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diff --git a/old/54614-8.txt b/old/54614-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index b1caee2..0000000 --- a/old/54614-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,17076 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Land of Cockayne, by Matilde Serao - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: The Land of Cockayne - -Author: Matilde Serao - -Release Date: April 26, 2017 [EBook #54614] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LAND OF COCKAYNE *** - - - - -Produced by Andrés V. Galia, Charlie Howard, Chris Curnow -and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at -http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images -generously made available by The Internet Archive/American -Libraries.) - - - - - - - - - - [Illustration] - - THE LAND OF COCKAYNE - - A Novel - - - _By_ - - MATILDE SERAO - - AUTHOR OF - - "FAREWELL LOVE!" "FANTASY" "THE CONQUEST OF ROME" ETC. - - [Illustration] - - - HARPER & BROTHERS NEW YORK AND LONDON PUBLISHERS--1901 - - - - - CONTENTS - - - CHAPTER PAGE - - I. THE LOTTERY DRAWING 1 - - II. AGNESINA FRAGALÀ'S CHRISTENING 23 - - III. IN THE CAVALCANTIS' HOUSE 47 - - IV. DR. AMATI 62 - - V. CARNIVAL AT NAPLES 82 - - VI. DONNA CATERINA AND DONNA CONCETTA 99 - - VII. DON GENNARO PARASCANDOLO'S BUSINESS 111 - - VIII. IN DON CRESCENZIO'S LOTTERY-SHOP 124 - - IX. BIANCA MARIA'S VISION 142 - - X. MAY AND SAN GENNARO'S MIRACLE 155 - - XI. AN IDYLL AND MADNESS 174 - - XII. THE THREE SISTERS--CHIARASTELLA THE WITCH 197 - - XIII. THE CONFECTIONER'S SHOP BANKRUPT 215 - - XIV. THE MEDIUM'S IMPRISONMENT 231 - - XV. SACRILEGE--LOVE'S DREAM FLED 254 - - XVI. PASQUALINO DE FEO'S WILL 279 - - XVII. BARBASSONE'S INN--THE DUEL 294 - - XVIII. TO LET 308 - - XIX. DON CRESCENZIO'S TRIALS 316 - - XX. BIANCA MARIA CAVALCANTI 348 - - - - - CHAPTER I - - THE LOTTERY DRAWING - - -The afternoon sun crept into the Piazzetta dei Banchi Nuovi, -broadening from Cardone's, the engraver, to Cappa's, the chemist, -lengthening on from there up the whole Santa Chiara Road, spreading -a light of unusual gaiety over the street, which always wears, even -in its most frequented hours, a frigid, claustral aspect. But the -great morning traffic, of people coming from the northern districts -of the town--Avvocata, Stella, San Carlo all' Arena, San Lorenzo--to -go down to the lower quarters of Porto, Pendino and Mercato, or _vice -versâ_, had been slowly slackening since mid-day; the coming and -going of carts, carriages and pedlars had ceased; everybody seemed -to be taking short cuts by the Chiostro di Santa Chiara and the Vico -1^o Foglia towards Mezzocannone Alley, the Gesù Nuovo, San Giovanni -Maggiore. Presently the sun's brightness lit up a street by then -quite deserted. The shopkeepers on the right side of Santa Chiara--as -the left side is only the high, dark enclosure wall of the Poor -Clares' Convent--dealers in old dusty or wretched mean new furniture, -coloured engravings, shiny oleographs, wooden and stucco saints, were -at the back of their dark shops, eating over a corner of wine-stained -tablecloth, with a caraffe of Marano small wine, closed by a twisted -vine-leaf, standing by a big dish of macaroni. The porters, seated on -the ground at the shop entrance, were eating lazily at a small loaf -of bread, cut in two to hold some tasty viand--fried gourd soaked in -vinegar, parsnips in green sauce, pomegranates seasoned with vinegar, -garlic and pepper. The sharp, greasy smell of the quantity of -tomatoes all this macaroni was cooked in, from one end of the street -to the other, mingled with the acute odour of sour vinegar and coarse -spices. From some passing fruitseller, carrying a nearly empty basket -of figs on his head, or pushing a barrow with purple plums, and tough -spotted peaches at the bottom of the baskets, the shopkeepers, -clerks and porters, lips still red from tomatoes or shining with -grease, bargained for a penny-worth of fruit, to finish their -meal; two workmen, in front of the Martello printing-shop, where -the small visiting-card press had stopped, deeply coveted a yellow -melon; and two seamstresses were waiting on a doorstep chattering, -till the seller of _pizza_ passed, which is the shredded rind of -tomato, garlic, and wild marjoram, cooked in the oven, and sold at -a farthing, a half-penny, a penny, the piece. The _pizzaiuolo_ did -pass, in fact, but he was carrying his wooden tray, shining with oil, -under his arm, without a bit of _pizza_; he had sold everything, and -was going off to eat his own meal, down to the Porto quarter, where -his shop was. The two disappointed seamstresses consulted each other; -one of them, a blonde, with a golden aureole round her pale gentle -face, moved off with that undulating step that gives an Oriental -touch to a Neapolitan woman's charm. She went up Santa Chiara Road, -bending her head so as not to get the sun in her face, and went -into Impresa Lane, towards the wine-seller's dark shop--which was -a drinking-shop, too--almost opposite the Impresa Palace; she was -going to buy something to eat for her friend and herself. The Impresa -Lane had got empty, too, after mid-day, when all go back to their -houses and shops to eat, as the summer heat gets greater, and the -_controra_--the time of the Neapolitan day that corresponds to the -Spanish siesta--begins with food, rest and sleep for tired folk. The -dressmaker, a little frightened by the darkness of the cellar, out -of which came a sour smell of wine, had stopped on the threshold; -blinking, she looked on the ground before going in, feeling that an -open underground cave, with a black gaping mouth, was dangerous. But -the shop-boy came towards her to serve her. - -'Give me something to eat with my bread,' she said, swaying herself a -little. - -'Fried fish?' - -'No.' - -'A little dried cod with sauce?' - -'No, no'--with disgust. - -'A morsel of tripe?' - -'No, no.' - -'What do you want, then?' the boy asked, rather annoyed. - -'I would like--I would like three-halfpence-worth of meat; we will -eat it with our bread--Nannina and I,' said she, with a pretty greedy -grimace. - -'We don't cook meat to-day; it is Saturday. Only tripe for -unbelievers on Saturday.' - -'Well, give me the salt cod,' she murmured, withholding a sigh. Then -she looked into the Impresa court with curiosity, while the youth -disappeared into the black depths of the cellar to get the cod. A -little ray of sunshine coming from the top turned the court golden; -every now and then some man or woman's form crossed it. Antonietta, -the seamstress, went on staring, humming a popular dirge, slightly -swaying on her hips. - -'Here is the cod,' said the youth, coming back. He had put it in -a small plate; there were four big bits falling into flakes, in a -reddish sauce strongly seasoned with pepper, the sauce, as it waved -about, leaving yellow oily marks on the edges of the gray plate. - -'Here is the money,' Antonietta murmured, pulling it out of her -pocket. But she stood with the plate in her hand, looking at the cod -falling to pieces in the juice. - -'If I were to take a _terno_,' she said, as she went on her way, -holding the plate carefully, 'I should like to gratify my wish of -eating meat every day.' - -'Meat and macaroni,' the boy called back, laughing. - -'Just so--meat and macaroni,' the seamstress shouted triumphantly, -her eyes still fixed on the plate, not to let the sauce fall. - -'Morning and evening,' called out the boy from the doorway. - -'Morning and evening,' Antonietta answered back. - -'You should apply to that youth,' the boy shouted gaily from the -cellar, indicating the Impresa court with his eyes. - -'I'll come back later,' said the seamstress from the corner of the -street; 'I'll bring you the plate.' - -Again the Impresa Lane was deserted for a long time. In winter it is -much frequented at mid-day by the young students coming out of the -University, who take the shortcut to the Gesù and Toledo; but it was -summer--the students had their holidays. Still, every now and then, -as the hour went on, someone came round the corner from Santa Chiara -or Mezzocannone, and stopped in the Impresa gateway--some with a -cautious look, others feigning indifference. One of the first had -been a shoeblack, with his block--a lame old dwarf, who carried it on -his raised hips; he was bent in two, wrapped up in an old great-coat, -green, stained and patched, a cap with no peak over his eyes. - -He had put down his block under the Impresa portico, and stretched -himself out on the ground, as if awaiting customers; but he forgot -to beat those two dry claps with the brush on the wood to claim it. -Deeply engrossed with a long list of ticket numbers in his hand, -the old dwarf's yellow, distorted face was transformed by intense -passion. As the hour got near, people went on passing before him, and -a murmur of hoarse, strident Neapolitan voices rose in the court. - -A man, a workman, stopped near the shoeblack; he might have been -thirty-five, but he was wan, and his eyes were dull; his jacket was -thrown over his shoulder, showing a coloured calico shirt. - -'Do you want a shine?' the bootblack asked mechanically, laying down -his list of numbers. - -'Just so,' replied the other, grinning; '_I_ want a shine. If I -had another half-penny, I would have played a last ticket at Donna -Caterina's to-day.' - -'The _small_ game?' asked the shoeblack in a whisper. - -'Yes, a little for the Government and a little to Donna Caterina. -They are all thieves--all thieves,' the workman afterwards added, -chewing his black stump of a cigar, and shaking his head with a look -of great distrust. - -'You have taken a half-holiday to-day?' - -'I never go there on Saturday,' said the other, giving a sickly -smile. 'I go to look for Fortune; I must find her some Saturday -morning!' - -'When do you get your week's money?' - -'Eh!' he said, shrugging his shoulders--'generally on Fridays: I have -nothing to get.' - -'How do you manage to gamble?' - -'One can always get it for gambling. Donna Caterina's sister--she of -the _small_ game--lends money.' - -'Does she take big interest?' - -'A sou for each franc every week.' - -'Not bad--not bad,' said the shoeblack, with a convinced look. - -'I have seventy-five francs to give her,' said the glove-cutter. -'Every Monday there is a storm. She waits for me outside the factory -door, shouting and swearing. She is really a witch, Michele. But what -can I do? One day or other I will take a _terno_, and I will pay her.' - -'What will you do with the rest of your winnings?' Michele asked, -laughing. - -'I know what I will do,' cried Gaetano, the cutter. 'In new clothes, -a pheasant's feather in my cap, in a carriage with bells, we will all -go to amuse ourselves at the Due Pulcinelli, at Campo di Marte.' - -'Or at Figlio di Pietro, at Posellipo.' - -'At Asso di coppe, at Portici.' - -'Inn after inn.' - -'Meat and macaroni.' - -'And Monte di Procida wine.' - -'Just so, one only lives once,' the glove-cutter philosophically -concluded, pulling his jacket up on his shoulder. - -'I don't get into debt,' the shoeblack added, after a minute's -silence. - -'Lucky you!' - -'I would get no one to lend me a sou, anyhow. But I play everything. -I have no family; I can do what I like.' - -'Lucky you!' Gaetano repeated, with a troubled look. - -'Three sous for a sleeping-place, five or six for food,' went on the -shoeblack, 'and who says a word to me? I did not want to marry; I had -a rage for gambling: it stands in place of everything.' - -'May he that invented marriage be hanged!' blasphemed Gaetano, -getting clay colour. - -Four o'clock was approaching, and the Impresa court filled up with -people. In that space of a hundred metres was a crowd of common -people pressed together, chattering in a lively way or waiting in -resigned silence, looking up to the first-floor at the covered -balcony, where the lottery drawing was to come off. But all was shut -up above, even the wooden shutters, behind the glass of the great -balcony. As other people came up continually, the crowd reached to -the wall of the court even. Women that were pushed back had squatted -on the first steps of the stair; others, more bashful, hid under -the balcony among the pillars that held it up, leaning against a -shut stable door. Another woman, still young, but with a pallid, -worn, fascinating face, rather strange, melancholy black eyes, -hollow-rimmed, and thick black locks loose on her neck, had climbed -on a stone left in the courtyard, perhaps from the time the palace -was built or restored. She looked very thin in her dyed black gown, -that went in folds over her lean breast; she was swinging one foot -in a broken, out-at-heel shoe, pulling up on her shoulders now and -then a wretched little shawl, dyed also. She overlooked the crowd, -gazing at it with downcast, sad eyes. It was almost entirely composed -of poor people--cobblers who had shut up their bench in the dens -they lived in, had rolled their leather aprons round their waists: -in shirt-sleeves, cap over the eyes, they pondered in their minds -the numbers they had played, slightly moving their lips; servants -out of place, who, instead of trying for a master, used up the last -shilling from the pawned winter coat, dreaming of the _terno_ that -from servants would make them into masters, whilst an impatient -frown crossed the gray faces, where the beard, no longer shaven, -grew in patches. There were hackney coachmen, who had left their cab -in the care of a friend, brother, or son, waiting patiently, hands -in pocket, with the stolidity of a cabman used to waiting hours for -a hire; there were letters of furnished rooms, hirers of servants, -who in summer, with all the strangers and students gone, sat pining -in their chairs under the board that forms their whole shop, at the -corners of San Sepolcro Lane, Taverna Penta, Trinità degli Spagnuoli; -having played a few sous taken from their daily bread, they came to -hear the lottery drawn, being unemployed--and lazy. There were hands -at humble Neapolitan trades, who, leaving the factory, warehouse, -or shop, giving up their hard, badly-paid work, clutching in their -worn-out waistcoat pocket the five sous ticket, or bundle of numbers -at the _little game_, had come to pant over that dream that might -become a reality. There were still more unlucky people--that is to -say, all those who in Naples do not live by the day even, but by the -hour, trying a hundred trades, good at all, but unable, unluckily, to -find safe remunerative work; unfortunates without home or shelter, -shamefully torn and dirty, they had given up their bread that day to -play a throw. One read in their faces the double marks of fasting and -extreme abasement. - -Some women were noticeable among the crowd--slovenly women, of -no particular age, nor beauty; servants out of place, desperate -gamblers' wives, who gambled themselves, dismissed workwomen, and -among them all Carmela's pale, fascinating face, the girl seated on -the stone--a faded face with big, tired eyes. Later on, as the hour -for the drawing got near, and the noise increased, among the few gray -women's faces and torn calico dresses, discoloured from too frequent -washings, quite a different woman's face showed. She was a tall, -strong woman of the lower class, with a high-coloured dark face; her -chestnut hair was drawn back, elaborately dressed--the fringe on her -narrow forehead had even a touch of powder; and heavy earrings of -uneven, round, greeny-white pearls pulled down her ears, so that she -had had to secure them by a black silk string, fearing they would -break the lobes; a gold necklace and a thick gold medallion hung -over the white muslin vest, all embroidered and tucked with lace. -She pulled up a transparent black silk crape shawl on her shoulders -every now and then, to show her hands, which were covered with thick -gold rings up to the second joint. Her eye was grave and quiet, with -a slight look of quiet audacity, her mouth settled and severe; but on -going through the crowd, on her way to sit on the third step of the -stair, to see and hear better, she kept that bend of the head, rather -coquettish and mysterious, peculiar to the Neapolitan lower class, -and the swaying of her body under the shawl that a Naples woman -dressed in the French fashion soon loses. Still, in spite of the -natural sympathy that womanly figure inspired among the crowd, there -was almost a hostile murmur and something like an indignant movement. -She shrugged her shoulders disdainfully, and sat alone, upright, on -the third step, keeping the shawl up on her shoulders, her ring-laden -hands crossed in front. The murmur went on here and there. She looked -at the crowd severely twice or thrice--rather proudly. The voices -ceased; the woman's eyelids fluttered, as if from gratified pride. - -But, finally, over all the others--over Carmela, with her faded -face and great sad eyes; over Donna Concetta, with her ringed -fingers and powdered fringe, the handsome, healthy, rich Concetta, -the usurer, sister to Donna Caterina, the holder of the _small_ -game--above the crowd in the court, entrance, and street, a woman's -form stood out, drawing at least one look from the people gathered -together. It was the woman on the first-floor of the Impresa Palace, -sitting sideways behind the balcony railings; one saw her profile -bending over the bright steel fittings of a Singer sewing-machine, -lifting her head now and then, whilst her foot, coming from under -a modest blue-and-white striped petticoat, beat evenly on the iron -pedal, regularly rising and falling. Among the stir of voices, the -conversations from one end of the court to the other, and stamping -of feet, the dull quaver of the sewing-machine was lost; but the -seamstress's figure stood out in profile on the balcony's gloomy -background, her hands pushing the bit of white linen under the -machine needle, her foot untiringly beating the pedal, her head -rising and bending over her work, with no ardour, but no weariness, -evenly on. A thin, rather pink cheek was shown in profile, and a -thick chestnut tress neatly arranged close to the nape of the neck, -the corner of a fine mouth, and the shade of long eyelashes thrown on -the cheeks, could also be seen. During the hour the crowd was pouring -into the court, the young seamstress had not looked down twice, -giving a short indifferent glance and lowering her head again, taking -the piece of linen slowly along in her hands, so that the seam should -be quite straight. Nothing distracted her from her work--neither -angry voice or lively remarks, nor the noise or the increasing -trampling of the crowd; she had never looked at the covered balcony, -where in a short time the drawings would be called out. The people -from below stared at the delicate, industrious white sewer, but she -went on with her work as if not even an echo of that half-covered, -half-open excitement came up to her; she seemed so far off, so -reserved, so wrapped up in a quite detached, different world, that -one could fancy her more a statue than a reality--more of an ideal -figure than a living woman. - -But all at once a long shout of satisfaction burst out from the -crowd in all varieties of tone, rising to the most stridulent and -going down to the deepest note: the big balcony on the terrace -had opened. The people waiting in the road tried to get in at the -entrance, those standing there crushed into the court; it was quite -a squeeze, all faces were raised, seized by burning curiosity and -anguish. A great silence followed. Looking keenly, one could see -by the moving of some woman's lips that she was praying, whilst -Carmela, the girl with the attractive, worn face and very sad black -eyes, played with a black string tied round her neck that had a -medallion of our Lady of Sorrows and a forked bit of coral. There -was universal silence of expectation and stupor. On the terrace two -Royal Lottery ushers had arranged a long narrow table covered with -green cloth, and three armchairs behind it for the three authorities -to sit in--a Councillor of the Prefecture, the Lottery Director at -Naples, and a representative of the municipality. The urn for the -ninety numbers was placed on another little table. It is a big urn, -made of transparent metal, lemon-shaped, with brass bands going from -one end to the other, surrounding it as the meridian line goes round -the earth: these shining bands make it strong without spoiling its -transparency. The urn is slung in the air between two brass pegs; -a metal handle by one, when touched, makes the urn twist round on -its axis. The two ushers who had brought out all these things to -the terrace were old, rather bent, and sleepy-looking. The three -authorities, in great-coats and tall hats, seemed bored and sleepy -too, sitting behind the table; the Prefecture Councillor, with his -deep, black dyed moustaches, was drowsy: he looked as if he had -touched them in in brown on his sleepy dark face; it was the same -with the secretary, a youth with a dark beard. These folk moved -slowly, like automatons, so that a common man from the crowd called -out, 'Move on! move on!' Silence again, but a great wave of emotion -when the little boy who was to take the numbers out of the urn -appeared on the balcony. - -He was a boy dressed in the gray poor-house uniform, a poor little -fellow from the _serraglio_, as the Naples folk call these deserted -creatures' asylum, a poor _serragliuolo_ with no father nor mother, a -son of parents who from cruelty or want had deserted their offspring. -Helped by one of the ushers, the little boy put on a white woollen -tunic over his uniform and a white cap, because lottery superstition -requires the little innocent to wear innocence's white dress. He -climbed nimbly on to a stool, so as to stand as high as the urn. -Below, the crowd tossed about: 'Pretty lad, pretty lad!' 'May you be -blessed!' 'I commend myself to you and to St. Joseph!' 'The Virgin -bless your hand!' 'Blessed, blessed!' 'Holy and old--live to be holy -and old!' Everyone said something, good wishes, blessings, requests, -pious invocations, prayers. The child was silent, looking from him, -his little hand resting on the urn's metal net. At a little distance, -leaning against the balcony rail, was another _serraglio_ child, -very serious, in spite of his pink cheeks and fair hair cut on the -forehead. It was the little boy who was to take out the numbers next -Saturday; he came to learn, to get used to the working of the urn and -the people's shouts. No one cared about him--it was the one dressed -in white for that day to whom all the numerous exclamations were -addressed; it was the innocent little soul in white that made that -crowd of distracted beings smile tenderly, that brought tears to the -eyes of those who hoped in Fortune only. Some women had raised their -own boys in their arms, and held them out to the _serragliuolo_. The -tender, agitated, distressed voices went on: 'He looks like a little -St. John, really!' 'May you always find grace, if you do me this -favour!' 