The Italians Part 46

"That is your affair. I will undertake no further responsibility,"

responded Fra Pacifico, doggedly.

"You cannot mean, my father, that you will not help me?" And Guglielmi contemplated Fra Pacifico fixedly with all the lightnings he could bring to bear upon him. To his amazement, he produced no effect whatever. Fra Pacifico remained silent. Altogether this was a priest different from any he had ever met with--Guglielmi hated priests--he began to be interested in Fra Pacifico.

"Well, well," was Guglielmi's reply, with an aspect of intense chagrin, "I had better hopes. Your position, Fra Pacifico, as a peace-maker--as a friend of the family--however"--here the lawyer shrugged his shoulders, and his eyes wandered restlessly up and down the room--"however, at least permit me to tell you what I intend to do."

Fra Pacifico bowed coldly.

"As you please," was his reply.

Maestro Guglielmi advanced close to Fra Pacifico, and lowered his voice almost to a whisper.

"The circ.u.mstances attending this marriage are becoming very public.

My client, the Marchesa Guinigi, considers her position so exalted she dares to court publicity. She forgets we are not in the middle ages.

Ha! ha!" and Guglielmi showed his teeth in a smile that was nothing but a grin--"publicity will be fatal to the young lady. This the marchesa fails to see; but I see it, and you see it, my father."

Fra Pacifico shook himself all over as though silently rejecting any possible partic.i.p.ation in Maestro Guglielmi's arguments. Guglielmi quite understood the gesture, but continued, perfectly at his ease:

"The high rank of the young lady--the wealth of the count--a marriage-contract broken--an ill.u.s.trious name libeled--Count n.o.bili, a well-known member of the Jockey Club, in concealment--the Lucchese populace roused to fury--all these details have reached the capital.

A certain royal personage"--here Guglielmi drew himself up pompously, and waved his hand, as was his wont in the fervor of a grand peroration--"a certain royal personage, who has reasons of his own for avoiding unnecessary scandal (possibly because the royal personage causes so much himself, and considers scandal his own prerogative) "--Guglielmi emphasized his joke with such scintillation as would metaphorically have taken any other man than Fra Pacifico off his legs--even Fra Pacifico stared at him with astonishment--"a certain royal personage, I say--earnestly desires that this affair should be amicably arranged--that the republican party should not have the gratification of gloating over a sensational trial between two n.o.ble families (the republicans would make terrible capital out of it)--a certain personage desires, I say, that the affair should be arranged--amicably arranged--not only by a formal marriage--the formal marriage, of course, we positively insist on--but by a complete reconciliation between the parties. If this should not be so, the present ceremony will infallibly lead to a lawsuit respecting the civil marriage--the domicile--and the cohabitation--which it is distinctly understood that Count n.o.bili will refuse, and that the Marchesa Guinigi, acting for her niece, will maintain. It is essential, therefore, that more than the formal ceremony shall take place. It is essential that the subsequent cohabitation--"

"I see your drift," interrupted downright Fra Pacifico, in his blunt way; "no need to go into further details."

Spite of himself, Fra Pacifico had become interested in the narrative.

The cunning lawyer intended that Fra Pacifico should become so interested. What was the strong-fisted, simple-hearted priest beside such a sophist as Maestro Guglielmi!

"The royal personage in question," continued Guglielmi, who read in Fra Pacifico's frank countenance that he had conquered his repugnance, "has done me the high honor of communicating to me his august sentiments. I have pledged myself to do all I can to prevent the catastrophe of law. My official capacity, however, ends with Count n.o.bili's presence here at the appointed hour."

At the word "hour" Guglielmi hastily pulled out his watch.

"Only a few minutes more," he muttered. "But this is not all. Listen, my father."

He gave a hasty glance round, then put his lips close to the priest's ear.

"If I succeed--may I say _we_?" he added, insinuatingly--"if _we_ succeed, a canonry will be offered to you, Fra Pacifico; and I"

(Guglielmi's speaking eyes became brilliantly emphatic now)--"I shall be appointed judge of the tribunal at Lucca."

"Pshaw!" cried Fra Pacifico, retreating from him with an expression of blank disappointment. "I a canon at Lucca! If that is to be the consequence of success, you must depend on yourself, Signore Guglielmi. I decline to help you. I would not be a canon at Lucca if the King of Italy asked me in person."

Guglielmi, whose tactics were, if he failed, never to show it, smiled his falsest smile.

"n.o.ble disinterestedness!" he exclaimed, drawing his delicate hand across his brow. "Nothing could have raised your reverence higher in my esteem than this refusal!"

To conceal his real annoyance, Maestro Guglielmi turned away and coughed. It was a diplomatic cough, ready on all emergencies. Again he consulted his watch.

"Five minutes more, then we must a.s.semble at the altar. A fine will be levied upon Count n.o.bili, if he is not punctual."

"If it is so near the time, I must beg you to excuse me," said Fra Pacifico, glad to escape.

Fra Pacifico, walked rapidly toward the door opening into the corridor leading to the chapel. His retreating figure was followed by a succession of fireworks from Guglielmi's eyes, indicative of indignation and contempt.

"He who sleeps catches no fish," the lawyer muttered to himself, biting his lips. "But the priest will help me--spite of himself, he will help me. A health to Holy Mother Church! She would not do much if all her ministers were like this country clod. He is without ambition.

