by the edges of the
granite, the sap has begun to exude from the fissures, and the strength
of the plant is exhausted!
Limited in the allotment of soil for her nutriment, her sap unnaturally
expanded, her strength overtasked, Picciola must die, unless prompt
relief can be afforded! Her doom is sealed! One only resource remains.
By removing the stones that weigh upon her roots, the plant may yet be
preserved. But how to effect this, without an implement to assist her
efforts? Rushing towards the postern and knocking vehemently, the Count
summons Ludovico to his aid. But although on the jailer’s arrival the
explanation of the disaster and the sight of his expiring god-daughter
overwhelm him with sorrow, no other answer can be obtained by Charney
to his entreaties that the pavement may instantly be removed, than
“_Eccellenza_, the thing is impossible!”
Without hesitation, the Count attempted to conciliate the jailer’s
acquiescence by the offer no longer of the gilt goblet of his
dressing-case, but the whole casket.
But Ludovico, assuming his most imposing attitude, folded his arms upon
his breast, exclaiming, in his half-provincial, half-Piedmontese dialect,
“_Bagasse, bagasse!_ Ludovico is too old a soldier to submit to bribery.
I know my orders. I know my duty. It is to the captain-commandant you
must address yourself.”
“No,” cried Charney. “Rather would I tear up the stones with my hands,
even were my bleeding nails sacrificed in the attempt!”
“Ay, ay! time will show!” replied Ludovico, resuming the pipe, which he
was in the habit of holding half-extinguished under his thumb, during his
colloquies with the Count; and after a puff or two, turning on his heel
to depart.
“Good Ludovico! I have hitherto found you so kind—so charitable! Can you
do nothing for my assistance?” persisted Charney.
“_Trondidio!_” answered the jailer, trying to conceal by an oath the
emotion gaining upon his feelings, “can’t you leave me a moment’s
peace—you and your accursed gilly-flower! As to the _poverina_, I forgive
her—’tis no fault of Picciola! but as to you, whose obstinacy will
certainly be the death of the poor thing——”
“What would you have me do, then?” exclaimed the Count.
“Petition the commandant, I tell you, petition the commandant!” cried
Ludovico.
“Never!”
“There you are again; but if your pride is so tetchy, will you give _me_
leave to speak to him?”
“No,” replied Charney; “I forbid you.”
“_You_ forbid me!” cried the jailer. “_D——e!_ is it _your_ orders I am to
obey? If I choose to speak to him, who is to prevent me?”
“Ludovico!”
“Set your mind at ease; I am not going to undertake any such fool’s
errand. What business is it of mine? Let her live, let her die; _che
m’ importa?_ If you want to put an end to the plant, ’tis your own
affair—_Buona notte!_”
“But has your commandant sense enough to understand me?” demanded the
Count, detaining him.
“Why not? do you take him for a kinserlick? Tell him your story straight
on end: pack it into pretty little sentences, like a scholar who knows
what he is about; for now’s the time to put your learning to some use.
Why shouldn’t _he_ enter into your love for a flower as well as I have?
Besides, I shall be there to put in a word. I can tell him what a capital
tisane is to be made of the herb. The commandant’s an ailing man himself.
He has got a sharp fit of the rheumatism upon him at this very moment,
which will perhaps make him enter into the case.”
Charney still hesitated; but Ludovico pointed with one of his knowing
winks to Picciola, sick and suffering; and, with a gesture of anxiety
from the Count, off went the jailer on his errand.
Some minutes afterwards, a man in a half-military, half-civil uniform,
made his appearance in the court, with an inkstand and a sheet of paper
bearing a government stamp. As Ludovico had announced, this person
remained present while Charney wrote out his petition; and received it
sealed into his hands, and, with a respectful bow, departed, carrying
off the inkstand.
[Illustration]
Reader, despise not the self-abasement of the haughty Count de Charney,
marvel not at the readiness with which he has consented to an act of
humiliation. Remember that Picciola is all in all to the poor prisoner.
Reflect upon the influence of isolation on the firmest mind, the proudest
spirit. Had he recourse to submission when _himself_ oppressed with
suffering, pining after the free air of liberty, overpowered by the walls
of his dungeon, as Picciola by its pavement? No! for his own woes the
Count had fortitude; but between himself and his favourite, a league
of mutual obligation subsists—sacred enjoyments have arisen. Picciola
preserved _his_ life; must her own be sacrificed to his self-love?
The venerable Girardi presently beheld the Count pacing the little court
with agitated footsteps, and gestures of anxiety and impatience. How
tediously were the moments passing—how cruel the delay to which he was
exposed! Three hours had elapsed since he despatched his petition; and
no answer. As the sap of the expiring plant oozed from the wounded bark,
Charney felt that he had rather his own blood were required of him. The
old man, addressing him from the window, tried in vain to afford him
consolation; but at length, more experienced than himself in accidents
of the vegetable and animal kingdom, indicated a mode of closing up the
wounds of the stems, so as to remove at least one source of peril.
With a mixture of finely chopped straw and moistened clay, he forms a
mastic, easily fixed upon the bark with bandages of torn cambric. An hour
passed rapidly in the performance; but at its close, the Count has to
bewail anew the silence of the governor.
[Illustration]
At the usual dinner hour, Ludovico made his appearance with a vexed
and careworn countenance, annunciatory of no good tidings. The jailer
scarcely deigns a reply to the interrogations of Charney, except by
monosyllables, or the roughest remonstrances.
“Can’t you wait? What use in so much hurry? Give him time to write!”
Ludovico seemed preparing himself for the part which he found he should
be required to play in the sequel.
Charney touched not a morsel: the sentence of life or death was impending
over Picciola; and he sat trying to inspire himself with courage, by
protesting that none but the most cruel of men could refuse so trifling
a concession as he had asked. But his impatience did but increase with
his arguments, as if the commandant could have no business more important
in hand than to address an immediate answer to his memorial. At the
slightest noise, Charney’s eyes turned eagerly towards the door by which
he was expecting the fiat of the governor.
Evening came—no news; night—not a word! The unfortunate prisoner did not
close his eyes that night!
[Illustration]