'Mother's darling, how sweet he is!' Suddenly there was a -diversion. One of the ushers took a number to put into the urn; he -showed it unfolded to the people, called it out in a clear voice, and -passed it to the three authorities, who cast a distracted eye over -it. One of the three, the Prefecture Councillor, shut up the number -in a round box; the second usher passed it to the white-robed child, -who threw it quickly into the urn, into its small open mouth. At -every number that was called out there were remarks, shrieks, grins, -and laughter. The people gave each number its meaning, taken from -the 'Book of Dreams,' or from the 'Smorfia,' or that popular legend -that grows without books or pictures. There were shouts of laughter, -coarse jokes, frightened or hopeful ejaculations--all accompanied by -a dull noise, as if it was the minor chord of the tempest. - -'Two.' - -'A baby girl.' - -'The letter.' - -'Bring me out this letter, sir.' - -'Five.' - -'The hand.' - -'... in the face of him who ill-wished me.' - -'Eight.' - -'That is the Virgin--the Virgin.' - -But as every tenth number, enclosed within its little round gray box, -was thrown into the urn by the _serragliuolo_, the second usher shut -its mouth and turned the handle, giving it a spin on its axis that -made the numbers roll round, dance, and jump. From below there were -cries of: - -'Spin, turn it round, old man.' - -'Another spin for me.' - -'Give me full measure.' - -The Cabalists did not speak, they did not even look at the urn -spinning: the innocent babe was nothing to them, the meaning of -the numbers, nor the slow lively twirl of the big urn; for them -the Cabal is everything, the obscure but still transparent Cabal, -great, powerful, imperious Fate that knows all, and does all, without -any power, human or divine, being able to oppose it. They alone -kept silence, thoughtful, absorbed, disdaining that loud popular -rejoicing, wrapped up in a spiritual, mystical world, waiting with -deep confidence. - -'Thirteen.' - -'... that means the candles.' - -'... the thick candle, the torch. Let us put out the torch!' - -'... put it out--put it out!' the chorus echoed. - -'... twenty-two.' - -'... the madman!' - -'... the little silly!' - -'... like you.' - -'... like me.' - -'... like him that plays the small game--_alla bonafficiata_.' - -The people got excited. Long shivers went through the crowd; it -swayed about as if it was moved by the sea. Women especially got -nervous, convulsive; they clutched the babies in their arms so hard -as to make them grow pale and cry. Carmela, seated on the high -stone, crumpled the Virgin's medallion and the forked coral in her -hand; the usurer, Donna Concetta, forgot to pull up the black crape -shawl, which fell over her heavy hips, while her lips gave a slight -convulsive flutter. No one cared any more about the sewing-machine's -dull quaver nor the industrious white sewer. The Naples folks' -feverishness got higher and higher as the dream that was to become -a reality got nearer, getting a livelier, longer sensation when a -popular, a lucky number was drawn. - -Thirty-three! - -These are Christ's years! - -_His_ years. - -'... this comes out.' - -'... it will not come out.' - -'... you will see that it will.' - -'Thirty-nine!' - -'... the hanged rogue!' - -'... take him by the throat--by the throat!' - -'... so I ought to see what I said.' - -'... squeeze him--squeeze him!' - -Unmoved, the authorities, the ushers, the boy in white, went on with -their work as if all this popular noise did not reach their ears; -only the other infant, new to all that extraordinary sight, looked -down from the railing, stupefied, pale, with swollen red lips, as if -he wanted to cry--an unconscious, amazed little soul amid the storm -of deep human passion. The business on the platform went on with the -greatest calm; as every new tenth number was put into the urn, the -usher made it twirl longer, making the little balls jump in a lively -way inside the open network. Not a word nor a smile was exchanged up -there: the fever stayed at the height of the people in the court, it -did not rise to the first floor. Down there the gravest people now -laughed convulsively, in a subdued way, shaking their heads as if the -infection had seized them in its most violent form. The affair seemed -to be hurrying to the end. Renewed shouts received seventy-five, -which is Punch's number, and seventy-seven, the devil's; but loud, -drawn-out applause saluted the ninetieth, the last number, partly -because it was the last, also ninety is a very lucky number: it means -fear, also the sea; it means the people too; it has five or six other -meanings, all popular. All in the court cheered, men, women, and -children, at the great ninety, which is the omega of the lottery. -Then all at once, like enchantment, a great silence fell: these faces -and forms all kept motionless, and the great excited crowd seemed -petrified in feelings, words, gestures and expression. - -The first usher, the one who called out the ninety numbers, brought -a long, narrow wooden board with five empty squares to the railing, -such as bookmakers use on a race-course, whilst the other gave the -urn its last twirl with all ninety numbers in it. The board was -turned towards the crowd. Then the Councillor rang a bell; the urn -stopped; another usher put a bandage over the white-clad infant's -eyes; he slowly put his little hand into the open urn and searched -for a minute only, quickly drawing out a ball with a number. Whilst -the ball passed from hand to hand, a deep, dull, anguished sigh came -out of those petrified bosoms down there. - -'Ten!' shouted the usher, putting it quickly in the first square. -A murmur and agitation among the crowd; all those who had hopes of -the first drawing were disappointed. Another ring of the bell; the -child put in its slender hand the second time. 'Two!' shouted the -usher, announcing the number taken out and putting it into the second -square. Some muttered oaths mingled with the rising murmur; all -those who had played the second drawing were disappointed, and those -who had hoped to take four numbers, those who had played the great -_terno_ in one, greatly feared to come out badly, so much so that, -when the lad's small hand went into the urn the third time, someone -called out in anguish: - -'Search well; make a good choice, child.' - -'Eighty-four!' shouted the usher, calling out the number and placing -it in the third space. Here an indignant yell burst out, made up -of oaths, lamentations, angry cries. This third number, being bad, -was decisive for the drawing and the gamblers. With eighty-four, -the hopes of all those who had played the first, second, and third -drawing were frustrated; all those who had played the five sequence, -fourths, the two treys, or these doubled, which is the hope and -joy of Naples folk, hope and desire of all desperate players, -and those that only play once on chance, saw they had missed it. -The _terno_ is the essential word of all these longings, needs, -necessities, and miseries. A chorus of curses arose against bad -luck, evil fate, against the lottery and those who believe in it, -against the Government, against that bad boy with such unlucky hands. -_'Serragliuolo! Serragliuolo!_' was shouted from below, to insult -him, and fists were shaken at him. The little one did not turn to -look; he stood motionless, with his eyes down. Some minutes passed -between the third and fourth numbers; it happened so every week. The -third number brought the frightful expression of the infinite popular -disappointment. 'Seventy-five,' the usher said in a feebler voice, -putting the number drawn in the fourth space. Among the angry voices -that would not be soothed, some hisses sounded revengefully. Abuse -poured on the child's head, but the greatest curses were against -the lottery, where one could never win, never, where everything is -arranged so that no one ever wins, especially against poor people. -'Forty-three,' the usher called out for the last time, placing the -fifth and last number. A last gust of rage among the people--nothing -more. In a minute all the cold lottery machinery disappeared from -the terrace: the children, the three authorities, the urn with the -eighty-five numbers and its pedestal, tables, chairs, and ushers, all -went out of sight, the glass and shutters of the great balcony were -shut in a minute; only the cruel board remained, straight against the -balustrade, with its five numbers--these, these, the great misfortune -and delusion! - -Very slowly and unwillingly the crowd cleared out of the court. On -those most excited by gambling passions the wind of desolation had -blown, and overthrown them all. They felt as if their arms and legs -were broken; their mouth had a bitter taste from anger. Those who -that morning had played all their money, feeling no need of eating, -drinking, nor smoking, feeding themselves with vivid visions of -Cockaigne, dreaming for that Saturday evening, Sunday, and all the -days following, quite a bellyful of fat, rich dinners, tasting them -in their imagination, held their hands feebly in their empty pockets. -One could read in their desolate eyes the childish physical grief of -the first pangs of hunger; and they had not, knew they could not get, -bread to quiet their stomachs. Others, the maddest, fallen from the -height of their hopes in a minute, experienced that long movement of -mad anguish in which people will not, cannot, believe in bad luck. -Their eyes had that wandering look that sees the shape of things no -longer; their lips stammered incoherent words. It was these desperate -fools who still kept their eyes on the board with the numbers, as if -they could not yet convince themselves of the truth, and mechanically -compared them with the long list of their tickets. The Cabalists, -to conclude, did not go away yet; they held discussions among -themselves, like so many philosophers or logicians, still wrapped -up in lottery mathematics, where dwell the _figure_, the _cadenze_, -the _triple_, the algebraic explanation of the _quadrato Maltese_, -and Rutilio Benincasa's immortal lucubrations. But with those who -went away, as with those who stayed, nailed to the spot by their -excitement; those who discussed it violently, as with those who bent -their heads, deadly white, courage all gone, without strength to move -or think, the form of the desolation varied, but the substance of it -was the same--deep, intense, making the inward fibres bleed, tending -to destroy the very springs of life. - -Michele, the lame shoeblack, still seated on the ground, with his -black box between his crooked legs, had heard the drawing without -getting up, hidden behind people who pressed around him. Now, while -the crowd was slowly going off, he hung down his head, and the yellow -shade of his rickety old face got green, as if all his bile had gone -to his brain. - -'Have you got nothing?' asked a dull voice beside him. - -He raised his gray eyes with pink lids mechanically and saw Gaetano, -the glove-cutter, who showed in his chalky face the depression of -disappointed hopes. - -'No, nothing,' said the shoeblack shortly, lowering his eyes. - -'There is nothing for me, either. If you have a few sous for a -combination, old fellow, I will give them back on Monday.' - -'Where could I get them? If you get hold of ten, we could make up -five each,' the shoeblack muttered desperately. - -'Good-bye, old fellow! Good-bye!' said the glove-cutter in a rough -voice. - -While Gaetano was going off under the gateway, Donna Concetta came -alongside of him, slow and grave, her eyes down, the gold chain -waving on her breast and ringed fingers. - -'Have you won nothing, Gaetano?' she asked with a slight smile. - -'I have been hit by an arrow!' shouted he, provoked to be so near -the usurer, who reminded him of all his wretchedness, annoyed by her -question at such a moment. - -'All right--all right,' she returned coldly. 'We see each other on -Monday--don't forget.' - -'I don't forget; I keep you in my heart like the Virgin,' he called -out, alongside of her, in a hissing voice. - -She shook her head as she went off. She did not come there for her -own interests, because she never gambled; nor even to worry some of -her debtors, like Gaetano. She came in her sister's interest, Donna -Caterina, the holder of the _small game_, for she dared not show in -public. Donna Caterina told her sister which numbers she dreaded -most--that is to say, those she had played most on, for which she -would have to pay the largest sums. Then Donna Concetta sent off a -lad to her sister, who quickly made off, so as to pay no one. Three -times already she had gone bankrupt so, with the gamblers' money in -her pocket. She had fled once to Santa Maria, at Capua, once to -Gragnano, once to Nocera dei Pagani, staying there two months. She -had had the courage to come back and face the cheated gamblers, using -audacity with some and giving a few sous to others, beginning the -game again, while the robbed, cheated, and disappointed gamblers came -back to her, incapable of denouncing her, seized by the fever again, -or kept in awe by Donna Concetta, to whom they all owed money. So the -concern went on. The money passed from one sister to another--from -the one who held the bank and knew how to fail in time, to the -money-lender who was daring enough to face the worst-intentioned of -her debtors. Nor was her flight looked on as a crime, as cheating, by -Donna Caterina and her customers; for did not the Government do the -same thing, perhaps, on a larger scale? A gift of six million francs -has been settled for each drawing for every _ruota_ of eight: when, -by a very rare combination, the winnings go above six millions, does -not the Government fail too, making the entire profits smaller? - -But that day there was no need for Donna Caterina to fail, to make -off; the numbers drawn were so bad, perhaps not one of her clients -had won; and Donna Concetta climbed up the Chiara way very easily, -not hurrying at all, knowing it was a desolate Saturday for all -gambling Naples, getting ready for her battle of usury on Monday. All -these unhappy creatures with broken hopes passed near her; she shook -her head wisely over human aberrations, and clutched the hem of her -crape shawl in her ringed fingers. A woman who was coming quickly -down the street, dragging a little boy and girl behind her, and -carrying a baby, touched her in passing on her way into the Impresa -court, where some people were still lingering. She was very poorly -dressed; her calico skirt was so frayed and dirty it filled one with -pity and disgust, and she had a ravelled woollen shawl round her -neck; her face was so lean and worn, her teeth so black, and hair so -sparse, that the children, who were neither ragged nor dirty, looked -as if they did not belong to her. The sucking child only was rather -slight--it laid its head on her shoulder to sleep; but the poor thing -was so agitated she did not notice it. Seeing Carmela, her sister, -still seated on the high stone, her hands loose in her lap, and head -sunk on the breast, all alone, as if petrified in speechless grief, -she went up to her, and said: - -'Carmela!' - -'Good-day, Annarella,' said Carmela, starting, giving a sickly smile. - -'Are you here too?' she asked in a sad, surprised tone. - -'Yes, I came,' Carmela answered, with a resigned gesture. - -'Have you seen my husband, Gaetano?' Annarella asked anxiously, -letting the baby's head slide from her shoulder to her arm, so that -it could sleep more comfortably. - -Carmela raised her big eyes to her sister's face, but seeing her so -dishevelled and ugly from privation and misery, so old already, so -doomed to illness and death, asking the question so despairingly, she -dared not tell her the truth. Yes, she had seen her brother-in-law -Gaetano, the glove-cutter; she had first seen him trembling and -anxious, thin, pale and downcast, but she felt too sorry for her -sister, the delicate, sleeping baby, and the other two who were -gazing around them, and she lied. - -'I have not seen him at all.' - -'He must have been here,' Annarella muttered in her rough drawl. - -'I assure you he was not here, really.' - -'You will not have seen him,' Annarella repeated, obstinate in -her sad incredulity. 'How could he not come? He comes here every -Saturday. He might not be at home with his little ones; he might not -be at the glove factory, where he can earn bread; but he can't be -anywhere else than here on Saturday to hear the numbers come out: -here is his ruling passion and his death.' - -'He plays a lot, doesn't he?' said Carmela, who had grown pale and -had tears in her eyes. - -'All that he can spare and more than he has got. We might live very -well, without asking anything from anyone; but instead, with his -_bonafficiata_, we are full of debts and mortifications; we only eat -now and then, when I bring in something. These poor little things!' - -Her voice was so broken with maternal agony that Carmela's tears -fell, overcome by infinite pity. Now they were almost alone in the -court. - -'Why do you come to hear this lottery drawn?' Annarella asked, -suddenly enraged against all those that play. - -'What am I to do?' said the other in her sweet, broken voice. 'You -know I would like to see you all happy, mother, and you, Gaetano, -your babies, and my lover Raffaele--and somebody else. You know -your cross is mine, that I have not an hour's peace thinking of what -you suffer. So all that is over of my earnings I play: the Lord must -bless me some day or other. I must get a _terno_ then; then I'll give -it all to you.' - -'Poor sister!' said Annarella, with melancholy tenderness. - -'That day must come--it must,' she whispered passionately, as if -speaking to herself, as if she already saw that happy day. - -'May an angel pass and say _amen_,' Annarella murmured, kissing her -baby's forehead. 'Where can Gaetano be?' she went on, care coming -back. - -'Say truly,' begged Carmela, getting down from the stone on her way -off, 'you have nothing to give the children to-day?' - -'Nothing,' was the answer in that feeble voice. - -'Take this half-franc, take it,' said the other, pulling it out of -her pocket and giving it to her. - -'God reward you.' - -They looked at each other with such mutual pity that only shame of -the passers-by kept them from bursting into sobs. - -'Good-bye!' - -'Good-bye, Carmela!' - -The suffering girl kissed the baby softly. Annarella, with the -languid step of a woman who has had too many children and worked -too hard, went off by the Santa Chiara cloister, pulling her two -other little ones behind her. Carmela, pulling her discoloured shawl -round her, dragging her down-at-heel shoes, went down towards Banchi -Nuovi. It was just there a cleanly-dressed youth, his trousers tight -at the knees and wide as bells over the ankle, with a neat jacket, -and hat over one ear, stopped her with the look of his clear, cold, -light-blue eyes, biting lips, as red as a girl's, under his fair -little moustache. Stopping before she spoke to him, Carmela looked -with such intense passion on the young fellow she seemed to wish to -enfold him in an atmosphere of love. He did not seem to notice it. - -'Well, have you won anything?' he asked in a hissing little ironical -voice. - -'Nothing,' said she, opening her arms desolately. She held down her -head so as not to weep, looking at the point of her shoes, which had -lost their varnish and showed the dirty lining through a split. - -'How do you account for that?' the young fellow cried out angrily. 'A -woman is always a woman!' - -'Is it my fault if the numbers won't come out?' the love-lorn girl -said humbly and sadly. - -'You should look out for the good ones. Go to Father Illuminato that -knows them, and only tells women; go to Don Pasqualino, he that the -good spirits help to find out the right numbers. Get it out of your -head, my girl, that I can marry a ragged one like you.' - -'I know--I know!' she muttered humbly. 'Say no more about it.' - -'You seem to forget it. Masses are not sung without money. Let us say -good-bye.' - -'Won't you come this evening?' she dared to ask. - -'I have something to do. I must go with a friend. Send me a couple of -francs.' - -'I have only one,' she exclaimed, quite red and mortified, taking it -out of her pocket. - -'May you die in want!' he cursed, chewing his stump of Naples cigar. -'Give it here! I will try to arrange my affairs better.' - -'Won't you pass by the house?' she begged with her eyes. - -'If I do pass, it will be very late.' - -'It does not matter; I'll wait for you on the balcony,' she said, -persisting in her humiliation. - -'I can't stop.' - -'Well, give a whistle. I'll hear you, and sleep quieter, Raffaele. -What trouble will it be to whistle in passing?' - -'All right,' he agreed indulgently. 'Good-bye, Carmela!' - -'Good-bye, Raffaele!' - -She stopped to look at him as he went away quickly in the direction -of Madonna dell' Aiuto. The patent-leather shoes creaked as the youth -walked in the proud way peculiar to the lower-class _guappi_. - -'May the Virgin bless every step you take,' the girl said to herself -tenderly as she went off. But as she went along she felt discouraged -and weak. All the bitterness of that deceptive day, the sorrow she -bore for others' grief--for her mother, a servant at sixty; for -her sister, who had no bread for her children; her brother-in-law, -who was going to ruin; her affianced, that she would have liked to -make rich and happy as a lord, and who never had a franc in his -pockets--all these sorrows, and still deeper ones, the greatest of -all, the most afflicting grief, her own powerlessness, poured into -her mind, her whole being. It was not enough for her to work at -that nauseating trade at the tobacco factory for seven days a week; -that she had not a decent dress to wear, nor a pair of whole shoes, -so that she was coldly looked on at the factory. She fasted four -times a week to give her mother a franc, Raffaele two, her sister -Annarella half a franc; what was over went to the lottery. It was no -use, she never could do anything for those she loved; her hard work, -wretchedness, hunger, did no one any good. - -She felt so miserable as she went down San Giovanni Maggiore steps -at Mezzocannone, getting nearer as she was to her saddest charge, -that she could have killed herself for being so helpless and useless. -Still, she went on into an out-of-the-way court in the Mercanti, -that looked like a servants' yard, then stopped and leant against -the wall as if she could go no further. It was a dirty place, with -greasy water, fruit-skins, and a woman's broken old hat thrown into -a corner. Three windows of the first-floor had half-open green -jalousies, just letting in a ray of light--mean little windows and -faded jalousies, on which dust, rain, and the sun had left their -mark; then a little doorway, with a damp step broken to bits, and a -narrow black passage like a gutter. Carmela looked inside, her eyes -wide open from curiosity and fear. Rather an old woman, a servant, -came out, holding up her skirt not to dirty it in the gutter. Carmela -knew her, evidently, for she turned to her frankly: - -'Donna Rosa, will you call Filomena?' - -The woman looked to see who it was; then, without going into the -house again, she called from the courtyard towards the first-floor -windows: - -'Filomena! Filomena!' - -'Who is it?' a hoarse voice answered from inside. - -'Your sister wants you--come down.' - -'I am coming,' said the voice more gently. - -'Thanks, Donna Rosa,' said Carmela. - -'Glad to serve you,' said the other briefly as she went off. - -Filomena kept her waiting two or three minutes; then a regular beat -of wooden heels came along the passage, and she appeared. She wore -a white muslin skirt, with a high flounce of white embroidery, a -cream woollen bodice, much trimmed with knots of velvet ribbon at -the wrists and waist. She had a pink chenille shawl round her -neck; patent-leather shoes with high heels, and red silk stockings -showed under the skirt. In face she was like both her sisters, but -her well-dressed hair, with light shell pins, and the rouge on her -colourless cheeks, made one forget the likeness to Annarella, and -made her much more attractive than Carmela. The two sisters did not -kiss nor shake hands, but they gave each other so intense a look that -it sufficed for everything. - -'How are you?' asked Carmela in a trembling voice. - -'I am well,' said Filomena, shaking her head, as if her health did -not matter. 