He has quite fatigued me."

Saying this, Maestro Guglielmi poured out another gla.s.s of wine. He critically examined the wine in the light before putting it to his lips; then he swallowed it with an expression of approbation.

CHAPTER VII.

THE HOUR STRIKES.

The chapel was approached by a door communicating with the corridor.

(There was another entrance from the garden; at this entrance Adamo was stationed.) It was narrow and lofty, more like a gallery than a chapel, except that the double windows at either end were arched and filled with stained gla.s.s. The altar was placed in a recess facing the door opening from the corridor. It was of dark marble raised on steps, and was backed by a painting too much blackened by smoke to be distinguished. Within the rails stood Fra Pacifico, arrayed in a vestment of white and gold. The grand outline of his tall figure filled the front of the altar. No one would have recognized the parish priest in the stately ecclesiastic who wore his robes with so much dignity. Beside Fra Pacifico was Angelo transformed into an acolyte, wearing a linen surplice--Angelo awed into perfect propriety--swinging a silver censer, and only to be recognized by the twinkling of his wicked eyes (not even Fra Pacifico could tame them). To the right of the altar stood the marchesa. Maestro Guglielmi, tablets in hand, was beside her. Behind, at a respectful distance, appeared Silvestro, gathered up into the smallest possible compa.s.s.

As the slow moments pa.s.sed, all stood so motionless--all save Angelo, swinging the silver censer--they might have pa.s.sed for a sculptured group upon a marble tomb. One--two--struck from the old clock in the Lombard Tower at Corellia. At the last stroke the door from the garden was thrown open. Count n.o.bili stood in the doorway. At the moment of Count n.o.bili's appearance Maestro Guglielmi drew out his watch; then he proceeded to note upon his tablets that Count n.o.bili, having observed the appointed time, was not subject to a fine.

Count n.o.bili paused on the threshold, then he advanced to the altar.

That he had come in haste was apparent. His dress was travel-stained and dusty; the locks of his abundant chestnut hair matted and rough; his whole appearance wild and disordered. All the outward polish of the man was gone; the happy smile contagious in its brightness; the pleasant curl of the upper lip raising the fair mustache; the kindling eye so capable of tenderness. His expression was of a man undergoing a terrible ordeal; defiance, shame, anger, contended on his face.

There was something in the studied negligence of Count n.o.bili's appearance that irritated the marchesa to the last degree of endurance. She bridled with rage, and exchanged a significant glance with Guglielmi.

Footsteps were now heard coming from the sala. It was Enrica, led by the cavaliere. Enrica was whiter than her bridal veil. She had suffered Pipa to array her as she pleased, without a word. Her hair was arranged in a coronet upon her head; a whole sheaf of golden curls hung down from it behind. There were the exquisite symmetry of form, the natural grace, the dreamy beauty--all the soft harmony of color upon her oval face--but the freshness of girlhood was gone. Enrica had made a desperate effort to be calm. n.o.bili was under the same roof--in the same room--n.o.bili was beside her. Would he not show some sign that he still loved her?--Else why had he come?--One glance at him was enough. Oh! he was changed!--She could not bear it. Enrica would have fled had not Trenta held her. The marchesa, too, advanced a step or two, and cast upon her a look so menacing that it filled her with terror. Trembling all over, Enrica clung to the cavaliere. He led her gently forward, and placed her beside Count n.o.bili standing at the altar. Thus unsupported, Enrica tottered--she seemed about to fall. No hand was stretched out to help her.

n.o.bili had turned visibly pale as Enrica entered. His face was averted. The witnesses, Adamo and Silvestro, ranged themselves on either side. The marchesa and Maestro Guglielmi drew nearer to the altar. Angelo waved the censer, walking to and fro before the rails.

Pipa peeped in at the open doorway. Her eyes were red with weeping.

Pipa looked round aghast.

"What a marriage was this! More like a death than a marriage! She would not have married so--not if it had cost her her life--no music, no rose-leaves, no dance, no wine. None had even changed their clothes but the cavaliere and the signorina. And a bridegroom like that!--a statue--not a living man! And the signorina--poverina--hardly able to stand upon her feet! The signorina would be sure to faint, she was so weak."

Pipa had to m.u.f.fle her face in her handkerchief to drown her sobs.

Then Fra Pacifico's impressive voice broke the silence with the opening words of exhortation.

"Deus Israel sit vobisc.u.m."

"Gloria patri," was the response in Angelo's childish treble.

Enrica and n.o.bili now knelt side by side. Two lighted tapers, typical of chaste love, were placed on the floor beside them on either hand.

The image of the Virgin on the altar was uncovered. The tall candles flickered, Enrica and n.o.bili knelt side by side--the man who had ceased to love, and the woman who still loved, but who dared not confess her love!

As Fra Pacifico proceeded, Count n.o.bili's face hardened. Was not the basilisk eye of the marchesa upon him? Her lawyer, too, taking notes of every look and gesture?

"Mario n.o.bili, wilt thou have this woman to be thy wife?" asked the priest. Turning from the altar, Fra Pacifico faced Count n.o.bili as he put this question.

A hot flush overspread n.o.bili's face. He opened his lips to speak, but no words were audible. Would the words not come, or would n.o.bili at the last moment refuse to utter them?