The Patriot Part 19

"You, who play at primero with Don Franco Maironi, should warn him that the air of Lugano is far better than the air of Oria.

"TIVANO."

Maria silently exhibited the basket, which was still full, to Signora Pasotti, and by clever acting ill.u.s.trated the manner of discovery of the letter, which she gave her to read.

As soon as the deaf woman had finished reading, a strange, indescribable pantomime began between the three. Maria and Don Giuseppe, by dint of gesticulations and rollings of their eyes, expressed their surprise and terror; Barborin, half frightened, half dazed, stared open-mouthed, from one to the other, the letter still in her hand, as if she had understood. As a matter of fact she had made out only that the letter must be terrible. Presently a thought struck her. She held the letter out to Don Giuseppe with her left hand, while with her right forefinger she pointed to the word _Franco_; then she crossed her wrists with a questioning gesture; and as the others, recognising that the sign meant handcuffs, nodded their heads violently in confirmation, she became half frenzied, so great was her affection for Luisa, and forgetting the matter that had brought her there, she explained by signs, as if both the others had been deaf also, that she would go straight to Oria, see Don Franco, and give him the letter.

She started to rush away, cramming the letter into her pocket, and with hardly a word of leave-taking to Don Giuseppe and Maria, who, greatly distressed, were trying in vain to get hold of her, to detain her and recommend all possible precautions. But she slipped through their fingers, and her great, tall bonnet quivering, her old grey skirt dragging, set off at a trot towards Oria, where she arrived quite out of breath, with her head full of gendarmes, inspections, scenes of terror and of grief.

She went up the stairs of the little Ribera garden, making straight for the hall, where she saw there were visitors. She recognised the Receiver and the Imperial and Royal Commissary of Porlezza, and was terrified, believing they were come for the terrible blow, but then she perceived Signora Bianconi and Signor Giacomo Puttini, and once more breathed freely.

The Commissary, seated in the post of honour on the large sofa, next to the Engineer-in-Chief, talked a great deal, with much fluency and brilliancy, looking oftenest at Franco, as if he were the only person present upon whom it was worth while to waste breath and wit. Franco, lounging in an armchair, was mute and sullen, like one who, in the house of another, perceives a bad odour which good manners forbade him either to flee from or curse. They were discussing the Crimean campaign, and the Commissary was praising the plan of the allied powers to attack the colossus in that vital point, his ambition. He spoke of the Russian barbarities, and of the autocrat himself in such terms as to cause Franco to tremble in his dread of an Anglo-Franco-Austrian alliance, and Carlascia to open his eyes wide, for he still held the views of 1848, and looked upon the Czar as a good friend of the family. "And you, Signor First-Political-Deputy, what do you think of it?" said the Commissary, turning his sarcastic smile upon Signor Giacomo. Puttini winked his little eyes very hard, and having felt his knees all over, replied: "Most respected Signor Commissary, I know little about Russia, France, or England, and I care still less. I let them settle their own affairs. But, to speak the truth, I am sorry for that poor dog 'Papuzza.' He was as quiet as a young chicken until they worried him, then when he called for help, fifty rushed to his aid, and now they are all upon him, devouring everything they can grab; and whether poor 'Papuzza' win or lose, he will have nothing left but his s.h.i.+rt."

This nickname "Papuzza,"--a Venetian distortion of _Babbuccia_ slippers--Signor Giacomo applied to the Turk. "Papuzza" personified Turkey in the form of one ideal Turk, with a huge turban, a long beard, a big belly, and slippers. Puttini, the peaceful, half free-thinker, had a weakness for the lazy, placid, easy-going "Papuzza."

"Don't worry," the Commissary laughed. "Your friend 'Papuzza' will come out all right. We are his friends also, and will not allow him to be mutilated or bled."

Franco, frowning sternly, could not refrain from grumbling.

"Nevertheless, that would be a great injustice towards Russia."

The Commissary was silent, and Signora Peppina, displaying unusual tact, proposed going out to see the flowers.

"A good idea!" said the engineer, who was very glad to have the discussion interrupted.