'How is mother?' - -'Just as an old woman always is.... Poor mother!' - -'How is Annarella?' - -'She is full of trouble....' - -'Wretched, eh?' - -'Yes, she is wretched.' - -They both sighed deeply as they looked at each other; a blush and a -pallor altered their faces. - -'I bring you bad news to-day, too, Filomena,' Carmela said at last. - -'Have you won nothing?' Filomena asked. - -'No, nothing!' - -'My luck is bad,' Filomena said. 'I have made many vows to the -Virgin--not, indeed, to the Immaculate one; I am not even worthy to -name her--but to our Lady of Sorrows, who understands and pities my -disgrace; but nothing has come.' - -'Our Lady of Sorrows will grant us this grace,' Carmela said softly. -'Let us hope that next Saturday----' - -'We will hope so,' the other answered humbly. - -'Good-bye, Filomena!' - -'Good-bye, Carmela!' - -Filomena turned her back and disappeared into the passage, her wooden -heels making her steps rhythmical; then Carmela was going to rush -after her to call her, but she was already in the house. The girl -went off, wrapping herself convulsively in her shawl, biting her -lips not to sob. All the other bitternesses--all, even going without -bread--were nothing in comparison to what she left behind: that came -by itself, a constant poison, an eternal shame, to her heart. - - * * * * * - -At half-past five the Impresa court was quite empty and silent; no -one came in, not even to look at that solitary board with the five -numbers: they had already been put up at all the lottery-shops in -Naples; there was a group of people before each, all through the -town. No one went into the Impresa court; the crowd would only come -back in seven days. Then there was a noise of footsteps. It was the -lottery usher, leading the two poor-house children by the hand--the -one who had drawn the numbers, and he who was to draw them next -Saturday. The usher was taking them back to the asylum, where he -would leave the twenty francs, the weekly payment the Royal Lottery -gives to the child that draws the numbers. The two boys trod on each -other's heels behind the usher, chattering gaily. The white sewer, -working at her machine, raised her head and smiled at them. Then -she began to beat her foot on the pedal and pull the bit of linen -straight under the needle; she went on quietly, indefatigably, a pure -humble image of labour. - - - - - CHAPTER II - - AGNESINA FRAGALÀ'S CHRISTENING - - -'Agnesina Fragalà, papa's lovely daughter,' said the young father, -leaning over the brass cradle that shone like gold, holding open -the lace curtains with rose-coloured ribbons, and petting with -words, glances, and smiles the pink new-born babe that was placidly -sleeping. 'Agnesina, Agnesina,' he went on saying playfully, 'I think -you are very pretty.' - -'Be quiet, Cesare; you will wake the baby,' the mother said in a -whisper, from the toilet-glass she was sitting at. - -'She will have to be wakened later on, at any rate; ought we not to -show her to our guests?' - -'Yes; I just hope she won't begin screaming in the drawing-room!' the -young mother replied, smiling, half from nervous fears, half from -motherly pride. - -'Bah!' said the young father, leaving the cradle and coming near to -his wife. 'The guests will be taken up eating cakes, sweets, and -ices. You will see a gourmandizing, Luisella!' - -The light edifice of Luisa Fragalà's intensely black hair was -skilfully and prettily arranged; some curls shaded her short brown -forehead, with its black eyebrows in the youthful oval face; and the -long Eastern eyes of sparkling gray, soft and piquant, the rather -long, broad, though well-shaped nose, and baby mouth, pink as a -carnation, had a charm of youth and freshness that made her still -enamoured husband smile with pleasure. - -Cesare Fragalà was young and handsome, too--rather effeminately -handsome, perhaps; his skin was as white as a woman's; his chestnut -hair curled all over up to the temples, showing in places the white -skin underneath; his face was round, rather boyish still, in spite -of his being twenty-eight; but his close-shaven cheeks had a warm -Southern pallor that was quite manly, and a thick curly moustache -corrected that effeminate, boyish look. Both of them of burgher -rank, of no degenerate race, they had the characteristics of -Neapolitan youth. The man was strong, but indolent; good-looking and -rather inclined to care for his appearance; his softness was visibly -mixed with roguishness, from the contrasts in his face, where a -coarse look was tempered by good-nature. The woman, dark and elegant, -with that blood that seems to have dull flashes, that resoluteness of -will in the profile and chin that shows a secret latent force in a -woman's heart, ready for passion and sacrifice. - -The surroundings were like themselves, from the rather vulgar luxury -of pink and cream brocade that covered the furniture and the bed, the -French paper on the walls of much the same design, the toilet-glass -draped in white lace--precious work done by the bride's own hands -before the wedding--to the great wardrobe of dark wood, with gold -lines and three looking-glass doors, the height of luxury at that -time; from the numerous images of saints--Saint Louis in silver, -the face in wax; a Saint Cesare of stucco in a monk's habit, with -rosaries, reliquaries, and Easter candles, forming a trophy, on each -side of the bed--up to the silver lamp, lighted, before the Infant -Jesus, in a niche; and in the same conjugal apartment, from plebeian -tenderness, and that strong patriarchal feeling of Neapolitans, was -the cradle, gay with ribbons, where the little one of a month old -was sleeping. Everything was striking, even their clothes. Cesare -Fragalà, expecting his guests shortly, had on his coat already, a -handkerchief stuck in his shirt, and his curly hair smooth by dint -of hard brushing; but his watch-chain was too bright, his studs too -large, and his necktie was white silk instead of white batiste. Luisa -looked very pretty in her yellow silk, with a white muslin wrapper -over it while her hair was done, but she sparkled too much from -diamonds in her ears, on her neck, and on her arms. Just then the -hair-dresser put a brilliant star in front as a finish. - -'Is nothing more needed?' she asked, rather thinking she had too few -ornaments. - -'No,' said the hair-dresser decisively; 'the fewer things put in the -hair, the better.' - -'Do you think so?' - -'Let yourself be guided by one who knows his trade,' the artist -added, gathering up his combs and curling-irons. - -'You look very nice,' the husband whispered, on an inquiring glance -from his wife. He looked at her tenderly, carefully, to see if -anything was wanting. 'If my combination comes off,' Cesare added, -whilst the barber took leave silently, so as not to waken the baby, -after getting five francs and one more as a tip--'if my combination -comes off, Luisella, I will buy you a string of diamonds for your -neck.' - -'What combination are you speaking of?' she asked, as she put some -powder on her bare arms. She frowned, with a woman's sudden suspicion -of all affairs she does not know about. - -'I will tell you afterwards,' he said, stammering. - -'Tell me now,' she demanded, standing with her long gloves in her -hand. - -'There is nothing really yet to tell, Luisella,' he said, rather put -out at having let out something. - -'Promise me never to decide on anything without asking me first,' she -said, raising one hand. - -'I promise,' he said with deep sincerity. - -She was appeased, and sat down reassured, putting on her gloves, -while her husband stood before the looking-glass twirling the points -of his moustache, smiling at his own image and at life. The Fragalà -family counted up no less than eighty years of commercial prudence -and rising fortunes. Cesare's grandfather had begun with a wretched -shop in Purgatorio ad Arco Street in the Pendino quarter, rather -worse, said the envious, for he was a wandering salesman of cakes -at a half-penny each, heaped on a wooden board carried on his head, -under the arm, or by a leather band round the neck. In fact, either -on the board or in that shop, these sweets were made of middling -flour, sugar of third quality, eggs of doubtful freshness, and very -often cooked in rancid lard, filled oftener with apples or quinces -roasted under ashes than peach or black-cherry preserve. But what -did it matter? All Southerners, men and women, young and old, love -sweets, spicy cakes and biscuits sprinkled with aniseed and sugar; -the pastry at a half-penny appeared and disappeared in Fragalà's -shop, also sticky coloured caramels and cakes called _ancinetti_. -Grandfather Fragalà soon managed, by dint of heaping up halfpence, to -produce pastry at three-halfpence, the so-called _sfogliatella_, of -which there are two qualities--the _riccia_, broad, thin, and flat, -that falls into fine flakes, crackling under the teeth, whilst the -cream in it melts on the tongue; and the _frolla_, thick and fat, two -fingers' width of pastry that powders as you eat it, a thick layer of -cream inside that covers your lips and jaws. It is true Grandfather -Fragalà was accused of mixing a lot of dirty noxious ingredients in -his _sfogliatella_: starch, gum, raw sugar, beef-fat, strong glue, -and even bran. But what did it matter? On Sundays and all the other -appointed feasts the _sfogliatella_ sold like bread, or, rather, more -so, from nine to two o'clock in the afternoon; then Fragalà shut his -shop, because he had no more to sell, however many he had made, also -because he was a God-fearing man. He quietly opened another shop in -San Pietro a Maiella, putting in one of his sons; then, later on, -another shop at Costantinopoli Street, towards the Bourbon Museum, -with another son; and, finally, at his death, his eldest dared to -aspire to Toledo Street, but in the upper part, opening a pastry-shop -with _three doors_--that is to say, three shops--at the corner of -Spirito Santo, a gorgeous place. The pastry-shops of Purgatoria ad -Arco, San Pietro a Maiella, and Costantinopoli Streets still exist, -owned by the younger brothers, all more or less black and dirty, -full of buzzing flies, but giving out that intoxicating smell of -burnt sugar, apples, fruit, and crumbling pastry that all Naples -boys, women, and old men long for. Even at Purgatoria ad Arco the -tarts were sold at a penny, halfway between grandfather's price and -the three-halfpence of the modern shop. But the three shops in one -in Toledo Street rejoiced in the inscription '_Founded in 1802_,' -in gold letters on black marble--it was all white marble, shining -plate-glass windows full of coloured sweets, bright metal boxes, and -clear glasses with biscuits, tall round vases of pastils, strong -and sweet, for disordered stomachs or for coughs, and glass shelves -with all kinds of pastry in rows. Via Toledo confectionery was -superb, but among its innovations it had not neglected the safe old -Neapolitan speciality, _sfogliatella_, always popular and long-lived, -in spite of innovations in sweetmeats, in its two forms of _riccia_ -and _frolla_; on Sundays, all the patriarchal families that come out -from Mass from so many churches round--Spirito Santo, Pellegrini, San -Michele, San Domenico Soriano--bought in passing some six or eight -_sfogliatella_, to give the final festive touch to the Sunday dinner. -Cesare Fragalà's father had added to the _sfogliatella_ all the -other specialities in sweets eaten by Naples folk at all the feasts -in the year: almond or royal paste at Christmas; _sanguinaccio_ at -Carnival; Lenten biscuits, the _mastacciolo_ and _pastiera_, at -Easter; _l'osso di morto_ (dead men's bones), made of almonds and -candied sugar, for All Souls' Day; the _torrone_ for St. Martin's; -and others--_croccante_, _struffoli_, _sosamiello_--all Parthenope's -sweets, made of almonds, sugar, and chocolate, delightful to -the palate and heavy to digest; but they are the joy of Naples -crowds--they are sent into the provinces, every holiday, in all -sizes of boxes by the waggon-load. Still among the Fragalàs' jealous -rivals there were some whispers about the mysterious ingredients in -these sweets; but it was harmless malignity, to which customers paid -no heed; even if they believed it, they cared little about it. The -Naples philosopher, Peppino, Fragalà's customer, said: 'If one knew -what one was eating, no one would wish to eat anything.' The Fragalà -house was solid: Cesare had inherited a good fortune and unbroken -credit from his father. - -It is true he had, as a rich citizen, an instinctive contempt -for his uncles' and cousins' dark shops, where the flies buzzed -annoyingly, as if cloyed and ill with indigestion from the bad sugar -and honey; but he was prudent too--he did not scorn his origin, he -willingly received his relations at family dinners, and when he had -to make changes in his Toledo shop, he thought them over, and took -advice--mostly from his wife. Luisa thought of all this as she put -on her gloves slowly, whilst her husband went to the kitchen to see -if the refreshments were ready, and that the extra servants, hired -for the occasion, were properly dressed. She rose, and, picking up -her yellow train, went to lift the lace curtain of the cradle, and -passionately gazed on her daughter Agnesina. Never, never would her -husband do anything without consulting her; he had married her for -love, without a half-penny, against everyone's wishes, and he treated -her like a lady, as if she had brought twenty thousand ducats as a -dowry. Now that there was Agnesina too, father's lovely daughter, as -he said playfully, it was impossible he would ever hide anything from -her, his child's mother. Who knows? Perhaps it had to do with the -pastry-shop in San Ferdinando Piazza, in the centre of the richest -part of Naples, quite a modern shop, that Cesare had been dreaming -about opening for some time past without daring to risk so much -capital. Perhaps if was that, and the fresh, pleasant-faced mother -blessed the little one, and prayed God would bless her father's plans -and her mother's hopes. - -On leaving the room she met her husband. - -'Where is nurse?' she asked. - -'In the room next the kitchen with Donna Candida.' - -'Let us go and see them,' she said, going forward, followed by her -husband. They crossed to the back part of the house, where were the -servants' rooms, and came to the pantry. The wet-nurse from Fratta -Maggiore, a fine, stout woman, with pink cheeks, great prominent -eyes, and a calm, serene expression, wore her pale blue damask dress, -trimmed with a broad yellow silk band, which went in such deep folds -she seemed to swim at every step she took--it was stiff like a stuff -building. She wore a white crape handkerchief, and a gold necklace of -three rows of big hollow beads over it; the front of her dress was -covered by a batiste apron, over which she spread her well-ringed -hands. Her chestnut hair was tightly held back by a silver comb, from -which fell a big bow of blue ribbon. Donna Candida, the midwife, -was beside her, a guest who had to be asked; she had put on her red -silk dress for big christenings, the portrait of her late husband, -Don Nicodemo, in a brooch, and a red cotton camellia in her gray -hair. Both she and the nurse, most important people, were waiting -patiently, saying a few words to each other. - -'I wish you all happiness,' called out the old nurse on seeing her -patient. - -'Thank you, Donna Candida. You have come early. Does waiting not -bore you? Will you take something, nurse?' Luisella's voice showed -tenderness for her little one's nurse. - -'As your excellency pleases,' said the nurse, raising her soft, -oil-coloured, rather stupid eyes. - -Cesare went off, and brought a waiter with marsala and cakes for the -women. The husband and wife stood looking at them quite touched, and -when they stopped eating Luisella pushed the tray towards them. Donna -Candida, who was a polite woman, held up her first glass of marsala, -and called out: - -'To Donna Agnesina's health!' - -'To my little one's health!' said the other, laughing. - -The husband and wife looked at each other with happy tears in their -eyes, nodding their thanks. Suddenly the mother said: - -'Nurse, the baby is crying.' - -The nurse hurriedly dried her lips, put down the candy she was -eating, and rushed off with a great rustle, opening her bodice as she -went with an instinctive maternal movement. - -But the guests were already coming into the reception-room, which -was furnished with couches and easy-chairs in pomegranate brocade, -their woodwork gilded; large _carcels_, placed on gray marble and -gilt brackets, as well as big gilt-bronze lamps with crystal pendants -cut in facets, lighted it up. Those who knew each other had joined in -groups, and spoke to each other in a lively way under their voice, -to look like people of spirit, society folk, and did not even look -at the unknown guests; these had got into the corners by families, -and brought easy-chairs and seats together to make a fortress for -themselves, from whence they cast shy, inquisitive glances on the -people and the furniture, suddenly dimmed by lowered eyelids if they -felt themselves caught staring. - -The family of Don Domenico Mayer (a clerk in the Finance Department) -were like that. They lived in an apartment on the fifth floor in the -Rossi Palace, a tall, deep building at Mercatello Square that looks -on to four different streets, where the neighbours often do not know -each other even by name, and can live for years without meeting, two -large stairs besides two smaller ones make it such a puzzle. Don -Domenico Mayer, with a misanthropic look and bureaucratic overcoat, -led in a misanthropic family, composed of his wife, with flabby, -colourless cheeks, always suffering from neuralgia; his daughter -Amalia, a tall, stout girl, with prominent eyes, thick nose and lips, -and heavy black tresses, who suffered from hysterical convulsions; -and Alfonso, the son, called Fofò by everyone, who was troubled by a -growing silliness and a huge appetite. The misanthropic family had -formed into a square; the women pulled in their poor though tidy -gowns round their chairs, and father and son sat at the edge of -theirs stiff and silent. Like them, other families held themselves -apart--clerks, little tradesmen, managers--with serious looks, -keeping their elbows to their sides, passing their hands mechanically -over their shiny, not to say glazed, beavers; whilst on the other -side were all the Fragalàs, and with them the Naddeos, great ironware -dealers at Rua Catalana; the Antonaccis, prosperous cloth merchants -at the Mercanti; and the Durantes, great dealers in dry cod at -Pietra del Pesce--the men in broad-cloth, the women in brocade or -silk, with jewels, especially bracelets, like Luisella Fragalà. -Her charming presence in the drawing-room was hailed by a general -movement: all rose; the boldest or most intimate left their places -and surrounded her, while the shy ones kept at a little distance, -waiting composedly till they were seen and greeted. - -All rejoiced with her on her restored health, calling her 'Mama, -Mama,' wishing her in the Southern style this _and a hundred_ others, -all in good health--that is to say, a hundred more children, no -less. She got pink with pleasure, bent her head in giving thanks, -which made the diamond star in her hair sparkle: it was a subject -for comment to the other Fragalàs, the Naddeos, the Antonaccis, and -Durantes; it was the secret-sighing admiration of all the other -humble guests, the so-called _mezze signore_. Then, while Cesare -Fragalà chattered with the men, laughing, passing his gloved hand -through his curly hair, there was a general return to the couches and -easy-chairs: all sat down. - -Luisella Fragalà, standing in the middle of the room, went to meet -each lady that she saw coming in at the door, greeted her smilingly, -and led her to an easy-chair, making a large feminine circle, where -fans waved slowly over opulent bosoms encased in brocade. Only the -middle couch remained empty--it was the post of honour; all were -looking at it and towards the door, waiting the unknown guests who -were to sit there: for they knew the party would not really begin -without them, and no refreshments would be offered till the guests of -high rank appeared; in fact, Luisella and Cesare as the time passed -gave each other inquiring glances. Suddenly, as a couple came into -the room, Luisella made a quick, joyful gesture, effusively embraced -the lady, and pressed the gentleman's hand smilingly; a whisper -went through the room, someone got up, a name was breathed. It was -really him, Don Gennaro Parascandolo, the famous Don Gennaro, a tall, -strong, agreeable man, with a countenance breathing honesty, good -faith, good temper; his hand-shake was hearty, his smile cheered -the most low-spirited people, his glance put life into one; a very -rich man--in short, little Agnesina's godfather, a rich man with no -children. - -He had had children--he and his sickly wife with the grayish hair and -sad eyes. She liked to stay shut up in her sumptuous silent house, -and when she went about with him looked like a woman's shadow, a -living image of grief. They had had three lovely children, two boys -and a girl, healthy and strong, for whom Don Gennaro Parascandolo had -worked at his cold terrible trade of aristocratic usurer to make them -rich. He never lent less than five thousand francs or more than two -hundred thousand at one time, always at 10 per cent. a month--cruel -for his children's sake. But diphtheria had come into his house, -furtively, irremediably; in twenty-five days the most distinguished -doctors' science, father and mother's despair, money poured out, -were found useless: nothing could save the three children. All died -choking in such a painful way that Signora Parascandolo's reason -seemed to give way for a time. Even the strong man seemed to reel for -a moment; he only recovered very slowly. He travelled a great deal, -he showed at all first nights, gave flowers and jewels to famous -dancers--all with the greatest indifference, not as if he was bored, -but with no brightness nor gaiety. Now and then, very seldom, his -wife went out with him, a colourless taciturn