IN A GARDEN AT POSILIPO.
"--Prends mon coeur, me dit-elle,
Oui, mais a la chapelle,
Sois mon petit....
--Plait-il
Ton petit?
--Sois mon petit mari!"
--It was Calabressa who was gayly humming to himself; and it was well
that he could amuse himself with his _chansons_ and his cigarettes, for
his friend Edwards was proving anything but an attentive companion. The
tall, near-sighted, blond-faced man from the British Museum was far too
much engrossed by the scene around him. They were walking along the
quays at Naples; and it so happened that at this moment all the
picturesque squalor and lazy life of the place were lit up by the glare
reflected from a wild and stormy sunset. The tall, pink-fronted houses;
the mules and oxen with their brazen yokes and tinkling bells; the
fruit-sellers, and fish-sellers, and water-carriers, in costumes of many
hues; the mendicant friars with their cloak and hood of russet-brown;
the priests black and clean-shaven; the groups of women, swarthy of
face, with head-dresses of red or yellow, clustered round the stalls;
the children, in rags of brown, and scarlet, and olive-green, lying
about the pavement as if artists had posed them there--all these formed
a picture which was almost bewildering in its richness of color, and was
no doubt rendered all the more brilliant because of the powerful
contrast with the dark and driven sea. For the waters out there were
racing in before a stiff breeze, and springing high on the fortresses
and rocks; and the clouds overhead were seething and twisting, with many
a sudden flash of orange; and then, far away beyond all this color and
motion and change, rose the vast and gloomy bulk of Vesuvius,
overshadowed and thunderous, as if the mountain were charged with a
coming storm.
Calabressa grew impatient, despite his careless song.
"--Me seras tu fidele....
--Comme une tourterelle.
--Eh bieu, ca va....
Ca va!
--Ca me va!
--Comme ca, ca me va!
--_Diable_, Monsieur Edouarts! You are very silent. You do not know
where we are going, perhaps?"
Edwards started, as if he were waking from a reverie.
"Oh yes, Signor Calabressa," said he, "I am not likely to forget that.
Perhaps I think more seriously about it than you. To you it is nothing.
But I cannot forget, you see, that you and I are practically conniving
at a murder."
"Hush, hush, my dear friend!" said Calabressa, glancing round. "Be
discreet! And what a foolish phrase, too! You--you whose business is
merely to translate; to preach; to educate a poor devil of a
Russian--what have you to do with it? And to speak of murder! Bah! You
do not understand the difference, then, between killing a man as an act
of private anger and revenge, and executing a man for crimes against
society? My good friend Edouarts, you have lived all your life among
books, but you have not learned any logic--no!"
Edwards was not inclined to go into any abstract argument
"I will do what I have been appointed to do," he said, curtly; "but that
cannot prevent my wishing that it had not to be done at all."
"And who knows?" said Calabressa, lightly. "Perhaps, if you are so
fearful about your small share, your very little share--it is no more
than that of the garcon who helps one on with his coat: is he accessary,
too, if a rogue has to be punished?--is he responsible for the sentence,
also, if he brushes the boots of the judge?--or the servant of the court
who sweeps out the room, is he guilty if there is a miscarriage of
justice? No, no; my dear friend Edouarts, do not alarm yourself. Then, I
was saying, perhaps it may not be necessary, after all. You perceived,
my friend, that when the proposal of his eminence the Cardinal was
mentioned, the Secretary Granaglia smiled, and I, thoughtless, laughed.
You perceived it, did you not?"
By this time they were in the Chiaja, beyond the Villa Reale; and there
were fewer people about. Calabressa stopped and confronted his
companion. For the purposes of greater emphasis, he rested his right
elbow in the palm of his left hand, while his forefinger was at the
point of his nose.
"What?" said he, in this striking attitude, "what if we were both
fools--ha? The Secretary Granaglia and myself--what if we were both
fools?"
Calabressa abandoned his pose, linked his arm within that of his
companion, and walked on with him.
"Come, I will implant something in your mind. I will throw out a fancy;
it may take root and flourish; if not, who is the worse? Now, if the
Council were really to entertain that proposal of Zaccatelli?"
He regarded his friend Edouarts.
"You observed, I say, that Granaglia smiled: to him it was ludicrous. I
laughed: to me it was farcical--the chatter of a _bavard_. The Pope
become the patron of a secret society! The priests become our friends
and allies! Very well, my friend; but listen. The little minds see what
is absurd; the great minds are serious. Granaglia is a little devil of
courage; but he is narrow; he is practical; he has no imagination. I:
what am I?--careless, useless, also a _bavard_, if you will. But it
occurred to me, after all, when I began to think--what a great man, a
great mind, might say to this proposal. Take a man like Lind: see what
he could make of it! 'Do not laugh at it any more, Calabressa,' said I
to myself, 'until you hear the opinion of wiser men than yourself.'"