While pa.s.sing from the hall to the little garden the Commissary took Franco's arm familiarly, and whispered in his ear: "You are right, you know, about the injustice; but there are certain things we government officials may not say." Franco, who was greatly astonished at this utterance, felt as if the touch of the Imperial and Royal hand were burning him. If this man had had a more Italian face he would have believed him, but with that Kalmuc countenance he did not believe him, and allowed the subject to drop. But his companion resumed it in a low tone, as he leaned over the parapet above the lake, and pretended to examine the _ficus repens_ that covered the wall.

"You yourself should avoid certain expressions," said he. "There are fools who might place false interpretations upon them." And he gave a slight nod in the direction of the Receiver. "Be careful, be careful!"

"Thank you," Franco replied, dryly, "but I hardly think I shall need to be careful." "We can never be sure, never be sure, never be sure!" the Commissary murmured, and, followed by Franco, he moved away towards the spot where the Receiver and the engineer were discussing the subject of tench, near the few steps leading down to the second terrace of the little garden.

Close at hand stood the famous red box with the jasmine.

"That red does not look well, Signor Maironi," said the mastiff, _ex abrupto_, and he threw up his hand with a gesture that meant, "Away with it!" Just then Luisa looked into the garden from the hall, and called her husband. The Commissary turned to his zealous acolyte, and said sharply, "Drop that!"

Signora Pasotti was leaving, and wished to salute Franco. He would have shown her out through the garden, but she, anxious to avoid going through so many ceremonies with those other gentlemen, preferred to go down by the inside stairs, and Franco escorted her as far as the street-door, which stood open. To his great surprise Signora Pasotti, instead of pa.s.sing out, closed the door, and began an excited and perfectly unintelligible pantomime, accompanying it with short sighs and rollings of the eyes; after this she took a letter from her pocket and offered it to him.

Franco read, shrugged his shoulders, and put the letter in his pocket.

Then as Signora Pasotti kept on recommending flight, flight--Lugano, Lugano, in despairing pantomime, he smiled and rea.s.sured her by a gesture. She once more seized his hands, and once more the lofty bonnet (which had a tipsy inclination towards the right), and the long black curls, trembled in earnest supplication. She strained her eyes wide, pushed out her lips as far as possible, and laid her forefinger against her nose to indicate silence. "With Pasotti also!" she said; and these were the only words she spoke during the whole interview. Then she trotted away.

Franco went upstairs again, thinking about his position. This might be a false alarm, just as it might also be a serious matter. But why should they arrest him? He tried to remember if he had anything of a compromising nature in the house, and could recall nothing. It flashed across his mind that his grandmother might have been guilty of some perfidy, but he at once banished the thought, reproaching himself, and postponed a decision until he should have spoken to his wife.

He returned to the little garden, where the Commissary, as soon as he caught sight of him, asked him to point out the dahlias Signora Peppina had been praising. Upon learning that they were in the kitchen-garden he proposed going there with Franco. They could go alone, for indeed all the others were ignorant on the subject of dahlias. Franco accepted.

The conduct of this little police-spy in gloves puzzled him, and he sought to discover if it could in any way be connected with the mysterious warning.

"Listen, Signor Maironi," the Commissary began resolutely, when Franco had closed the gate of the kitchen-garden behind him. "I wish to say a word to you."

Franco who was descending the few steps leading from the threshold of the gate, stopped with a clouded brow. "Come here," the Commissary added imperiously. "What I am about to do is perhaps not in accordance with my duty, but I shall do it, notwithstanding. I am too good a friend of the Marchesa, your grandmother, not to do it. You are in great danger."

"I?" Franco inquired, coldly. "In danger of what?"

Franco was endowed with a rapid and sure intuition of the thoughts of others. The Commissary's words agreed perfectly with the message Barborin had brought; still, at that moment he felt that the little police-spy harboured treachery in his heart.

"In danger of what? Of Mantua!" was Zerboli's reply.

Franco did not flinch upon hearing the awful word, synonym of incarceration and the gibbet.