creature, incapable -of distracting her thoughts even for a moment from her three dead -children; but at these times Don Gennaro got gay: he came out with -a heavy commercial wit to which his wife responded with a slight -distracted smile. - -As Don Gennaro Parascandolo had persuaded his poor shadow to leave -the shade that evening, he was quite lively; whilst Luisella led the -signora to the divan of honour, he went about, followed by Cesare, -joking and laughing; all made a chorus to him wherever he passed, -with that tendency to worship riches that all, and Southerners in -particular, are apt to have. The Naddeos, Antonaccis, Durantes, -and Fragalàs were rich people; but things may change in this world -from one day to another. And Don Gennaro was so rich he really did -not know what to do with his money! As to the little people in the -room--clerks, tradesmen, managers--they looked respectfully at him -from afar, impressed by his broad shoulders, deep chest, and leonine -head. His name was whispered here and there, with comments in a lower -voice: 'Don Gennaro Parascandolo.' - -But Cesare and Luisella seemed to get an electric shock when the -third person they were waiting for arrived. She was an old lady, who -came forward solemnly, in a very old maroon silk, stiff as a board, -made in the fashion of thirty years before, with organ-pipe pleats -and very wide sleeves. She wore a black lace shawl that was very old, -too, fastened with a turquoise and ruby brooch, black lace mittens -on her old, withered hands, that clutched a black velvet bag worked -in point stitch--on one side a little dog on a cushion, a peasant -woman with a broad straw hat on the other. Luisella, pulling up her -train, ran to meet her, made a deep curtsy, and stooped to kiss the -hand that the old woman held out; she had an old coquette's peevish -expression, with round gray eyes and a drooping nose. Another whisper -went through the room: 'The godmother, the Marchioness.' No one said -she was the Marchioness of Castelforte; she was the godmother--that -was all. There was only one Marchioness godmother in the Fragalà -family; she was Luisella's godmother and patron, a lady respected and -feared by the whole connection--in short, a Marchioness, a titled -person, of superior race. Even Don Parascandolo, who had no need of -anyone, as all knew, went to bow before her, while the old woman -closely examined him. - -Now there was no more room on the seat of honour. Luisella sat in -the middle, the Marchioness on her right, and Signora Parascandolo -on her left, in Parisian costume, covered with magnificent jewels, -but bowing her head under the weight of remembrances, always and -unfailingly. As all got seated, there was perfect silence for two -minutes. All were waiting, still looking at the door furtively, -pretending to think about something else. Ladies hid a little yawn -behind their fans; girls had that sleep-walking look that makes them -seem detached from all human interests; men twirled their moustaches; -and the boys had that absolutely idiotic look of which Fofò Mayer was -the highest exponent. - -But Cesare Fragalà disappeared. Refreshments came in two minutes -after that silence. Then all set to talking, loudly, noisily, to -have an easy bearing, pretending not to care for refreshments. But -they came in from all sides continuously, spreading through the -room, to the delight of all who longed for sweets--men and women, -boys and girls. To ices thick and round as a full moon, so hard the -teaspoon had to be pressed down, followed Portuguese cream, fruit, -strawberries, white and Levant coffee, chocolate; smaller ices of -all shapes, prettily arranged in pink or blue glass shells with gold -rims; sponges--half cream and half ice, of different flavours: -chocolate, mandarin punch, pistachio, strawberries and cream, honey -and milk. After sponge-cakes, the delight of women and boys, followed -peach and almond tarts, and coffee and lemon ices, served in milky -white porcelain glasses. For ten minutes nothing was heard but the -rattling of plates, spoons, and glasses; but when the ladies saw the -trifles coming, they cried out enthusiastically about their lovely -colours, with the white foam in the middle, and held out their hands -involuntarily, whilst others, quieter and more active, ate up one -thing after the other to compare them. - -Conversation got animated with such joy. Gentlemen ran here and -there, fetching a plate or glass, serving the ladies and themselves -too, speaking from a distance, asking questions, calling up the -waiters with the trays, making them lose their heads in the confusion. - -'A sponge-cake for Signora Naddeo.' - -'Would you like an almond tart?' - -'Take a glass of champagne punch. There is nothing better for -digesting the rest.' - -'Who will change a strawberry ice for a coffee ice?' - -'I assure you it comes to nothing, after all; the ices are water -really. What shall it be--strawberries?' - -'I have one.' - -'Mama, give me the cream.' - -Quite pleased, Cesare ran from one side to the other, leading the -waiters, as every tray came up, towards the Marchioness, who was -always the first to take some. Signora Parascandolo was the next; -but she hardly took a spoonful, when she put down her plate and cast -down her eyes again distractedly, as if she neither saw nor heard -what was going on around her. The Marchioness, on the other hand, -without hurrying, ate slowly of everything with her fallen-in mouth -and toothless gums, her jaw going continually and her hooked nose -trembling over her upper lip. - -'My lady, try this pistachio. Would you like mandarin better, my -lady?' - -She nodded 'Yes,' like an old Chinese idol. Her withered hands had -let go the bag, after taking a big white handkerchief out of it to -put under her plate. - -Very happy, Luisella tossed her head, laughing at all that cheerful -noise. Every now and then her husband stopped before her. - -'Won't you take something?' - -'No, no! Help the other ladies.' - -'Take something, Luisella.' - -'No; I like looking on better.' - -The view all around was so interesting! The ladies, who were more -affected in their greed, sipped the sherbet delicately, keeping -the plate on the point of their gloved fingers, raising the little -finger every time they put in the spoon, keeping a lace handkerchief -on their knees, and biting their lips after each spoonful. Some men -quietly followed the waiter's tray step by step, so as to make a -good choice, after which they went into a corner to eat comfortably. -Little children put their ices on a chair, covering themselves -with cream up to their eyes, and stuck out their pink lips, their -innocent eyes showing their delight as they slowly licked the spoon; -whilst the sleepy-headed-looking girls refused this and that, and -ended by taking a little of everything, leaving the half of it, not -really fond of eating yet. Even the Mayer family had got over their -misanthropy; the lady thought no more of her neuralgia, and Don -Domenico hesitated between a sponge and an ice, whilst Amalia and -Fofò exchanged ices, to get the taste of each. - -In the other rooms, everywhere, in the passages, even in the cook's -bedroom and the kitchen, the same jingling of glasses and spoons went -on, and the joy was even greater. The servants from every floor in -the Rossi Palace had run in. The porter came up; the hair-dresser -returned; the nurse's husband, the Naddeos' and the Antonaccis' -coachmen--for they kept carriages--came in; even the newspaper boy -of the Tarsia corner and the postman, still in uniform from his last -round, with letter-bag round his neck, stood beside Gelsomina and -Donna Candida. All these humble common folk that love sweets and -sherbet had a feast, by the master's orders, and he came out every -now and then to the kitchen, delighted to see them enjoy themselves. -He replied to the servants' congratulations, speaking to them -familiarly in dialect. - -Now there spread a feeling of gastronomic repose; people quieted -down, got a composed look, and smiled happily after the first burst -of gourmandizing. Conversation, languid at first, had taken the mild -tone of quiet, easy people, full of good breeding. The ladies smiled -slightly; the girls waved their fans; men set mild discussions agoing -solemnly--about their affairs, about the small politics of the day, -the stagnant state of trade, from which all suffered. They stood in -groups, gesticulating and solemnly nodding. - -The Marchioness had picked up her velvet bag and crossed her -hands over it--a torpor came over her, and she looked like an old -sleeping mummy; whilst Signora Parascandolo, with her head down, -gazed abstractedly at her fan, a precious antique her husband must -have got from some desperate debtor by forced sale. Luisella began -to feel very much bored between these two silent women; her lively -temperament made her feel inclined to get up and speak to her friends -and relations, still more to go and see what Agnesina was doing, and -what was going on in the kitchen and the dining-room to cause such a -noise; but her post of honour was on the divan--it would have been a -breach of etiquette to leave it; so she went on being bored, smiling -to her friends at a distance, and waving her gold-spangled fan. All -at once, she called her husband--she could stand it no longer--and -whispered to him; he nodded assent and went off to arrange the -procession. The guests, knowing the usual programme, understood, and -began looking towards the door, occasionally, for another part of -the show to begin. Some affectionate smiles began already; a slight -whisper ran along. The procession appeared at the chief door. Little -Agnesina, in a white cap with pale blue ribbons that made her face -quite red, wore an embroidered batiste robe that covered the pink -little hands. She was laid out on a _portabimbi_ of pale blue silk -and lace, her head raised on a cushion; this forms a bed, a cradle, -a bag, and a garment, all in one; it lay on the strong arm of the -Fratta Maggiore nurse, Gelsomina, who carried it with the deepest -devotion, as a cleric carries the missal from one end of the altar -to the other, not taking her eyes off Agnesina, who stared placidly -at her with the clear crystal eyes of a new-born infant. Beside her -was Donna Candida, all in the gravity of her office; to mark its -continuity she laid her hand on the baby's pillow; then followed the -father, Cesare Fragalà, and a little further back the waiters with -trays of candy, sweets, and dried fruits, caramels, jujubes, then -other trays with marsala, malaga, Lunel; and farther back still, -venturing to peep in, some inquisitive servant gazing with open eyes. - -The christening-party was not unexpected; the guests all knew the -baby would be shown, so long, noisy applause greeted it, with a -clapping of gloved hands, and a chorus burst out: - -'Long live Agnesina!' - -'May you grow up holy!' - -'How lovely, how sweet she is!' - -'Agnesina! Agnesina!' - -'Cheers for Agnesina's papa and mamma!' - -In the meanwhile the baby was carried straight to her godmother, the -Marchioness, to be kissed; she had held her at the font that morning, -and now kissed her lightly on the forehead, while she put a white -paper into the nurse's hand, with a discontented movement of her long -nose over her fallen-in mouth. - -Applause followed the Marchioness's kiss. Then, bending down, Don -Gennaro, the godfather, kissed her; his broad face was rather pale -and contracted as by some evil thought: perhaps other christenings, -his sons', passed through his mind. But he recovered quickly, and -received the company's still noisier applause with a smile. After the -mother had kissed the baby there was a long minute's silence among -the joyous party; she kept her head down over the baby's face, as if -inhaling its breath, blessing it, calling down on it blessings from -heaven. A great noise followed; as baby was carried triumphantly -round the room, the women gave little screams of motherly emotion, -and kissed her enthusiastically, which made her whimper. Raising her -head, Luisella suddenly noticed a queer figure leaning against a -door-post; she did not know who he was; her curiosity was aroused. -She tried to remember ever having seen him before, but vainly: it -was someone new. Who could he be? Perhaps he had been brought by a -friend or relation, without asking leave, with that calm familiarity -that from the Naples populace rises to the highest classes. It was -certainly someone unknown. - -Whilst the overkissed baby went on whimpering, the nurse and the -ladies trying to console it by loving little words in a singing tone, -and the room was again filled with the joy of eating, Luisella, -curiously interested, possessed by an inward feeling, could not keep -her eyes off that queer, motionless figure. He was a man of between -thirty-five and forty, with the pallid, cadaverous face of one who -has made a long, disastrous voyage; a rather curly, ill-kept black -beard on his sickly red-streaked cheeks hid all traces of linen -or necktie; the forehead showed the same bloodless pallor, and two -deep lines formed at every movement of the eyebrows; his chestnut -hair was thrown back untidily, leaving the temples bare, it being -rather sparse there, and a network of rather swollen blue veins -showed to an observing eye. When he moved his head, the muscles of -his lean neck stood out like a dead fowl's sinews; his loose-hanging -hands were fleshless, too. The man was very poorly dressed: his -pepper-and-salt trousers were too short, showing the ill-brushed -shoes tied by a rusty ribbon; his waistcoat and jacket--yes, really a -jacket--were of dark maroon. The man's whole appearance was sickly, -mysterious, wretched, and mean; his dull eyes wandered here and there -without settling a minute on the same spot; even his expression was -mysterious and ignoble. - -'Who can the ragged fellow be?' Luisella said to herself with an -angry, frightened feeling. - -All were rejoicing again round the sweet-trays, the choicest sweets -in the Toledo Street shop. To a natural love of sweets was added -curiosity to taste new kinds they had often admired in pretty boxes. -Dates and pistachio cream, to which a glass of malaga gives such a -good flavour; while comfits of roses, with a dash of lemon-peel to -excite the palate, suits marsala best, they found; all that soft, -attractive, enchanting odour of vanilla from the chocolates and -creams, the sharp flavour of mint, cooling and exciting, for it burns -the mouth and causes thirst--all these things, pleasant to the eye -and palate, delicious in odour, gave a new excitement to the party, -to which freely-poured-out wine added a slight intoxication. - -'Who can that dirty fellow be?' Luisella was still saying to -herself, feeling hurt in her pride as mistress of the house, in her -love of tidiness, by that sickly, wretched, dirty man. She got up -mechanically to find out from someone about that queer, ragged fellow -who had got into her house, leaving the Marchioness, who again spread -out her handkerchief and heaped all kinds of sweets on it, munching -at them slowly; leaving the rich, unhappy Signora Parascandolo, who -was following little Agnesina about with her eyes full of tears. Just -then Luisella Fragalà overtook the little retinue where her baby -was now shrilly crying, having nearly made the round of the room. -Gelsomina was going to stop before the queer individual as if she -wanted to make him kiss the baby, but as he came forward to do so -Luisella broke in instinctively and sharply, and scornfully eyeing -the unknown, she said to the nurse, putting her hands on Agnesina's -pillow to protect her: - -'Go away, nurse; baby is crying too much.' - -The nurse went out at once, followed by Donna Candida, whilst the -mother looked at them through the door as they went off through the -other rooms, as if still to protect her from some unknown evil. As -she went back into the room the sight of the carpet amused her; paper -cases of candied fruit, gold and silver paper, were scattered over -it; the seats, tables, and brackets had little heaps of sweets from -the pillaged trays; ladies had taken off their gloves to hold the -bit of candy or caramel they were eating; men were leading from one -tray to another children who whimpered, all covered with sugar and -chocolate; others, having asked leave of Cesare Fragalà, who granted -it laughingly, gathered up the sweets in a handkerchief, taking care -not to crush them; whilst others, including Cesare himself, sent for -paper to make into bags to hold what was left in the trays. All hands -were sticky and mouths shiny. On the tables were red or yellow rings -from glasses of wine put down, and a loud continuous clatter went on -through the devastation. - -'Cesare!' called out Luisella to her husband. - -'What do you want, darling?' he answered, while tying a -three-coloured string with the knack of a professional. - -'Tell me one thing.' - -'Two if you like.' - -'Who is that man there, near the door?' - -'That one?' he said, peering as if he did not see well; 'it is -Giovanni Astuti, the money-changer.' - -'No, no! I know him--that other one.' - -'Oh, it is somebody or other,' he said, rather embarrassed. - -'Who is it?' said she severely. - -'A friend of mine.' - -'A friend--that ragged fellow a friend?' - -'One can't always have rich friends,' was the answer, with rather a -forced laugh. - -'I know; but that is no reason for bringing a dirty fellow among -decent people, even if he is your friend.' - -'How excitable you are, dear! Be charitable.' - -'Charity is one thing, decency is another,' she replied obstinately. -'Don't you see how untidy he is?' - -'Untidy!' he muttered, with his usual good-nature; 'he is a -philosopher--he does not care about clothes.' - -'Well, I want him to go away.' - -'How can it be done?' he asked, confused and mortified by his wife's -persistence. - -'Tell him so!' - -'I'll first give him a glass of wine; be patient, then I will make -him go away.' - -In fact, Cesare went up to the unknown to offer him sweets and wine, -speaking in a whisper, and looking him in the eyes. He agreed, -with a smile on his discoloured lips. He began to eat slowly, with -a little grimace, as if he could not swallow well. The mysterious -person looked at the sweets Cesare offered him with an undecided -air, before putting them into his mouth; but he made up his mind to -eat them at last, still with that nervous, pained look of having a -narrow swallow. He was standing with that embarrassed shame of his -own person that is some people's constant unhappiness; and he broke -an almond noisily, gulped over big mouthfuls of Margherita paste, -gazing vaguely around, as if he dared not lower his eyes on his -legs and shoes. Then he slowly went on eating; for Cesare had had a -tray put on a table beside him, and went on handing him chocolates, -vanilla almonds, mandarins in syrup. A tray of wine-glasses was set -down also; the queer fellow took three glasses, one after the other, -without taking breath between, lifting his pale, streaked face and -hospital convalescent's sickly beard. Cesare Fragalà, with a set, -preoccupied smile, looked in the man's eyes, as if he wanted to read -his soul, all the time this feeding went on. - -In the meanwhile Luisella, to amuse herself, to calm the impatience -that had burst out so suddenly, wandered about, chattering and -laughing with her relations and friends. Now came a rumour that the -diamond star in her hair was a gift from the baby's godfather, one -worthy of so rich a man. In their hearts all the merchants' wives -thought Luisella had been very sly, under cover of politeness, to -choose so rich a godfather; they made up their minds, with their -next babies, to do the same, to choose a godfather who knew his -duty and would do it like that dear Don Gennaro. Malicious little -aphorisms ran around: 'Those who think out a thing well are not -sorry afterwards.' 'A gentleman is always a gentleman.' 'Live with -someone richer than you, and get him to pay.' As Luisella Fragalà -got near, this was all changed into a chorus of admiration of the -magnificent jewel. She acknowledged it, and bent her head, blushing -proudly, as the star sparkled in her black hair. The women gave that -long, admiring murmur that flutters the giver and receiver--full -of gratified pleasure, self-satisfied affection, whilst their eyes -languished or flashed. Some, to be still more amiable, even if it was -humbug, asked: 'Is it from the godfather?' 'Yes,' said Luisella, with -a slight sigh. 'It could not be otherwise,' the other whispered, as -if she had guessed well. Elsewhere Luisella had twice been obliged -to take the pin out of her hair, because ladies wished to hold -the precious star in their hands. A group formed, women's faces -bent over, full of curiosity and that love of jewellery that is at -the bottom of every woman's heart, however modest and obscure she -is. There were shrieks of admiration; questions and interjections -arose at the flash of the brilliants. Someone got to asking the -price, even; but Luisella gave a shrug to show her ignorance, which -increased the stone's value; this mystery, this unknown cipher, -acquired a breadth in the feminine mind that imposed respect. So that -at a certain point eight or ten ladies surrounding Luisella, with a -growing burst of enthusiasm, called out, 'Hurrah for the godfather!' - -Don Gennaro Parascandolo, pretending to hear nothing, ran up eagerly, -with the easy good-nature of a travelled Neapolitan. He modestly -disclaimed compliments: it was a nothing at all--two insignificant -stones, bits of glass; the ladies, in lively contradiction, praised -him, and overwhelmed him with civilities, from a deep womanly -instinct that makes them profuse in words and smiles, knowing -something may come of it. When he said Donna Luisa Fragalà was worthy -of a starry crown, applause drowned his voice. In the meanwhile the -mistress of the house had given side-glances now and then towards -the shabby fellow who was so much on her nerves; but he went on -evenly eating and drinking, with that slow movement of the muscles -of his neck that was like a hen's claw. However, something more -extraordinary was going on around, which Luisella had to give heed -to, at the time the phenomenon burst out in the room. Whilst the -horrid fellow pillaged the sweets, making a circle of cut-out paper -round his feet, and prune-stones as well, he had drawn the attention -of those who had finished eating ices. In these gourmands' vague -hour of digestion, quite satisfied with a packet of sweets to carry -home, having nothing to do, their eyes wandered round, and they -noticed that queer beggar Cesare Fragalà was feeding so attentively; -gradually one pointed him out to the other: by that glance, a poke -with the elbow, raised eyebrows, or a smile, that makes the most -expressive of languages, they showed each other that silent devourer, -who began when they were finished, but looked as if he would never -finish until he had demolished the last sweet and drunk the last -glass of wine. Some looked at him rather admiringly, sorry they -could not imitate that continual guzzling; some smiled indulgently; -others had a compassionate look in their eyes for an unlucky fellow -that seemed never to have eaten or drunken enough. Some phrases, -here and there, jocular and good-natured, were repeated from one to -another: 'What a digestion!' 