He gripped Edwards's arm tight.
"Listen. To become the allies of the priests it is not necessary to
believe everything the priests say. On the other hand, they need not
approve all that we are doing, if only they withdraw their opposition.
Do you perceive the possibility now? Do you think of the force of that
combination? The multitudes of the Catholics encouraged to join!--the
Vatican the friend and ally of the Council of the Seven Stars!"
He spoke the last words in a low voice, but he were a proud look.
"And if this proposal were entertained," said Edwards, meditatively, "of
course, they would abandon this other business."
"My good friend," said Calabressa, confidentially, "I know that Lind,
who sees things with a large vision, is against it. He consents--as you
consent to do your little outside part--against his own opinion. More;
if he had been on the Council the decree would never have been granted,
though De Bedros and a dozen of his daughters had demanded it.
'Calabressa,' he said to me, 'it will do great mischief in England if it
is known that we are connected with it.' Well, you see, all this would
be avoided if they closed with the Cardinal's offer."
"You are sanguine, Signor Calabressa," said the other.
"Besides, the thirty thousand lire!"' said Calabressa, eagerly. "Do you
know what that is? Ah, you English have always too much money!"
"No doubt," said Edwards, with a smile. "We are all up to the neck in
gold."
"Thirty thousand lire a year, and the favor of the Vatican; what fools
Granaglia and I were to laugh! But perhaps we will find that the Council
were wiser."
They had now got out to Posilipo, and the stormy sunset had waned,
leaving the sky overclouded and dusk. Calabressa, having first looked up
and down the road, stopped by the side of a high wall, over which
projected a number of the broken, gray-green, spiny leaves of the
cactus--a hedge at the foot of the terrace above.
"_Peste!_" said he. "How the devil is one to find it out in the dark?"
"Find what out?"
"My good friend," said he, in a whisper, "you are not able by chance to
see a bit of thread--a bit of red thread--tied round one of those big
leaves?"
Edwards glanced up.
"Not I."
"Ah, well, we must run the risk. Perhaps by accident there may be a
meeting."
They walked on for some time, Calabressa becoming more and more
watchful. They paused to let a man driving a wagon and a pair of oxen go
by; and then Calabressa, enjoining his companion to remain where he was,
went on alone.
The changing sky had opened somewhat overhead, and there was a wan
twilight shining through the parted clouds. Edwards, looking after
Calabressa, could have fancied that the dark figure had disappeared like
a ghost; but the old albino had merely crossed the road, opened the one
half of a huge gate, and entered a garden.
It was precisely like the gardens of the other villas along the
highway--cut in terraces along the steep side of the hill, with winding
pathways, and marble lions here and there, and little groves of orange
and olive and fig trees; while on one side the sheer descent was guarded
by an enormous cactus hedge. The ground was very unequal: on one small
plateau a fountain was playing--the trickling of the water the only
sound audible in the silence.
Calabressa took out his pocket-book, and tore a leaf from it.
"The devil!" he muttered to himself. "How is one to write in the dark?"
But he managed to scrawl the word "Barsanti;" then he wrapped the paper
round a small pebble and approached the fountain. By putting one foot on
the edge of the stone basin beneath he could reach over to the curved
top, and there he managed to drop the missive into some aperture
concealed under the lip. He stepped back, dried his hand with his
handkerchief, and then went down one of the pathways to a lower level of
the garden.
Here he easily found the entrance to an ordinary sort of grotto--a
narrow cave winding inward and ending in a piece of fancy rockwork down
which the water was heard to trickle. But he did not go to the end--he
stopped about half-way and listened. There was no sound whatever in the
dark, except the plash of the tiny water-fall.
Then there was a heavy grating noise, and in the black wall before him
appeared a vertical line of orange light. This sudden gleam was so
bewildering to the eyes that Calabressa could not see who it was that
come out to him; he only knew that the stranger waited for him to pass
on into the outer air.
"It is cooler here. To your business, friend Calabressa."
The moment Calabressa recognized this tall, military-looking man, with
the closely cropped bullet-head and long silver-white mustache, he
whipped off his cap, and said, anxiously,
"A thousand pardons, Excellency! a thousand pardons! Do I interrupt? May
not I see Fossati?"
"It is unnecessary. There is much business to-night. One must breathe
the air sometimes."
Calabressa for once had completely lost his _sang-froid_. He could not
speak for stammering.
"I assure you, your Excellency, it is death to me to think that I
interrupt you."
"But why did you come, then, my friend? To the point."
"Zaccatelli," the other managed to get out.
"Well?"
"There was a proposal. Some days ago I saw Granaglia."
"Well?"