"I need not fear Mantua," said he. "I have done nothing to deserve Mantua."

"Nevertheless----!"

"Of what am I accused?" Franco repeated.

"You will soon find out if you remain here," the Commissary replied, laying stress upon the last words. "And now let us examine these dahlias."

"I have done nothing!" Franco once more repeated. "I will not leave."

"Let us see these dahlias, let us see these dahlias," the Commissary insisted.

Franco felt that he should thank this man, but he could not. He showed him his flowers with just that amount of civility that was indispensable, and with perfect composure. Then he conducted him from the kitchen-garden to the house, talking of some obscure Professor Maspero, and of his secret method of combating _oidium_.

In the hall they were discussing another and far worse form of _oidium_.

Signora Peppina was hara.s.sed by a terrible fear of cholera. She recognised that cholera served as a warning to every good Christian to make his peace with G.o.d, and that when we are at peace with G.o.d, it is indeed a blessing to be called to the next world, "but still, this body of ours, you know! This precious body! And when you reflect that we have only one!"

"The cholera," said Luisa, "might do no end of good, if it had any sense, but it has not. You see," she whispered to Signora Peppina as Bianconi rose and went towards the Commissary, who had returned with Franco, "the cholera is quite capable of taking you, and leaving your husband." At this extraordinary remark the terrified Peppina started violently, exclaiming: "_Jesusmaria!_" and then, perceiving she had betrayed her true feelings, that she had not exhibited that tenderness for Carlascia of which she was always prating, she clutched her neighbour's knee, and bending forward, said in an undertone, her face as red as a poppy: "Be quiet, be quiet, be quiet!"

But Luisa was no longer thinking of her. A glance from Franco had warned her that something had happened.

When all the visitors had departed, Uncle Piero sat down to read the _Milan Gazette_, and Luisa said to her husband: "It is three o'clock.

Let us go and wake Maria."

When he and she were alone in the alcove-room, instead of at once opening the shutters, she inquired what had happened. Franco told her everything, from Signora Pasotti's letter to the Commissary's strange communication.

Luisa listened with a serious face, but without exhibiting any sign of fear. Then she examined the mysterious note. Both she and Franco were aware that among the government agents at Porlezza there was one honest man, who, in 1849 and 1850 had saved several patriots by a timely warning. But they were also aware that this honest man was ignorant of the rules of orthography and grammar, and the note Barborin had brought was perfectly correct. As to the Commissary, it was well known that he was one of the most malicious and treacherous of the government's tools.

Luisa approved of the answer her husband had made him.

Franco himself was well aware of all this, but he could find no plausible explanation for this persecution. Luisa, however, had one in mind which contempt for the grandmother had suggested to her. This Commissary was a good friend of the grandmother's, he himself had said so, thereby displaying, so he thought, the refinement of cunning. In the Commissary's glove there was the talon of the Marchesa. She meant to strike not Franco alone, but all the others as well, and they were to be reached through him who maintained the family with the fruit of his labours, out of the kindness of his generous heart. She knew from speeches which had been repeated to her by the usual hateful gossips, that the grandmother hated Uncle Piero because Uncle Piero had made it possible for her grandson to rebel against her, and to live comfortably enough in rebellion. Now they were seeking for a pretext to strike him.

The flight of the nephew would be a confession, and, for a government like the Austrian, a good pretext to strike the uncle. Luisa did not say so at once, but she let him see that she had an idea, and little by little, her husband drew it from her. When she had told him, though in his heart he believed she was right, he nevertheless protested in words, defending his grandmother against an accusation which seemed too monstrous, and which rested on so slight a foundation. At all events husband and wife agreed perfectly in their resolve not to flee, but to await further developments. They therefore wasted no time in making or discussing suppositions. Luisa rose and went to open the shutters, and standing in the full light, she turned to look smilingly at her husband, stretching out her hand to him. He pressed it and shook it, his heart aflame, but his tongue speechless. They felt like soldiers, who, conscious of the distant roar of cannon, are being led along a quiet road, towards what fate G.o.d only knows.