'It is St. Peter's Church!' 'Health -and protection to him!' 'I would make him a coat rather than feed -him!' 'Santa Lucia keep him his sight, because he has no need of an -appetite!' - -But they were the usual rather coarse remarks about a great eater. -Some man in search of amusement had come close to Cesare and the -silent gobbler to watch them. Little by little, all now in the -drawing-room had their eyes on the great eater. Luisella blushed with -shame to think that everyone had now noticed the wretched ragged -fellow her husband had brought into the house, that she had to submit -to having in her room. Vainly she tried, by going about talking and -laughing, joking and waving her fan, to distract attention: it was -useless. - -The people brought together in the drawing-room had eaten and -drunken, praised the baby, the diamond star, and the giver of it; -now, not knowing what else to do, they had fixed their attention on -that queer ragged fellow, who was certainly out of place in Luisella -Fragalà's drawing-room. She was a good woman, but very proud; though -charitable, she would never have brought a pauper into her room. It -was useless for her to fly in a passion, feeling tears come to her -eyes. Now all had noticed the beggarly gobbler, all were looking at -him, even the women and the sleepy-headed girls who looked as if they -never saw anything. The same compassionate, laughing, tolerating -smiles were on the women's faces as on the men's, except that their -stronger curiosity could not constrain itself. Signora Carmela -Naddeo leant forward behind her fan, and asked Luisella: - -'Who is that starving fellow, my dear?' - -'Who knows?' said the other impatiently. - -'Cesarino certainly does; he is handing him glasses of wine.' - -'Cesare gathers these wretched people up by the cart-load,' said she, -shaking with rage. - -But suddenly a subdued whispered word ran from man to man, woman -to woman--a syllable breathed rather than pronounced. Who first -said this hissing word? Who was it that recognised him, and softly -breathed it in his neighbour's ear? Who had let it out, the unknown -secret? No one knows! But in a second, quick as a flash of gunpowder, -all knew and repeated the mystic word throughout the crimson room. -It came back on itself, its letters making a magic circle that -went round, and everyone with it. When they all knew who the man -was, they were seized with stupefaction; the lamps seemed to be -suddenly lowered, their lively faces got pale, even the covers of the -furniture lost colour; there was a deep silence, where the magic word -still lingered feebly: 'The medium--the medium.' - -Luisella herself, the intrepid, grew pale; her hands trembled as they -grasped her fan. The medium had given up feeding; now he was resting -quietly, casting his vague, uncertain glances about, not knowing what -to do with his lean yellow hands. A little blood had risen in his -pale cheeks, under the black beard; but it was in streaks, a sickly -colour, the effect of fever. Still, ugly, dirty, miserable as he -was, all attention was concentrated on him--inquisitive, wheedling, -obsequious glances were directed on him, in which was combined -fantastic fear, especially on the women's part. For even the women, -in a nervous tremor, said to one another, 'It is the medium.' A -circle gradually surrounded him, getting nearer, as if by a strong -natural attraction--rather anxious faces, where one could notice -the vivid working of Southern imaginations, in this land of dreams -and fantasies. Shy folk were now joining the bolder ones who had -come near at first, overcome, dreaming of the train of ministering -spirits, good and bad, who are ever warring around the medium's soul. -Don Gennaro Parascandolo, one of the first to come up, found himself -so hemmed in that he turned to Cesare Fragalà, and said, smiling -rather sceptically: - -'Cesarino, introduce me to this gentleman.' - -Cesare was much embarrassed, but, seeing no way out of it, he caught -at this request, and said quickly: - -'Don Gennaro Parascandolo, Pasqualino De Feo, a friend of mine.' - -The medium smiled vaguely and held out his hand, which Don Gennaro -found icy cold, though damp with perspiration, one of those repulsive -hands that make one shudder. But not a word was said. The women -standing outside the circle, not daring to come near, asked each -other, troubled by a deep longing: - -'What does he say?' - -'He says nothing,' Donna Carmela Naddeo answered; she was nearest, -and never took her eye off him. - -The women bit their lips, the men's presence intimidated them; too -bashful to go near, they shivered with impatience to hear the fateful -words of the man living in constant communication with the world -of spirits, who heard all the hidden truths of life from the good -spirits, who was told by them every week five, or at least three, of -the lottery numbers. - -What was he saying? Nothing. For long hours these people stand -concentrated, lost, perhaps, in a great interior conflict, listening -to the high voices that speak to them. Now and then, torn from -their visions, they pronounce some fateful phrase that contains the -secret, wrapped up in mysterious words, often without form, that -those of strong faith and hope can miraculously understand. All, men -and women, overcome by a great dream, suddenly shaken out of daily -realities into the ardent, burning region of visions, forgetting the -present moment, listened to the medium as if to a superhuman voice. - -Don Gennaro Parascandolo certainly kept up a well-informed -traveller's smile; he had a large, secure fortune, but in the bottom -of his heart the old Parthenope instinct, for big gains, illicit, -if not guilty, costing no trouble, unforeseen, owed to chance, -combination, or getting the better of Government, all came so -naturally to a man who knew the secrets of hidden things. Certainly -all these, Fragalàs, Antonaccis, Naddeos, Durantes, were accustomed -to sell stale sweets, rough earthenware, moth-eaten cloth, and -stinking cod, in dark shops, in cold storehouses in Via Tribunali, -Mercanti, Petra del Pesce, Marina; they were used to all the dulness, -vulgarity and meanness of commerce, where year after year, by putting -one penny on another, after two or three generations, a fortune came; -they all knew the value of money, of work, of economy, of industry: -but what did that matter? To be able, by means of a mysterious -phrase that only cost the trouble of picking up, of interpreting, -to gain big sums with a small stake, get in one day the gains of -twenty years' trade in dry cod, or forty years' trade in sugar and -sandy coffee, was so delightful a gift, so dazzling a vision, to -middle-class ideas! - -Certainly all these clerks and tradesmen looked forward to a modest -future. They had lived on nothing; they were living on very little; -they wanted to have a little more, only that: humble in their wishes, -even. But the sight of the medium, a shabby fellow, yet so powerful, -who spoke every night with supernal and infernal spirits, suddenly -threw them into a fantastic world, where poor folk get miraculously -rich, where they, obscure working people, might become gentlemen. -Ah! Don Domenico Mayer, the nephew, son, brother, and uncle of -clerks, had faith only in sacred bureaucracy--a cold career of silent -suffering. Still, buttoned up in his overcoat, he left his family in -the corner and joined the group round Pasqualino De Feo, the medium, -and his anxious, severe expression wavered as he, too, waited for -the phrase that was to draw him away in a day from the sepulchral -atmosphere of the Finance Department. But the women's imaginations -were the most feverish. Certainly at least ten of them, by birth, -marriage, by their own efforts, or by their relations or husbands, -were rich; their fortunes were easy, their children's future secure. -Ten at least enjoyed the middle-class luxury of brocaded sofas, -jewels, any amount of linen. All the others, by their modesty, good -sense, and economy, by their own virtues or their parents', had -everything that was necessary; but a lively passion for dreams had -awakened and burned in them. Their souls were filled with visions of -comfort, riches, luxury; they flew through the regions of desire with -womanly tremblings, with the force and intensity the quietest women -put into these sudden follies. An overwhelming wish to know the great -secret seized them; crumbling pyramids of gold and jewels lit flames -in their eyes. Even the old Marchioness of Castelforte, so crooked, -such a ruin of a woman, a solitary remnant, the only one of her -family, with no relations or heirs, seventy years old, and nothing -but the tomb in front of her, got up, carrying her velvet bag, and -set her coquettish profile between two men's shoulders. Even Donna -Carmela Naddeo strained her ears, trembling with curiosity, rich and -lucky as she was, whispering to herself: 'If he tells me the numbers, -I will buy a diamond star like Luisella's.' - -The medium still kept silence, so that Don Gennaro Parascandolo, -feeling the impatience of the whole room behind him, risked a -question: - -'Have you enjoyed the party, Don Pasqualino?' - -He opened his mouth; at last a low, feverish voice came from the thin -blue lips. - -'Yes,' he said; 'it is a fine christening. The baptism of Christ on -the Jordan was fine, too.' - -At once there was an agitation in the room, commenting on the phrase, -trying to explain it. They formed into circles and groups, the women -discussing it among themselves, whilst the number thirty-three, the -Redeemer's number, ran from mouth to mouth. - -Placidly, as if he was taking a note of a bill of exchange, Don -Gennaro Parascandolo put down the remark in his note-book. Don -Domenico Mayer took it, too, hiding behind a curtain, without losing -his bureaucratic and misanthropic gravity. The old Marchioness, who -was deaf, went about asking wildly: 'What did he say? What did he -say?' She ended by asking Luisa Fragalà, who sat motionless with -staring eyes beside the melancholy Signora Parascandolo. Luisa could -only say: 'I don't know, my lady; I did not hear.' However, Don -Parascandolo was not satisfied; he went on: - -'Did you enjoy the sweets, Don Pasqualino? I noticed you seemed to -like them.' - -'Yes,' he muttered; 'I eat, but I don't masticate.' - -'Have you no teeth?' - -'No, I have not.' - -He cast his eyes around vaguely, without meeting anyone's glance, -as if he saw things from _beyond_, and made a sign with his hand, -leaning three fingers on his cheek. - -Again the same murmur and agitation; there was uncertainty, too. The -phrase was ambiguous, very. What did the motion with three fingers -mean? Even Don Gennaro Parascandolo, whilst taking a note, stopped -to think. The mystery of that second phrase, of the gesture, let -loose all these already shuddering fancies of a supernatural world. -Faith, faith, that was what was needed to understand the medium's -words! Everyone, calling together all the powers of his soul, tried -to have a sublime burst of faith, to know the truth, how to translate -it into numbers, to exchange it into lottery money. - - * * * * * - -Late at night, when the house was emptied of people, Cesare Fragalà, -with the sleepy servants, went putting out the lights, shutting the -doors, as he prudently did every evening. When he came back to the -bedroom, he found Luisella sitting half dressed in the shade. - -Agnesina's cradle had been taken into the nurse's room; the couple -were alone. Fatigue seemed to keep them silent. Still, on coming up -to his young wife, he saw she was crying quietly, big tears rolling -down her cheeks. - -'What is the matter, Luisella? what is it?' kissing her, trembling -with emotion himself. - -'There is nothing the matter,' she said, still weeping silently in -the shadow. - - - - - CHAPTER III - - IN THE CAVALCANTIS' HOUSE - - -Prostrate on the dark old carved wood kneeling-desk, her elbows -resting on velvet cushions, head slightly bent, her face hidden in -her hands, Donna Bianca Maria Cavalcanti seemed to meditate after -praying. As long as twilight lighted up the little private chapel -the girl went on reading a chapter of the 'Imitation of Christ,' -attentively, in her usual thoughtful attitude. But the shadows had -grown deeper round her, first faintly purple, then gray, enfolding -the little altar and a figure of Our Lady of Sorrows, with seven -silver swords radiating from her heart, hiding a three-quarter -figure of Jesus Christ bound to the column, the Ecce Homo, crowned -with thorns, and bleeding in the face, hands, and side, blotting out -Bianca Maria's slender, neat figure. Then she quietly closed the -torn volume, put it on the cushion, and hid her face in her hands. -Only the faint light before Our Lady of Sorrows shone on the white, -clasped hands and the knot of dark brown hair on her neck. She kept -so motionless for some time that the white figure in the shadow of -the little chapel looked like one of those praying statues that -medieval piety placed on tombs to kneel in constant prayer. She -seemed not to feel the hours passing over her nor the faint, cold -breath the autumn evening brought into the chapel. Gazing through her -fingers at the Virgin's sad face, she seemed to go on praying and -meditating as if nothing could wrest her from it. - -Still, as evening came on the little chapel got very gloomy. In the -daytime it was a poor, cold place, being only a narrow inside room, -badly lighted by a window looking into a narrow court of the Rossi, -formerly the Cavalcanti Palace. Once a wretched carpet covered the -floor, but it was so old and dusty that Bianca Maria had it taken -away. The floor was bare now, of shiny, icy bricks. The little altar -was painted dull blue, an ecclesiastical shade, covered by a rather -fine bit of linen, though yellow with age, as was also the lace -round it. Everything was old and shabby--the candle-sticks, the -printed prayers in metal cases, the red-leather-covered missal, the -poor silver sprays of leaves placed as sacred ornaments, and the -little gilt wooden door, behind which was the Pyx. By day Our Lady -of Sorrows, in black silk, embroidered in gold, with a batiste nun's -head-dress, and the seven swords in her heart, looked wretched and -poor, carrying a lace and batiste handkerchief in her pink stucco -hands. The great Ecce Homo, too, life size, of wood and stucco, -looked as poor as its surroundings. In spite of the carved wood -chairs, with the Cavalcanti crest on the velvet cushions, the chapel -had a look of frozen wretchedness, showing by daylight faded colours, -tarnished metals, stains in the velvet. Even the two lamps that -burned night and day before the Virgin and the Saviour were only two -yellow sputtering tongues of flame. - -But at night--and that night, curiously enough, only one lamp was -burning, that before the Virgin--the wretchedness disappeared; only -great fluttering shadows filled the chapel. One could not see the -colour of the wood and metal; only the white altar-cloth was visible. -There were no sparks of brightness, only in the trembling light -Mary's sad face seemed agonized; and as the flame, shaken by an -invisible breath of wind, bent to the right or left, Jesus' hands and -side seemed really to bleed. - -Bianca Maria was deep in thought, and, accustomed to the chapel, she -felt neither the cold nor the gloom. Suddenly she trembled, thinking -she heard a great noise in the room. It was then she noticed the lamp -before Christ was out. She shivered with cold and fear. The Virgin -seemed to weep over her bleeding Son's agony. Bianca Maria went -quickly out of the chapel, taking her book with her, crossing herself -hurriedly as if followed by some evil spirit. - -In the antechamber an old servant in the Cavalcanti livery--dull -blue, piped with white--sat reading an old newspaper by the light of -one of those old brass lamps with three spouts one still sees in the -provinces and in very aristocratic houses. He rose as he heard Bianca -Maria's light step, looking her in the eyes. - -'Giovanni,' she said, in her pure harmonious voice, 'in the chapel -the lamp before the Ecce Homo has gone out.' - -The old servant looked at her, and hesitated a little before -answering. - -'I did not light it,' he then muttered, casting down his eyes, and -crushing up the paper in his lean hands. - -'Perhaps you had no oil?' she asked, with a little tremor in her -voice, turning her anxious face towards him. - -'No, my lady, no,' the servant eagerly answered at once. 'There is -lots of oil in the pantry. It was by the Marquis's orders I did not -light the lamp.' - -'Did he give you such an order?' she asked, amazed, arching her -eyebrows. - -'Yes, my lady.' - -'For what reason?' - -But she regretted the question at once. It seemed to fail in the -profound respect she owed her father. Still, the word had rushed out. -She would have liked to go away and not hear the answer, whatever it -was; but she feared to make matters worse, and listened with open -eyes, ready to restrain her astonishment and fear. - -'The Marquis is in a rage with Jesus Christ,' the servant said, in -that humble but familiar tone in which the common folk in Naples -often speak of the Deity. 'Last Saturday he asked a great favour -of that miracle-working Ecce Homo, but he did not get it. Then the -Marquis gave orders the lamp was not to be lighted again.' - -'Did the Marquis tell you that?' - -'Yes, my lady; but if you like, I will go and light it.' - -'Obey the Marquis,' she murmured coldly, as she went on towards the -drawing-room. - -As she wandered about alone in the spacious room, ill-lighted by a -petroleum-lamp, she searched for her work-basket and could not find -it, though she passed it twenty times without seeing it. She still -bitterly repented having asked the servant that question, since -throughout the ever-increasing family decay what most embittered her -was to be obliged to judge her father before servants or strangers. -It was in vain she shut her eyes so as not to see, that she spent her -days in her room, the chapel, and the Sacramentiste convent where her -aunt was; in vain she kept silence, trying not to hear what others -said: Margherita, who was the maid, and Giovanni's wife's remarks, -her aunt the nun's uneasy questions, and the hints of some old -relations who came to see her now and then; they spoke so pityingly, -it brought tears to her eyes. She had to lower her eyes, for she -could not help judging her father inwardly as they shook their -heads, pitying her. What shook her most throughout the financial -difficulties she vainly tried to hide in that decent poverty that -could not be kept secret much longer were her father's unexpected, -vexatious, often wild, eccentricities. - -Now, quieted down a little, seated by a square baize card-table, -where the single lamp was placed, she worked at her fine pillow-lace, -moving the bobbins and thread quickly over the pinned-out pattern. -Perhaps she would have liked better to call in Margherita to work -with her at mending the house linen, which the old woman blinded -herself at in her little room. But Don Carlo Cavalcanti, Marquis -di Formosa, was very proud; he never would have allowed a servant -in the drawing-room, nor permitted his daughter to stoop to such -humble work. Bianca Maria would have liked to spend the evening in -her own room reading or working, but her father liked to find her -in the drawing-room when he came in every evening. He called it the -_salone_ pompously, not noticing its bareness; for the four narrow -sofas of discoloured green brocade, the twelve slight hard chairs -put along the wall, the couple of painted gray marble brackets, and -two card-tables, with small bits of carpet before each sofa and -chair, being lost in the immensity, increased the deserted look. The -petroleum-lamp, too, just lit up the table Bianca Maria was sitting -at, and her hands, whiter than the thread, as they moved over the -dark pillow-lace. She stopped sometimes, as if an engrossing thought -occupied her; the hands fell down as if tired; the young, thoughtful -face gave a quiver. - -'Good-evening,' said a strong voice at her elbow. - -She got up at once, put down the pillow-lace, went up to her father, -and bent down to kiss his hand. The Marquis di Formosa accepted the -homage; then he lightly touched his daughter's forehead with his -hand, half tenderly, half as a blessing. She stood a minute waiting -for him to sit before she did; but seeing he had begun to walk up and -down through the room, as he had a habit of doing, she looked at him -for permission. He gave it with a nod, and went on with his walk. On -sitting down, she took up her work, waiting to be addressed before -speaking. - -The Marquis di Formosa's still springy, firm step filled the empty -room with echoes. He was a fine-looking man, in spite of his sixty -years and his snow-white hair. Tall, graceful, dried up rather -than thin, even at that advanced age there was much nobleness and -strength in his head and his whole person, but sudden flushes over -his face gave him a violent look. The gray eyes, strong nose, the -thick white moustache and ample forehead inspired respect. It was -said that when the Marquis di Formosa was young he had made more -than one woman of Ferdinand II.'s Court to sin. He was said to have -been a successful rival to the King himself with a Sicilian dame, -and that in the bloodless strife of gallantry he had got the better -of the greatest gallant in the Bourbon Ministry, the Don Juan of -his day, the celebrated Minister of Police, Marquis del Carretto. -His imperiousness certainly, which had increased with age, gave the -Marquis a hard look, and rather a disagreeable expression sometimes. - -But his family's antiquity, that boasted descent from the great Guido -Cavalcanti, his high position and natural haughtiness authorized some -imperiousness. Now the Marquis was growing old: his sparkling glance -was often dulled, his tall majestic figure stooped in spite of his -leanness. Still, he imposed great respect. His daughter Bianca Maria -gave a respectful shiver when she saw him coming, and all her own and -other people's unfavourable judgments on him went out of her mind. - -'Were you at the convent to-day?' asked the Marquis on passing near -his daughter. - -'Yes, father.' - -'Is Maria degli Angioli well?' - -'She is quite well. She would like to see you.' - -'I have no time now; I have important business--most important,' he -said, with a wave of his hand. - -She kept silence, working diligently to keep herself from asking -questions. - -'Did Maria degli Angioli complain much of me?' he asked, without -stopping his excited walk. - -'No,' she said timidly; 'she would like to see you, as I said.' - -'To see me--see me? To recount her woes, and hear all about mine? A -fine way of filling up the time. Well, if she liked, if she chose, -our woes would soon be ended.' - -Bianca Maria's trembling hand entangled the thread round the bobbins -and pins of the pattern. - -'These holy women,' the Marquis di Formosa went on slowly, as if he -were speaking in a dream--'these holy women, who are always praying, -have pure hearts; they are in God's favour and the saints'; they -enjoy special protection; they see things we poor sinners cannot. -Sister Maria degli Angioli might save us if she liked, but she won't. -She is too saintly, she does not care for earthly things. Now, our -sufferings don't signify to her; she knows nothing about them. She -never will tell me anything; never--never.' - -Bianca Maria looked up, let the work fall from her hands, and gazed -at her father, her eyes full of wondering pain. - -'You have never asked her for anything, have you, Bianca?' he said, -stopping beside his daughter. - -'For what?' she asked, wondering. - -'Maria degli Angioli loves you. She knows you are unhappy; she would -have told you everything, to help you. Why did you not ask her?' he -went on in an excited voice, a storm of rage rising in it. - -'What should I ask?' she repeated, still more frightened. - -'You pretend not to understand!' he shouted, in a fury already. -'These women are all alike, a flock of sheep, silly and egotistical. -What do you speak about by the hour together in the convent parlour? -Whose death do you weep over? Think of the living! Don't you see the -Cavalcanti family is going down to misery, dishonour, and death?' - -'May God avert it!' she whispered, crossing herself devoutly. - -'Women are selfish fools!' he shouted, enraged at her softness, at -finding no resistance; 'and I who think of nothing else from morning -till night, who kneel before the holy images morning and evening, for -the preservation of the Cavalcanti! And you who, by asking your aunt -the secrets of her dreams, could save me and the name by a word--you -pretend not to understand! Ungrateful and treacherous, like all -women!' - -She put down her head and bit her lips, so as not to burst into sobs. -Then, in a trembling voice, she replied: - -'I'll ask her at some other time.' - -'Ask her to-morrow,' her father retorted imperiously. - -'I will do it to-morrow, then.' - -Quickly his rage fell, suddenly calmed. He came up to her and touched -her bent forehead, with his usual caress and blessing. Then, as if -she could not help it, feeling her heart bursting, she began to cry -silently. - -'Don't cry, Bianca Maria,' he said quietly. 