"Pardon me, Excellency. If I had known, not for worlds would I have
called you--"
"Come, come my Calabressa," said the other, good-naturedly. "No more
apologies. What is it you have to say?--the proposal made by the
Cardinal? Yes; we know about that."
"And it has not been accepted?--the decree remains?"
"You waste your breath, my friend. The decree remains, certainly. We are
not children; we do not play. What more, my Calabressa?"
But Calabressa had to collect his thoughts. Then he said, slowly,
"It occurred to me when I was in England--there was a poor devil there
who would have thrown away his life in a useless act of revenge--well--"
"Well, you brought him over here," said the other, interrupting him.
"Your object? Ah, Lind and you being old comrades; and Lind appearing to
you to be in a difficulty. But did Lind approve?"
"Not quite," said Calabressa, still hesitating. "He allowed us to try.
He was doubtful himself."
"I should have thought so," said the other, ironically. "No, good
Calabressa; we cannot accept the services of a maniac. The night has got
dark; I cannot see whether you are surprised. How do we know? The man
Kirski has been twice examined--once in Venice, once this morning, when
you went down to the _Luisa_; the reports the same. What! To have a
maniac blundering about the gates, attracting every one's notice by his
gibberish; then he is arrested with a pistol or a knife in his hand; he
talks nonsense about some Madonna; he is frightened into a confession,
and we become the laughing-stock of Europe! Impossible, impossible, my
Calabressa: where were your wits? No wonder Lind was doubtful--"
"The man is capable of being taught," said Calabressa, humbly.
"We need not waste more breath, my friend. To-night Lind will be
reminded why it was necessary that the execution of this decree was
intrusted to the English section: he must not send any Russian madman to
compromise us."
"Then I must take him back, your Excellency!"
"No; send him back--with the English scholar. You will remain in Naples,
Calabressa. There is something stirring that will interest you."
"I am at your service, Excellency."
"Good-night, dear friend."
The figure beside him had disappeared almost before he had time to
return the salutation, and he was left to find his way down to the gate,
taking care not to run unawares on one of the long cactus spines. He
discovered Edwards precisely where he had left him.
"Ah, Monsieur Edouarts, now you may clap your hands--now you may shout
an English 'hurrah!' For you, at all events, there is good news."
"That project has been abandoned, then?" said Edwards, eagerly.
"No, no, no!" said Calabressa, loftily; as if he had never entertained
such a possibility. "Do you think the Council is to be played with--is
to be bribed by so many and so many lire? No, no. Its decree is
inviolable."
"Well, then?"
"Well, then, some stupidities of our Russian friend have saved you: they
know everything, these wonderful people: they say, 'No; we will not
trust the affair to a madman.' Do you perceive? What you have to do now
is to take Kirski back to England."
"And I am not wanted any longer?" said the other, with the same
eagerness.
"I presume not. I am. I remain in Naples. For you, you are free. Away
to England! I give you my blessing; and to-night--to-night you will give
me a bottle of wine."
But presently he added, as they still walked on,
"Friend Edouarts, do you think I should be humiliated because my little
plan has been refused? No: it was born of idleness. My freedom was new
to me; over in England I had nothing to do. And when Lind objected, I
talked him over. _Peste_, if those fellows of Society had not got at the
Russian, all might have been well."
"You will forgive my pointing out," said Edwards, in quite a facetious
way, "that all would not have been so well with me, for one. I am very
glad to be able to wash my hands of it. You shall have not only one but
two bottles of wine with supper, if you please."
"Well, friend Edouarts. I bring you the good news, but I am not the
author of it. No; I must confess, I would rather have had my plan
carried out. But what matter? One does one's best from time to time--the
hours go by--at the end comes sleep, and no one can torment you more."
They walked on for a time in silence. And now before them lay the
wonderful sight of Naples ablaze with a dusky yellow radiance in the
dark; and far away beyond the most distant golden points, high up in the
black deeps of the sky, the constant, motionless, crimson glow of
Vesuvius told them where the peaks of the mountain, themselves unseen
towered above the sea.
By-and-by they plunged into the great murmuring city.
"You are going back to England, Monsieur Edouarts. You will take Kirski
to Mr. Brand, he will be reinstated in his work; Englishmen do not
forget their promises. Then I have another little commission for you."
He went into one of the small jeweller's shops, and, after a great deal
of haggling--for his purse was not heavy, and he knew the ways of his
countrymen--he bought a necklace of pink coral. It was carefully wrapped
in wool and put into a box. Then they went outside again.
"You will give this little present, my good friend Edouarts--you will
take it, with my compliments, to my beautiful, noble child Natalie; and
you will tell her that it did not cost much, but it is only a
message--to show her that Calabressa still thinks of her, and loves, her
always."