'I have great hopes. We -have been so long unhappy, Providence must be getting ready a great -joy for us. It is not given to us to know the time, naturally, but -it can't be far off. If it is not one week, it will be another. What -are hours, days, months, in comparison to the great fortune getting -ready for us in secret? We will be so rich, all this long past of -privation and obscurity will seem a short dream of agony, an hour of -darkness faded in the light of the sun. Who knows what instrument -Providence will use?--perhaps Maria degli Angioli, who is a good -soul. You will ask her to-morrow, won't you? Perhaps some other good -spirit among my friends who _see_ ... perhaps myself, unworthy sinner -as I am--but I feel Providence will save us. But by what means? If -I could only know!' He had started walking up and down again, still -speaking to himself, as if he was accustomed to think aloud. Only now -and then, in the midst of his excitement, he noticed his daughter, -and took up his obstinate harping on one idea with her again: 'Where -else, Bianca, can rescue come from? Work? I am old; you are a girl. -The Cavalcantis have never known how to work, either in youth or old -age. Business? We are people whose only business was to spend our own -money generously. Only a large fortune, gained in a single day.... -You will see, we'll get it. I am sure of it; a thousand dreams and -revelations have told me so. You will see. You will have horses and -carriages again, Bianca Maria: a victoria for the promenade on the -Chiai shore, where you will take your place again; an elegant shut -carriage to go to San Carlo in the evening. You'll see. I want to buy -you a pearl necklace--eight strings joined by a single sapphire--and -a diamond coronet, as all the women of the Cavalcanti family have -had, till your mother.' He stopped as he mentioned her, as if a -sudden emotion seized him; but gazing on his dream of luxury and -splendour quickly distracted him. 'Open house every day. We will -think of the poor and starving--so many want help; we will pour out -alms--so many suffer. I have made a vow, too, to give dowries to -honest poor girls. I have made so many other vows so as to get this -favour.' - -He stopped speaking, as if gazing through the room's darkness on -fortune's splendid mirage that excited fancy brought before his eyes. -His daughter got calm and thoughtful again as she listened to him. -Her father's voice in the usual rhapsodies of his overheated soul -sounded in her heart with anguished echoes, like a slow torment. - -It is true she did not believe in the visions, but her father's -impetuous, angry, tender phrases frightened her every evening. She -could not get accustomed to these bursts of passion that made her -peace-loving soul start and shiver. - -'Signor Marzano,' Giovanni announced. - -A little bent old man came in with a rough, pepper-and-salt -moustache, his eyes piercing and at the same time soft. He was very -plainly dressed. On passing near Bianca Maria he greeted her gently, -and silently asked permission to keep his hat on. He held his Indian -cane, too. Falling into step with the Marquis, the two walked up and -down together, speaking in a very low voice. When they passed near -the light, one saw the advocate's eyes sparkling with satisfaction, -and his rather military moustache moving as if he was making mental -calculations. Sometimes Bianca Maria, who busied herself more and -more in her work so as not to hear, caught involuntarily some -cabalistic jargon of her father's or Marzano's. - -'The _cadenza_ of seven must win.' - -'We might also get the two of _ritorno_.' - -'Playing for _situazione_ is too risky.' - -'A _bigliettone_ is needed.' - -They went on speaking, quite absorbed, their eyes flashing, lost in -these fancies that falsely take the precision and fascination of -mathematics, when Giovanni again came in, to announce, 'Dr. Trifari.' - -A man about thirty came in, strong-limbed and stout, with a big head, -too short a neck, a red curly beard that made his face even redder -than it was, swollen lips, and blue, staring, suspicious eyes that -did not inspire confidence. He was roughly dressed: a tight collar -rasped his neck, a big sham diamond pin shone in his black silk tie, -and he still had a provincial air, in spite of his University degree. -He hardly greeted Bianca Maria, put his hat on a side-table, and went -to the Marquis di Formosa's other side. All three marched up and down -more quietly. Sometimes Dr. Trifari said a word, or gesticulated -violently, speaking in a whisper all the same, his squinting glance -questioning his audience and the shades around as if he feared to be -betrayed. - -The learned Marquis di Formosa kept up his vivacious look like a -headstrong old man; Marzano persisted in laughing good-naturedly with -his cunning, gentle eyes; whilst Dr. Trifari went about cautiously, -as if he always feared being cheated. When the two old men raised -their voices a little, he quickly signed to them repressively, -pointing at the doors and windows; he went so far as to point to -Bianca Maria. The Marquis waved his hand tolerantly, as if to say she -was an innocent creature, when again Giovanni came in, to announce, -'Professor Colaneri.' - -At once on seeing him, one guessed he was an unfrocked priest. A -thick black beard had grown on his shaven cheeks; but the hair cut -short on the forehead, and growing thinly over the tonsure, kept the -ecclesiastical cut. The shape of his hand, where the crooked thumb -seemed joined to the first finger; the way he settled his spectacles -on his nose; his trick of putting two fingers in his collar to widen -it, as if it was the tight priest's collar; his way of making his -glance fall from above--his features and movements altogether were so -clerical, one quickly understood his character. - -Formosa received him rather coldly, as usual; the apostate gave -his religious mind a repulsive shudder. Colaneri, too, spoke very -cautiously; four could not walk about without speaking aloud, so they -stood in a dark window recess. It was there Ninetto Costa came to -join them, a dark, handsome fellow, showing the whitest of teeth in -a continuous smile; he was one of the luckiest stockbrokers on the -Naples Exchange. - -Last of all, Giovanni announced one man in a whisper, negligently, -'Don Crescenzio,' a type between a clerk and an agent, who slipped -into the room rather timidly; still, he was treated as an equal. The -discussion between the six men grew warm in the window recess, but -they kept their voices low. - -Bianca Maria went on working mechanically. She felt dreadfully -embarrassed; she dared not go away without asking her father's -permission, and she felt she was out of place in the room. This -mysterious talk, in an incomprehensible, mad jargon, all so excited -and eager, rolling their eyes about so sternly; a growing madness in -their glances; their faces pale and then flushed from making such -violent gestures, disturbed her at first, and ended by frightening -her. Her father especially seemed lost in the midst of all these -madmen, some of them coldly, others wildly, interested, and all -extremely obstinate. She looked at him sometimes in despair, as if -she saw him drowning, and could not take a step or give a cry to -help him. Just then the six men came slowly filing out of the window -recess, and sat down round another card-table, where there was no -light. They drew in their chairs to get closer together, put their -elbows on the table, leaning their heads on their hands, and all -began talking at once in the half-light, whispering in each other's -faces, breathing out the words, looking each other straight in the -eyes, as if they were using magic and charms. - -Bianca Maria could stand it no longer. Making as little noise as -possible, she wrapped up her lace pillow in a strip of black linen, -got up without moving her chair, so as not to make a sound, and went -out of the big room quickly, as if she feared to be called back, -with a frightened feeling as if someone were following her. She was -slightly reassured only as she got into her own room. It was plain -and clean, rather cold-looking, a good, pious girl's room, full of -holy images, rosaries, and Easter candles. Margherita, the servant, -came to join her, having heard her step. With humble affection she -asked if she was going to bed. - -'No, no; I am not sleepy. I will wait. I have not said good-night to -my father.' - -'The Marquis will sit up till all hours,' the maid muttered. 'You -will get tired waiting here all alone.' - -'I will read. I wish to wait.' - -The old servant obediently disappeared. - -Bianca Maria took from a little shelf a religious novel of Pauline -Craven's, 'Le Mot de l'Énigme,' a pious, consolatory book. But -her mind would not be soothed that evening by the French author's -gentle words. Sometimes the girl listened intently to find out if -her father's friends were going away or if others were coming. There -was nothing--not a sound. The great weekly mysterious conspiracy was -going on, breathed out from face to face as if it was a frightful -piece of witchcraft. This impression grew so on Bianca Maria's mind, -that now even the silence frightened her. She tried again two or -three times to read the charming book, but her eyes rested on the -printed lines without seeing them. The sense of the words she forced -herself to read escaped her. Her whole mind was taken up listening -to the noises in the drawing-room. Silence still, as if not a living -soul was there. She shut the book and called the servant, not feeling -able to bear that solitude full of ghosts. - -Margherita hastened in, and silently awaited her young mistress's -orders. - -'Let us say the Rosary,' she whispered. - -Sometimes, when the hours seemed longest to the lonely scion of -the Cavalcanti, when sleeplessness kept her eyes open, when her -fancies got too lugubrious, she loved to pray aloud with her maid to -cheat time, hours of watching, nervousness. She dreaded speaking to -servants--her natural pride made her avoid it; but praying together -seemed to her only a simple act of Christian humility. - -'Let us say the Rosary,' she repeated, seating herself by her white -bed. - -Margherita sat near the door, at a respectful distance. Bianca Maria -said the first prayers, the Mystery, and half of the _Pater Noster_; -Margherita said the other part. The same with the _Ave Marias_: the -first part Bianca Maria said; Margherita took it up and finished -it. They prayed in a low tone, but one could easily distinguish the -voices, always taking up their part of the prayer in time. At every -ten _Ave Marias_, or Stations of the Rosary, they piously crossed -themselves, and bent their heads low in reverence to the Holy Ghost -at every _Gloria Patri_. - -Thus, between mystical absorption in prayer, the natural emotion -these familiar, but poetical supplications aroused, and the sound -of her own voice, the girl forgot for a little the great drama -developing round her father. The whole Rosary was said thus, slowly, -with the piety of real believers. Before beginning the Litany to the -Virgin she knelt at her chair, with her elbows on the seat, and the -maid knelt in her corner. The girl invoked the Virgin in Latin, with -all the tender names her devotees use, and the servant answered 'Ora -pro nobis.' But from the beginning of the Litany a rising sound of -voices reached from the drawing-room. This noise disturbed Bianca -Maria's prayers. She tried not to listen to it by raising her voice -more; but it was impossible now to abstract herself from that clash -of voices getting excited and angry. - -'What can it be?' she said, stopping in her intercessions. - -'It is nothing,' said Margherita. 'They are speaking about lottery -numbers.' - -'They seem to me to be quarrelling,' Bianca Maria timidly replied. - -'They will make friends again on Saturday evening,' Margherita -muttered, with her commonplace philosophy. - -'How so?' the girl asked, letting herself be drawn into the -discussion. - -'Because none of them will win anything.' - -'Let us pray,' said Bianca, raising her eyes to the ceiling, as if -gazing on the starry firmament. - -It was impossible now to finish the Litany. The discussion in the -drawing-room had got so warm, they heard it all, the voices coming -near and going off, as if the Cabalists had risen from the table and -were walking up and down again, with the need excited people have of -going backwards and forwards and round about. - -'Shall I shut the door?' asked Margherita. - -'Shut it; we are praying,' Bianca Maria said resignedly. - -The voices did not come in so distinctly. They could follow the -Litany to the end without interruption. But the girl's mind was no -longer in the words she was saying. She was quite distracted, and -hurried through the finishing _Salve Regina_ as if time pressed. - -'The Madonna bless your ladyship!' said Margherita, getting up after -crossing herself. - -'Thank you,' the young girl answered simply, sitting down again -beside her bed, where she spent so many hours of the day thinking and -reading. - -Margherita had left the door open as she went away. Now the voices -burst out angrily. The enraged Cabalists argued furiously with each -other, each one boasting loudly of his own way of getting lottery -numbers, his own researches, his own visions, each one trying to -take the word from the other, interrupting, screaming louder, being -interrupted in turn. - -'You don't believe in Cifariello the cobbler's talent?' Marzano the -lawyer shouted with the white fury of very gentle, good-natured -people. 'Perhaps because he is a cobbler, and perhaps because he -writes out his problems with charcoal on a dirty bit of white paper! -Here it is, here it is! Twenty-seven has come out second instead of -fourth, but it came out! Here is eighty-four, that turned round -and became forty-eight, but it did come out! Here is the _ambo_ -made up of fourteen and seventy-nine I was so unlucky as to give up -playing; it came out three weeks after I gave it up. These are facts, -gentlemen--facts, not words!' - -'They are the sixty francs a month you give him to leave off cobbling -and work out numbers for you!' Dr. Trifari interrupted sharply. - -'Cifariello is ignorant, but sincere; he gave me fourteen and -seventy-nine, and I did not go on with it.' - -'Father Illuminato gave me fourteen and seventy-nine, too,' Dr. -Trifari retorted, 'but it was the right week.' - -'And you won without letting your friends know?' the Marquis di -Formosa asked excitedly. - -'I won nothing. I divided it into two different tickets. I did not -understand what a fortune Father Illuminato was giving me. He is the -only one that knows numbers. He holds our fortunes, our future, in -his hands. It is a queer thing. When I felt his pulse to see if he -had fever, I went trembling all over.' - -'Father Illuminato is an egotist!' Professor Colaneri hissed out in a -sarcastic, biting voice. - -'You say that because he turned you out of his house one day. You -tried to get the numbers out of him by force. He won't give them -to priests who have thrown off the habit. Father Illuminato is a -believer.' - -'I see the numbers myself!' Colaneri called out shrilly. 'It is -enough for me to take no supper the night before, when I go to bed, -and to meditate an hour or two before sleeping: then I see them, you -know.' - -'But they don't come out right!' shouted the Marquis di Formosa. - -'They don't come out right because my mind is clouded by human -interests; because I can't free myself from a longing to win; because -one must have a pure soul, lay aside disturbing passion, raise one's -self into the region of faith, to see clearly. I see them, but often, -almost always, a malignant spirit darkens my sight.' - -'Look here,' said Ninetto Costa, the smart, rich stock-broker, -loudly. 'I have done more. I knew that a young woman, a milliner that -lives in Baglivo Uries Lane, had the name of giving good numbers. She -can't play them, as you know; they can't do so without losing the -power. But she gives them. I made up to her, pretended to fall madly -in love with her, gave her presents. I see her morning and evening. I -have even got to promising her marriage.' - -'Has she given you any?' the Marquis di Formosa asked anxiously. - -'Nothing yet. She changes the subject, when I mention it, timidly; -but she will give them--she will.' - -How Bianca Maria wished that the Rosary she had recited so -absent-mindedly was still going on, so as not to hear this mad talk, -that she caught every word of! It made her brain reel, as if her soul -was drawn into a whirlpool. How she would have liked not to hear the -ravings of their disturbed brains so set on one idea! Now the Marquis -di Formosa was speaking resoundingly. - -'The cobbler's simple science, Father Illuminato's saintliness, our -friend Colaneri's dazzling visions, are all very well; but what is -the result? What comes of it? We who play our collar-bones every -week, drawing money from stones, all of us, winning in a hundred -years or so a wretched little _ambo_, or, worse still, one single -number. Stronger hands are needed! a higher strength is needed! We -need miracles, gentlemen. We must induce my sister, the nun, to -give lottery numbers. My daughter must get her to do it. We need my -daughter herself, an angel of virtue, kindness, and purity, to pray -to the Supreme Being for numbers!' - -A deep silence followed these last words. The entrance-door bell -rang. Bianca Maria, shaking all over, dragged herself to her -door-curtain and saw a wretchedly-dressed man pass, mean-looking, -with pale, red-streaked cheeks, the beard like a hospital -convalescent's. It was a painful, alarming vision. In spite of the -extraordinary man going into the room, the silence was unbroken, as -if the unknown had brought in a mysterious tranquillity. - -Bianca Maria strained her ear anxiously, leaning on the door-post. -Perhaps the Cabalists had gone back to their little table, taking the -new arrival with them. The silence lasted a long time. Motionless, -almost rigid, she clutched at the doorposts, not to fall; what she -had heard was so sad and cruel it broke her heart. She was seized -with humiliation and anguish, as if she could feel nothing but this -sorrow. She suffered every way in her natural pride and outraged -maidenly reserve, and from her father throwing her name about in a -mad dispute. She felt ashamed for him and for herself, as if he had -boxed her ears in public. Her anguish nearly suffocated her; it rose -to her brain, and seemed to burn her in its hot embrace. How long -she stood, how long the silence went on in the drawing-room, she -could not tell; only, through her distress, she heard her father's -friends pass behind her curtain and go out cautiously, like so many -conspirators. Then, mechanically, she left her room to look for him. -But the drawing-room was dark, so was the study, where the Marquis di -Formosa sometimes consulted an old book of necromancy. Bianca Maria -searched anxiously for her father. In the end a light guided her. The -Marquis di Formosa had gone into the little chapel, filled up the -lamp before the Virgin, and lighted the lamp before the Ecce Homo, -put out by his orders, also the two wax candles in the candelabra, -and set them before Jesus Christ. Not satisfied with that, he had -carried the big lamp into the little chapel. In that illumination -he had thrown himself down despairingly before Christ, trembling, -shaking, sobbing. Praying aloud, he said to the Redeemer: - -'O Lamb of God, forgive me! I am ungrateful and ignorant, a miserable -sinner. Forgive me, forgive! Do not make me suffer for my sins. -Do me this grace for the sake of my languishing, dying daughter. -I am unworthy, but bless me for her sake. O sorrowful Virgin, who -hast suffered so much, understand and help me! Send a vision to -Sister Maria degli Angioli. O blessed spirit, Beatrice Cavalcanti, -my saintly wife, if I caused you sorrow, forgive me! Forgive me if -I shortened your life! Do it for your daughter's sake: save your -family. Appear to your daughter--she is innocent and good; tell her -the words to save us, blessed spirit! blessed spirit!' - -The girl, who beard it all, was so frightened she fled with her -eyes shut, holding her head. When she got to her room, she thought -she heard a deep, sad sigh behind her, and felt a light hand on her -shoulder. Mad with terror, she could not cry out; she fell her whole -length on the ground, and lay as if she were dead. - - - - - CHAPTER IV - - DR. AMATI - - -Not once for a month past had Dr. Antonio Amati seen that thoughtful, -delicate girl's face between the yellowish old curtains in the -balcony opposite his study window, which looked into the big court -of Rossi Palace, formerly Cavalcanti. Two years had passed from the -day that one of the youngest, though one of the most distinguished, -Naples doctors had come to take up his abode there alone, with one -man-servant and a housekeeper, but bringing a crowd of old and new -patients after him, filling the spacious, but rather dark, stairs -with a going and coming of busy, preoccupied people. From the very -first day he had noticed opposite his study window in passing that -pure oval, the faintly pink, delicate complexion, those proud, soft -eyes, that touched the heart from their gentleness. He saw all that -at once, in spite of the windows opposite being dull from old age -and her appearing for a short time only. He was a quick observer; -in fact, a great part of his medical skill was owing to his quick -glance, his lively, true, deep intuition. - -'A heart with no sun,' he said to himself, turning round to put -his heavy scientific volumes into his carved oak shelves. Nor was -he surprised when the Rossi Palace door-keeper, humbly consulting -him under the portico, as he got into his carriage for his round of -afternoon visits, about a feverish illness that had inflamed her -spleen, told him, amongst a flood of other gossip, that that angel -opposite his balcony was Lady Bianca Maria Cavalcanti, a lady of -high birth, but reduced in circumstances, poor girl, not by her own -fault.... 'But perhaps she will become a nun,' the woman ended up. 'A -heart with no sun,' Dr. Antonio Amati thought again as he went away, -after prescribing for the sickly, talkative door-keeper. - -But he had no time to remark or think of aristocratic ladies -come down by bad luck, or their parents' sins, to obscurity and -wretchedness; he could not let his fancy linger long on that -melancholy life alongside of his, but so different from it. He was -a silent, energetic man of action; a Southerner not fond of words, -who put into his daily work all the strength other Southerners put -into dreams, talk, and long speeches, accustoming himself to this -self-government, calling up every day the violence of his fiery -temper to conquer it by strength of will, and make use of it for -scientific practical work, keeping always in touch with life, books, -and suffering humanity, which at thirty-five had made him famous. He -was proud of his great reputation, but not conceited, though lucky -fortune had not made him mean or lowered him. No, he could not dream -about Bianca Maria's lily face; too many around him were ill of -typhus, smallpox, consumption, and a hundred other severe, almost -incurable, illnesses that required his daily help and energies. Too -many people called to him, implored him, stretched out their hands -for help, besieging his waiting-room and the hospital door, watching -for him at the University and other sick people's doors patiently and -submissively, as if waiting for a saviour. Too many were suffering, -sick and dying, for him to dream about that slight apparition, and -admire the pale, thoughtful face bending under the weight of black -tresses. - -Still, through that life of useful work for himself and others, -through the seeming hardness, hurry, even scientific brutality of -his constant activity, which was made up for by his noble daily -sacrifices, that silently attractive figure pleased Dr. Antonio -Amati's fancy. Gradually it took its place each morning among the -things he admired and liked to find in their places every day: his -books, old leather note-books, some mementos of childhood and youth, -a wax model of his dead sister's little hand, an old photograph of -his mother, who lived in Campobasso province, a local accent he had -not lost, in spite of living eighteen years in Naples and his travels -in France and Germany. - -Bianca Maria came into this harmonious atmosphere, that gently -satisfied this strong man's eyes and heart. Antonio Amati did not -try to see her oftener, nor to know and speak to her; it was enough -to see her in the early morning, behind her balcony windows, look -down vaguely into the dull, damp court, then disappear as slowly as -she came--a quiet, solitary figure, not sorrowful, but not smiling. -Between one patient going and another coming, Dr. Amati got up -from his desk, and went as far as the balcony; in one or other of -these little walks, that seemed to serve him as a pause, a rest, a -distraction between one bit of work finished and another begun, he -caught sight of Bianca Maria's pale, thoughtful face; and for two -years that satisfied him. It is true that sometimes in these two -years he had met her on the stairs, or in the Rossi Palace dark -entrance, with her father or Margherita; he took off his hat, and she -acknowledged his bow unsmilingly. She, too, knew him well, seeing him -every day; but she looked him in the face frankly, with none of that -extreme reserve, half smile, half sham indifference, or any of the -little coquetries of commonplace girls. Frankly and innocently she -looked at him a minute, returned his bow, and then her proud, gentle -eyes took their vague thoughtful expression again. - -They did not make daily appointments to see each other--he was -too serious, too engrossed in duty to do so, and she was a simple -creature, living too solitary an inward life to think of it--only -they saw each other every day, and got accustomed to it. - -'But perhaps she is to be a nun,' the door-keeper repeated sometimes. -She had got over her illness, and employed herself over other -people's ailments, moral and physical. - -But the doctor walked on without replying, thinking of the sad chorus -of lamentations that went on around him, from rich and poor, for -real, present, imminent sorrows, almost hopeless to cure, but worthy -of his courage and talent to attempt. Still, in that damp, south-east -wind this autumn morning, whilst bad coughs, heart complaints, fevers -came by turns dolefully in his list of cases, this sickly atmosphere -of bad weather in Naples making them worse, he had, as usual, filled -up his leisure by going to the balcony; and not seeing Bianca Maria, -he felt annoyance of a latent, indefinite kind, which every new -country or suburban patient made him forget; but it came back when -the patient left. The forenoon passed in the gloom of the great -writing-table, covered with maroon; of these colourless, anxious -faces held up to him; these weak, complaining voices; lean breasts, -or flabby with unhealthy fat, that were bared for him to find traces -of consumption or atrophy, with wheezing, funereal coughs. Never had -he felt the disagreeables of his profession so much as that day. -Bianca Maria did not appear. - -'She is ill,' he thought momentarily. Having thought of this, he felt -as sure as if someone had told him or if he had seen her ill himself. -She was sick. He at once thought of helping her, with that instinct -to save life all great doctors have. He thought it over a minute; but -his mind came back to the realities of life at once. It was folly to -be taken up about a person he did not know, and who probably did not -care to have him. If they needed his skill, they would have called -him. For all that, he was sure Bianca Maria was ill. - -But another patient came into the room. There were two, rather--a -youth and a girl of the lower class. He recognised the girl at once -from her hollow, worn face and sad, black-encircled eyes, the lock of -untidy hair. He had cured her of typhoid at San Raffaele hospital, -when the epidemic was raging in Naples. - -'Is it you, Carmela?' - -'Good-day to you, sir,' said the girl, rushing forward to kiss the -doctor's hand, which he quickly drew back. - -'Are you ill?' he asked. - -'As if I was ill,' she said, smiling, in a faint, melancholy way, -while the doctor was trying to recognise the young fellow's face. 'I -am going to have a misfortune that is worse than an illness, sir.' -She turned to her companion as she spoke, and called out: 'Raffaé!' -Then Amati saw the young fellow in all the _guappesca_ style of -bell-trousers, small folded cap, silver chain with a bit of coral, -shiny squeaking shoes, and the half-scampish, impudent look of a lad -of twenty who has given up the knife, the traditional _sfarziglia_ -of his ancestors in the Camorra, for the modern revolver. 'This is -my lover, sir,' she said, humbly and proudly, whilst Raffaele looked -straight before him, as if it was not his business. She gave the -youth so intense a look, so full of tenderness and passion, that the -doctor had to restrain an impatient shrug. - -'Is he ill?' he asked. - -'No, sir; he is very well, thank God! But he has--that is to say, -we have--another misfortune coming on us; or, indeed, it is my -misfortune, as I must lose him. They want to take him for the levy,' -said she, in a trembling voice, her eyes filling with tears. - -'That is natural enough,' answered the doctor, smiling. - -'How can you say so, sir? It is infamous of the Government to take a -fine lad that ought to marry. If you won't help me, sir, what will I -do?' - -'And what can _I_ do?' - -Raffaele, in the meanwhile, stood with one hand at his side, hanging -his hat between two fingers; sometimes he looked Carmela up and down -absent-mindedly and haughtily, as if it was out of mere good-nature -he allowed her to look after his affairs; then he cast an oblique but -dignified glance on the doctor. - -'You are so kind, sir,' Carmela murmured. 'I want you to give -Raffaele a medicine to make him ill, and get him scratched off the -list.' - -'It is impossible, my dear girl.' - -'Why so, sir?' - -'Because there are no such miraculous medicines.' - -'Oh, sir, you mean you don't wish to do me this kindness. Think if -they take him for three years!--three years! What could I do without -him for three years? And, then, he won't go, sir! If you knew what he -says----' - -'I told her,' Raffaele interrupted emphatically, pulling down his -waistcoat, a common _guappa_ trick, 'that if they take me by force, -we will hold a little shooting; someone will be wounded, they take me -to prison, and what happens? A year's imprisonment at most. I must go -to San Francesco some day, at any rate.' - -'Don't speak that way--don't say that!' she called out in admiring -terror. 'Beg the professor to give you the medicine.' - -'Are you to be married soon?' asked the doctor, who no longer -wondered at anything, from knowing the people so well. - -'Very soon,' Carmela answered by herself, while Raffaele looked -before him. - -'When are you to be?' - -'When we get the _terno_,' she retorted, quietly and with certainty. - -'Then, not for some time yet,' the doctor replied, laughing. - -'No, no, sir; Don Pasqualino De Feo, the medium, has promised me a -safe number. We will be married very soon. But you must get Raffaele -off.' - -'There is no need of my services. Raffaele will be rejected, because -he has a narrow chest,' concluded the doctor, after looking carefully -at the dandy. - -'Do you say so, really?' - -'Really it is so.' - -'God bless you, sir! if I had to have this sorrow too, I would die. -So many sorrows--so many,' she said in a low tone, pulling up her -shabby shawl on her shoulders; 'I am the mother of sorrows,' she -added, with a sad smile. - -'Good-day, sir,' said Raffaele. 'When you come to Mercato or Pendino -district, ask for Raffaele--I am called Farfariello--and let me serve -you in any way I can.' - -'Thank you--thank you,' replied the doctor, sending them off. - -The two again repeated their farewells on their way out--she with a -smile on her suffering face, he with the look of a man that despises -women. Other patients came in requiring his medical skill up to -twelve o'clock, when the time for receiving visits was over. Bianca -Maria had not appeared. She was ill, therefore. - -He took breakfast very hurriedly, and ordered the coachman to bring -round the carriage to go to the hospital at one o'clock. The day -was getting more and more unpleasant, from the scirocco's damp, -ill-smelling breath. He went out quickly, as he was rather late, and -on the stairs, half in shadow, he met Bianca Maria going down also, -with Margherita, her maid. - -'Then, she is not ill,' thought the doctor. - -But with the sharp eyes of an observing man, who finds out the truth -from the slightest symptoms, he saw the girl was walking undecidedly; -her face, as she looked up to bow, was intensely pale, so that again -his medical instinct was to help her. He was just going to speak, -to ask her brusquely where the pain was, but her proud, gentle eyes -were cast down again absent-mindedly; her mouth had that severe -silent look that imposes silence on others. She disappeared without -his saying anything. Dr. Amati shrugged his shoulders as he got into -the carriage, and buried himself in a medical journal, as he did -every day, to fill up even the short drive usefully. The carriage -rolled along silently over the thin layer of mud; the damp obscured -the windows, and the doctor felt the scirocco in himself and in the -air. Even the hospital could not soothe the doctor's discomfort, -though to take his thoughts off it he went deeper into practical -medical work and scientific explanations to the pupils than usual. -He went backwards and forwards from one bed to another, followed by -a crowd of youths, taller than any of them, with an obstinate man's -short forehead, marked by two perpendicular lines, from a constant -frown, showing a strong will and absorption in his work; his thick -brush of black hair was roughly set on his forehead, with some -white tufts showing already. So great was his activity of thought, -words, and action, one expected to see the smoke of a volcano coming -out. His orders to the assistants and his class, even to the nuns, -were given harshly; they all obeyed quickly and silently, feeling -respect for the iron will, in spite of his rough commands, mingled -with admiration for the man who was looked on as a saviour. Even the -room he had charge of looked more melancholy and wretched that day -than ever; the dulness of the air saddened the invalids, the heavy, -evil-smelling damp made them feel their pains more. A whispered -lament, like a long, laboured breath, was heard from one end of the -room to the other, and the sick folks' pale faces got yellow in that -ghastly light; their emaciated hands on the coverlets looked like wax. - -In spite of trying to stun himself with work and words, Dr. -Amati felt the disagreeables of his profession more than ever. -Through that long, narrow room, full of beds in a row, and yellow, -suffering faces, and the constant smell of phenic acid; through -the scirocco mist and damp, that made even the nuns' pink cheeks -bloodless-looking, he had a dream, a passing vision of a sunny, -green, warm, clear, sweet-smelling country place, and his heart ached -for this idyll, come and gone in a moment. - -'Good-bye, gentlemen,' Amati said brusquely to the students, -dismissing them. - -They knew that when he so greeted them he wished to be left alone; -they knew, they understood, the Professor was in a bad humour; -they let him go. One of the ambulance men brought him two or three -letters that came while he was going his rounds; they were summonses, -urgent letters from sick people longing for him, from a father who -had lost his head over a son's illness, from despairing women. He -shook his head as he read them, as if he had lost confidence--as if -all humanity sorrowing discouraged him. He went--yes, he went; but -he felt very tired, which must have come from his mind, for he had -worked much less than usual. He was going along absent-mindedly, -when a shadow rose before him on the hospital stairs. It was a -poor woman, of no particular age, with sparse grayish hair, black -teeth, prominent cheek-bones, her clothes torn and dirty, whilst the -slumbering babe she carried was clean, though meanly clad. - -'Sir--please, sir!' she called out in a crying voice, seeing the -doctor was going on without troubling himself about her. - -'What do you want? Who are you?' the doctor asked roughly, without -looking at her. - -'I am Annarella, Carmela's sister--you saved her life,' said Gaetano -the glove-cutter's wretched wife. - -'Your sister in the morning, and now you!' the doctor impatiently -exclaimed. - -'Not for me, sir--not for me,' the gambler's wife said in a low tone. -'I can die. I don't signify. I do so little in the world I can't even -find bread for my children.' - -'Get out of the way--get out of the way.' - -'It is for this little creature, for my sick son, sir;' and she bent -to kiss the little slumberer's forehead. 'I don't know what is the -matter, but he falls off every day, and I don't know what to give -him. Cure him for me, sir.' - -The doctor leant over the little invalid, with its pretty, delicate, -pallid face, purple eyelids, hardly perceptible breathing, and lips -slightly apart; he touched its forehead and hands, then looked at the -mother. - -'You give it milk?' he asked shortly. - -'Yes, sir,' said she, with a slight smile of motherly content. - -'How many months old is he?' - -'Eighteen months.' - -'And you still suckle him? You are all the same, you Naples women. -Wean him at once.' - -'Oh, sir!' she exclaimed, quite alarmed. - -'Wean him,' he repeated. - -'What am I to give him?' she said, almost sobbing. 'I often want -bread for myself and the other two, but never milk. Must this poor -little soul die of hunger too?' - -'Does your husband not work?' asked the doctor ponderingly. - -'Yes, sir, he does work,' she said, shaking her head. - -'Does he keep another woman?' - -'No, sir.' - -'What does he do, then?' - -'He plays at the lottery.' - -'I understand. Wean the child. He has fever. Your milk poisons him.' - -After gazing at the doctor and her child, she just said 'Jesus' in a -whisper, and a sob burst out from her motherly breast. - -Amati wrote out a prescription in pencil on a leaf of his -pocket-book. He went down the stairs, followed by Annarella, whose -tears fell over the child's face, her dull sobs following him in -lamentation. - -'This is the prescription; here are five francs to get it with,' said -the doctor, motioning to her not to thank him. - -She looked at him with stupefied eyes while he crossed the big cold -hospital court to his carriage; she began to cry again when she was -alone; gazing on the baby, the prescription in her hand shook--it was -so bitter for her to think of having poisoned her son with her milk. - -'It must be cholera,' she kept saying to herself, for among Naples -common folk stomach disorders are often called cholera. - -Dr. Amati shook his head again energetically, as if he had lost -confidence altogether in the saving of humanity. As he was opening -the carriage door to get in, a woman who had been chattering with the -hospital porter came up to speak to him. It was a woman in black, -with a nun's shawl, and black silk kerchief on her head, tied under -the chin. She had coal-black eyes in a pale face--eyes used to the -shade and silence. She spoke very low. - -'Sir, would you come with me to do an urgent kindness?' - -'I am busy,' the doctor grumbled, getting into his carriage. - -'The person is very, very ill.' - -'All the people I have to see are ill.' - -'She is near here, sir, in the Sacramentiste convent. I was sent to -the hospital to find a doctor. I can't go back without one ... she is -so very ill....' - -'Dr. Caramanna is still up there--ask for him,' Amati retorted. 'Is -it a nun that is ill?' he then added. - -'The Sacramentistes are cloistered; they can't call men into the -convent,' said the servant, pursing her lips. 'It is someone who got -ill in the convent parlour, not belonging to the convent....' - -'I will come,' Amati said quickly. - -He pushed the servant into the carriage, got in and shut the door. -The carriage rolled along the Anticaglia road, which is so dark, -muddy, and wretched from old age; and they did not say a word to each -other in the short drive. The carriage stopped before the convent -gate; instead of ringing the bell, the servant opened the door with -a key. The doctor and she first crossed an icy court overlooked by a -number of windows with green jalousies, then a corridor with pillars -along the court; complete solitude and silence was everywhere. They -went into a vast room on the ground-floor. Along the white-washed -walls were straw chairs, nothing else; at the end a big table, with -a seat for the porter lay Sister. A crucifix was nailed on one wall. -Along the other were two narrow gratings with a wheel in the middle, -to speak through and pass things to the nuns. Near this wall, on -three chairs, a woman's form was stretched out; another woman was -kneeling and bending over her face. Before the doctor got as far as -the woman lying down, the servant went up to the grating and spoke: -'Praise to the Holy Sacrament----' - -'Now and for ever,' a very feeble voice answered from inside, as if -it came out of a deep cave. - -'Is the doctor here?' - -'Yes, Sister Maria.' - -'That is well;' and a long, feverish sigh was heard. - -In the meantime Dr. Amati had gone up to the fainting girl. -Margherita was bathing her forehead with a handkerchief steeped in -vinegar, and whispering: 'My darling! my darling!' - -The doctor put his hat on the ground, and knelt down too, to examine -the fainting girl. He felt her pulse, and gently raised one eyelid; -the eye was glassy. - -'How long has she been like this?' he asked in a whisper, rubbing her -icy hands. - -'Half an hour,' the old woman replied. - -'What have you done for her?' - -'Nothing but use the vinegar. They gave it to me through the wheel; -they have nothing else; it is a convent under strict rules.' - -'Does she often faint?' - -'Last night ... she had another swoon. I found her on the ground in -her room. I called my master.' - -'Did she recover of herself ... last night?' - -'Yes.' - -'Had she got a fright?' - -'I don't know ... I don't think so,' she said in a hesitating way. - -They were speaking in a whisper, whilst the servant stood right at -the grating, as if mounting guard. - -'Is she better?' the feeble voice inside asked. - -'Just the same,' replied the servant in a monotonous voice. - -'Oh God!' the voice called out in anguish. - -Meanwhile the doctor bent down to hear the breathing better. He -seemed thoughtful and preoccupied. Margherita looked at him with -despairing eyes. - -'Did she get a fright, half an hour ago, in here?' he began again to -ask, whilst he carefully raised Bianca's head and placed it against -his breast. - -'No! ... certainly not!' Margherita whispered. 'I was in church. I did -not hear what was said; they called to me.' - -'Who is that nun?' he asked, pointing to the grating. - -'It is Sister Maria degli Angioli--the aunt.' - -Then he got up and went to the grating. The serving Sister pursed up -her lips to remind him of the cloistral rule, almost as if she wanted -to prevent any conversation between him and the nun. - -'Sister Maria----' he said very gently. - -'Now and for ever,' the feeble voice said hurriedly, hearing a man's -voice. - -'Has your niece had a fright?' - -Silence on the other side. - -'Did she tell you of anything disagreeable that had happened to her?' - -'Yes, yes!' the voice breathed out, trembling. - -'Can you tell me what it was about?' - -'No, no!' she went on quickly, still trembling. 'Something very -sad ... I can't tell you.' - -'Very well--thank you,' he whispered, getting up again. - -'How is she? Are you giving her anything?' the Sister's voice asked. - -'We are going to take her to the house. Nothing can be done here.' - -'We are poor nuns,' the Sister murmured. 'How will you carry her?' - -'In the carriage,' he said shortly. Then, going up to Margherita, he -went on in a low, forcible voice: 'I am coming with my coachman just -now. She can't stay here; I can't do anything for her here. We will -carry her out to the carriage and go home.' - -'In this state?' she asked undecidedly. - -'Do you want her to die here?' he interrupted brusquely. - -'Please forgive me, sir.' - -He had already gone out, without his hat and overcoat, across the -passage and icy court. After a minute he came back with the coachman, -who had evidently got his orders. - -The doctor gently raised the fainting girl's body from under the -arms, resting her head on his breast, while the coachman raised -her feet. She was almost rigid and very heavy. The coachman had -a frightened look; perhaps he thought he was carrying out a dead -woman, all in black, through that bare parlour, deserted corridor, -and chilly court; and although the sight of physical suffering was -not new to him, being in a successful doctor's service, the idea of -carrying a young woman's cold body, a corpse perhaps, gave him such -a shudder he turned away his head. Old Margherita, coming behind, -looked yellower, more like wrinkled parchment than ever, in the -bright court. The procession of the anxious doctor, the frightened -man, the rigid figure in black, and the old servant sadly bent by -a strange new anguish, moved silently across the silent, tomb-like -cloister, like a funeral. Gently, with the care needed not to waken a -sleeping baby, the two men placed the poor lifeless creature in the -carriage, her head against the cushions and her feet on the opposite -seat. She had not given a sign of life whilst she was being carried; -the two lines deepened between Dr. Amati's eyebrows, lines showing -a strong will and deep thought, but which gave him an absent-minded -look. Margherita still gently tried to rearrange the girl's loosened -tresses that had fallen down, but she did not manage it, her lean -hands trembled so; she, too, had got into the broad landau; she -gathered up her mistress's hair caressingly, and the doctor heard her -mutter, 'My darling! my darling!' - -He had lowered the blue blinds against indiscreet eyes; the carriage -went at a foot-pace; and in that bluish, misty shade the slow pace -kept up the idea of a funeral still more. However, the carriage -stopped at one point; after a little the coachman opened the door, -and handed in to the doctor a hermetically sealed phial, which he -held to the unconscious girl's nose. A sharp smell of ether at once -spread through the carriage, which was still going very slowly. -Bianca Maria never moved; after a little there was one sign of -feeling: her closed eyelids got red, big tears burst out between the -lashes and ran down her cheeks. The doctor did not take his eyes off -her for a minute, keeping her hand in his. She went on weeping, still -unconscious, without giving another sign of life: as if she still -felt sorrow through her unconsciousness, as if through her loss of -memory one bitter recollection still remained--only one. She did not -recover consciousness. - -When they got to the Rossi Palace courtyard, hardly was the door -opened when a murmuring noise broke out, gradually growing stronger, -impossible to restrain. Beside the carriage door the porter's wife -called out and screamed as if the girl was dead. All the windows -looking into the courtyard, all the landing-place doors, had opened -to see the poor, fainting, pale creature in black, with hair hanging -down, taken out of the carriage. The doctor vainly tried to insist on -silence, but the cry of surprise and compassion grew louder, rising -in the heavy air. - -On the first-floor landing-place Gelsomina, Agnesina Fragalà's nurse, -came out, holding the pretty, healthy infant in her arms; the happy -mother, Luisella Fragalà, came behind her, dressed to go out, with -her bonnet on. But she lingered, leaning on the iron railing, smiling -vaguely at her baby, and looking pityingly on the strange escort. She -had felt rather tired and preoccupied for some time past, for she had -been going every day to the Santo Spirito shop, from an instinct, a -presentiment, that was stronger than her pride, tying up the parcels -of sweets and cakes with her ring-covered, white hands. - -'Poor thing! poor thing!' Luisella Fragalà muttered; her compassion -had a deeper, acuter feeling in it than the other people's had. - -Raising the heavy yellow brocade curtains behind her double -windows on the first-floor, Signora Parascandolo's bloodless face -appeared--the rich usurer's wife who had lost all her children. - -She seldom went out; she stayed shut up in her gorgeous apartment, -full of rich furniture now quite useless and dreary, as she never -received anyone since her sons died; only she looked out of the -window now and then in a silly kind of way that had grown on her. -On seeing Bianca Maria carried up in that way, the poor woman, who -took an interest in nothing usually, opened the window, and her voice -was added to the rising tumult, crying in prayer and supplication, -'Jesus, Jesus, help us!' All Domenico Mayer's misanthropic family -came out on the third-floor landing, leaving their three-roomed -little flat that looked on to the Rossi Theatre. First came the -father's long, peevish face, and, having just left some copying -work brought home from the Finance Office, he had sleeves on to -save his coat; then Donna Christina, the mother, who had got rid of -the tooth-ache but had a stiff neck instead; next Amalia, with her -staring eyes, thick nose and lips, and sulky look of a girl who has -not yet got a husband; and Fofò, still afflicted by the hunger which -his relations said was a mysterious illness. The whole family nearly -threw themselves over the railings out of curiosity, and shrieked out -in a chorus: 'Poor girl! poor girl!' A woman in a muslin cap and a -man in a blue sweeping-apron were at the window--even the doctor's -housekeeper; nor did they stop gazing when their master came up, so -overpowering was the excitement in all the Rossi Palace. - -That carrying up the stair, amid the noisy compassion of all these -different people, the frightened, pitying shrieks, that had a false -ring about them, seemed endless to Dr. Amati; as for old Margherita, -she shook with annoyance and shame, as if that noise and publicity -were insulting to her mistress. - -When the door was shut behind them, she asked Giovanni in a fright: -'Is milord not in? Milady is ill.' - -'No,' he said, making way for the bearers. - -Margherita shook her head despairingly. She went with the doctor and -his man into Bianca Maria's room; the girl was laid on the bed. The -man-servant went away. The doctor again tried to bring her back with -ether--no result. He bit his lip; he said twice or thrice, 'It is -impossible!' Once again he raised the violet eyelids, looking at her -eyes. She was alive, but she did not recover consciousness. - -'Where is her father?' he asked, without turning round. - -'I don't know,' the old woman muttered. - -'There will be some place he goes every day; send for him.' - -'I will send, as you order me to,' she said, still hesitating; and -she went out. - -He sat down by the bedside, and laid down the ether bottle, -convinced now it was useless. That bare, cold little room, with a -look of childish purity, had calmed somewhat the scientist's dull -anger at not being able to cure nor find out the reason of the -illness. He had seen, a hundred times, long, queer fainting fits; -but they were from nervous illnesses, from abnormal temperaments, -out of order from the beginning, and ordinary methods had overcome -them. The colourless young girl seemed to be sleeping heavily, and -she might remain so for many hours, wrapped up in the dark regions of -unconsciousness. He armed himself with patience, turning over in his -mind medical books that spoke of such fainting fits. Twice or thrice -Margherita had come back into the room, questioning him with an -agonized look; he shook his head, 'No.' Then he asked her for brandy. -She stood hesitating; there was none in the house. Amati told her to -go and ask for it in his flat next door. With a teaspoon, a wretched -one that had lost its plating, he opened the girl's lips, and poured -the strong liquor through her closed teeth, with no result. Again, he -asked Margherita, who was fidgeting about, to heat flannel cloths; -seeing her still embarrassed, he told her to go to his house, and ask -the housekeeper for some. - -Whilst she was away, Giovanni came back out of breath; he panted as -he spoke. - -'I have not found the Marquis anywhere, not at Don Crescenzio's -lottery stand, nor at the Santo Spirito assembly, nor in Don -Pasqualino the medium's house, where they meet every day.' - -'Who meet?' asked the doctor distractedly, hardly listening to what -he said. - -'The Marquis's friends.... But I left word wherever he is to come -back to the house, because her ladyship is ill.' - -'Very good; send out this prescription,' said the doctor, who as -usual wrote it with a pencil on a leaf from his pocket-book. - -The old servant's pale face looked disturbed. The doctor, always -taken up about his patient, did not notice him. - -'Go, and get it,' he said, feeling Giovanni was still there. - -'It is because ...' the poor man stammered out. - -Then the doctor, just as he had done for Annarella, the -glove-cutter's wretched wife, pulled ten francs out of his purse and -gave them to him. - -'... the master not being in and not being able to tell the -mistress,' Giovanni muttered, wishing to account for the want of -money. - -'Very good--all right,' said the doctor, turning to his patient. - -But a loud ring at the bell sounded all through the flat. A -resounding step was heard, and the Marquis di Formosa came in. He -seemed only to see his daughter stretched out on the bed. He began -kissing her hand and forehead, speaking loudly in great anguish. - -'My daughter, my daughter, what is the matter with you? Answer your -father. Bianca, Bianca, answer! Where have you the pain? how did it -come? My darling, my heart's blood, my crown, answer me! It is your -father calling you. Listen, listen, tell me what it is! I will cure -you, dear, dear daughter!' - -And he went on exclaiming, crying out, sobbing, pale and red in the -face, by turns, running his fingers through his white hair, his still -graceful, strong figure bent, while the doctor looked at him keenly. -In a silent interval the Marquis noticed Amati's presence, and -recognised him as his celebrated neighbour. - -'Oh, doctor,' he called out, 'give her something--this daughter is -all I have!' - -'I am trying what I can,' the doctor said slowly, in a low voice, as -if he was chafing against the powerlessness of his science. 'But it -is an obstinate faint.' - -'Has she had it long?' - -'About two hours. It came on in the Sacramentiste parlour.' - -'Ah!' said the father, getting pale. - -The doctor looked at him. They said no more. The secret rose up -between them, wrapped in the thickest, deepest obscurity. - -'Do something for her,' Formosa stammered, in a trembling voice. - -But he was summoned; Giovanni whispered to him; the Marquis was -undecided for a minute. - -'I will come back at once,' he said as he went off. - -The doctor had wrapped the invalid's little feet in warm clothes; now -he wanted to wrap up her hands. All at once he felt a slight pressure -on his hand: Bianca Maria with open eyes was quietly looking at him. -The doctor's forehead wrinkled a little with surprise just for a -moment. - -'How do you feel?' he asked, leaning over the invalid. - -She gave a tired little smile, and waved her hand as if to tell him -to wait, that she could not speak yet. - -'All right, very good,' the doctor said heartily. 'Don't speak;' and -he made Margherita, who was coming in, keep silence, too. - -The servant's poor tired eyes shone with joy when she saw Bianca -Maria smiling. - -'Are you better? Make a sign,' the doctor asked tenderly. - -She made an effort, and very low, instead of a sign, she pronounced -the word 'Better.' The voice was low, but quiet. With a medical man's -familiarity, he took one of her hands in his to warm it. - -'Thank you!' said she after a time. - -'For what?' he said, rather put out. - -'For everything,' she replied, smiling again. - -Now, it seemed, she had quite got back the power of speaking. She -spoke, but kept quite still, only living intensely in her eyes and -smile. - -'For everything--what do you mean?' he asked, piqued by a lively -curiosity. - -'I understood,' said she, with a profound look. - -'You were conscious all the time?' - -'All. I could neither move nor speak, but I understood.' - -'Ah!' said he thoughtfully. He sent Margherita to let the Marquis -know that his daughter had recovered consciousness. - -'Were you in pain?' - -'Yes, a great deal, from not being able to come out of my faint. I -wept; I felt a pain at my heart.' - -'Yes, yes,' he said. 'Don't speak any more--rest.' - -The doctor made a sign to the Marquis, who was coming in, to keep -silence. Formosa leant over his daughter's bed and touched her -forehead with his hand, as if he was blessing her. Her eyelids -fluttered and she smiled. - -'Your daughter was conscious during her swoon--the rarest kind of -fainting fit.' - -'Was she conscious?' the Marquis asked in a strange voice. - -'Yes; she saw and heard everything. It comes from sensitiveness -carried to excess.' - -Then he poured out more brandy in the teaspoon for Bianca Maria to -take. Don Carlo Cavalcanti's face twitched. He leant over the bed, -and asked: - -'What did you see? Tell me--what did you see?' - -The daughter did not answer. She looked at her father in such sad -surprise that the doctor, turning round, noticed it and frowned. He -had not heard what the father asked his daughter, and he again felt -the great family secret coming up, seeing Bianca Maria's gentle, sad -glance. - -'Don't ask her anything,' the doctor said brusquely to the Marquis di -Formosa. - -The old patrician restrained a disdainful shrug. He brooded over his -daughter's face, as if he wanted to get the secret out by magnetism. -She lowered her eyelids, but suffering was in her face; then she -looked at the doctor, as if she wanted help. - -'Do you want anything?' he asked. - -'There is a man at my door: make him go away,' she whispered in a -frightened tone. - -The doctor started; so did her father. In fact, outside the door, -in his invariable wretched waiting attitude, was Pasqualino De Feo, -dirty, ragged, with unkempt beard and pale, streaky red cheeks. The -Marquis had left him in the drawing-room, but he slid along to Bianca -Maria's room with the timid, quiet step of a beggar who fears to be -chased from all doors. - -'Who is that man?' said the doctor in that rough tone of his, going -up to the door, as if to chase him away. - -'He is a friend,' the Marquis answered, hurrying forward in a vague, -embarrassed way. - -'Send him away!' the doctor said sternly. - -Outside the door the Marquis and Don Pasqualino chattered in a lively -whisper. Bianca Maria looked as if she could hear what her father -said outside; at one point she shook her head. - -'Do you want that man sent away from the house?' - -'Leave him,' she said feebly. 'It would annoy my father.' - -Ah! the doctor knew nothing at all. Even now, on coming back to -stern realities, he blamed himself for the sad, dark romance coming -into his life; but an overmastering feeling entangled him, which he -thought was scientific curiosity. Hours were passing, evening was -coming on; he had made none of his visits, and he stayed on in that -poor aristocratic sick lady's room, as if he could not tear himself -away. - -'I ought to go,' he said, as if to himself. - -'But you will come back?' she asked in a whisper. - -'Yes ...' he said, determined to conquer himself and not come back -again. - -'Do come back!' in a humble voice, beseechingly. - -'I am here--just next door. If you are in pain, send for me.' - -'Yes, yes,' she replied, quieted at the idea of being protected. - -'Adieu, madame!' - -'À Dieu!' she said, pointedly separating the two words. - -Margherita went with him, thanking him softly for having saved her -mistress; but he had again become an energetic, busy man, inimical to -words. - -'Where is the Marquis?' he insisted on knowing. - -'In the drawing-room, Professor.' - -And she took him there. It was just so. Don Carlo Cavalcanti, Marquis -di Formosa, and Pasqualino De Feo were walking up and down silently. -It was almost dark: still, the doctor examined the medium with a -scrutinizing, suspicious eye. - -'How is Bianca Maria?' asked Formosa, coming out of a dream. - -'Better now,' the doctor replied in a short, cold tone; 'but she has -been struck prematurely, owing to a growing want of balance, moral -and physical. If you don't give her sun, movement, air, quiet, and -cheerfulness, she may die--from one day to another.' - -'Don't say so, doctor!' the father cried out, angry and grieved. - -'I must tell you, because it is so. I don't know the reason of -to-day's illness--I don't want to know it; but she is ill, you -understand--ill! She needs sun and peace--peace and sun. If you want -a doctor, I am always near; that is my profession. But I have made -out a prescription. Send your daughter to the country. If she stays -another year in this house, only seeing you and going to the nunnery, -she will die, I assure you,' he persisted coldly, as if this truth -ought to be announced decisively, as if he wanted to convince his own -unwilling mind also. - -'Doctor, doctor, do not say that!' Formosa moaned, asking for mercy. - -'She is ill; she will die. To the country--the country! Good-evening, -Marquis!' - -He went off, as if trying to escape. The Marquis and the medium, who -had not said a word, went on again with their silent walk. Now and -then Formosa sighed deeply. - -'The Spirit that helps me----' the medium breathed out. - -'Eh?' the other cried out, starting. - -'Warns me that Donna Bianca Maria has had a heavenly vision ... and -that she will tell you it in an allegory.' - -'What do you say? Is it possible? Has the Supreme Being granted me -this favour? Is it possible?' - -'The Spirit does not deceive,' the medium said sententiously. - -'That is true--it is true!' Formosa murmured, looking into the -darkness with wild eyes. - - - - - CHAPTER V - - CARNIVAL AT NAPLES - - -From the first days of January, Naples was taken with a mania for -work that spread from one house and shop to another, from street to -street, quarter to quarter, from fashionable parts to the poorest, -with a continuous movement, rising and falling. A stronger noise of -saws, planes and hammers came from the factories and workshops: in -the shops, with doors left ajar, and in the houses they sat up late: -the smallest as well as the big industries seemed to have got a -mysterious impulse, a breath of new life, into their half-dying state. - -The demand for gloves had increased beyond bounds, especially white -and dove-coloured ones: the humblest general shops kept them. In -the artificial-flower shops, that compete with the French trade -with growing success, a great quantity of boughs, bunches, wreaths -of flowers, and ferns were got ready; big and small bouquets of -bright, warm-coloured flowers to take the eye--the finest intended -for ladies' hair and bosoms, the coarser for decorating houses, -shops, horses and carriages. Roses, camellias, pinks, were most -in request. At all the tailors' and dressmakers', satin, velvet, -gauze, crape, were draped in all styles, made into dresses, mantles, -hoods, and scarves; whilst at the shoe-makers', binders spent ten -hours a day making pink, blue, white, gray, and lilac shoes, fancy, -gold-embroidered boots, and some bound in fur. The glove, flower, -dress, and shoe makers' work began the first hours in the morning -and ended at eleven at night; but the only others that came up to -them were the cardboard shops. Here paper, in men and women's hands, -was bent into a thousand shapes and sizes. It was painted, cut out, -twisted, even curled up; it was made up with straw, metal, and rich -brocade stuff, starting from the twisted paper that holds a sweet or -cracker to the big expensive box. From the little chocolate-box, -made of cardboard and a scrap of satin, to the handsome, neat satchel -with a second cardboard lining; from the roll, made of two or three -old gambling cards, a little Bristol board, and bright-coloured -pictures, to straw cornucopias, covered with ribbons; from ugly, -mean things to lovely and expensive ones, the work was never-ending. -All this paper-work was arranged on large boards; the colours were -dazzling and took the eye. Every day they were sent off to the -sweet-shops, where they were filled with confetti, dainties, sweets, -and sugar almonds. - -Yes, the work was hardest, always, in the confectioners', from -the humble Fragalà of San Lorenzo quarter and the gorgeous but -middle-class Fragalà of Spirito Santo up to the exquisite fashionable -confectioner in Piazza San Ferdinando. Above all, there was a -grand making of caraways, white and coloured, of all sizes, with -caraway-seeds and a powdery sugar covering; there were whole stores -of them in tins, canisters of all sizes, overflowing baskets -made like canisters, all kept carefully from damp, which ruins -caraways. Such a stock!--if it had been gunpowder, there would have -been enough to conquer an army. The other heavy work was getting -sausages and black-puddings ready, all covered with yellow bits of -Spanish bread--pig's blood, that is to say--made up with chocolate, -pistachios, vanilla, lemon, and cinnamon, so presented as to hide the -coarseness. In the back-shops they weighed cinnamon, sliced lemons, -crushed pistachio nuts, boiled sweets of all colours and kinds; -ovens roared, stoves were made red-hot, kettles boiled and gurgled, -and workmen, in shirt-sleeves and caps, with bare arms and necks, -stirring with big ladles, beating pestles in marble mortars, looked -like odd figures in purgatory, lighted up by the furnace flames. - -All trades were busy: advertisements were put up; whole sheets of -them were spread on the city walls. Fashionable barbers took on -new lads; the three celebrated Naples _pizzaiuoli_ of Freddo and -Chiaia Lanes, of Carità Square, of Port Alba, informed the public, -which loves _pizza_ with Marano and Procida wine, that they would -be open till morning. The Café Napoli, the Grande, and the Europa -covered their windows with thick cloths, and held a grand cleaning -up all through the rooms; the theatres announced four times more -illuminations, whilst at the door of fancy shops, the windows of -miserable or fashionable bazaars, were shown black velvet masks, -wax noses, and huge cardboard heads, three times the natural size, -and much uglier than Nature; network masks, to protect the face from -caraways, ladles for throwing them, long tongs for handing up sweets -or flowers to the balconies, scarves and ribbons, fantastic ballroom -decorations, and entire costumes of tissue-paper. Along the streets -in Monte Calvario quarter, across and parallel to Toledo, in the -darkest old-clothes shops and retail dealers', dominos hung on wooden -pegs for the popular balls: Mephistopheles costumes in red and blue, -Spanish grandees in cotton velvet, harlequins made up of old carpets, -Sorrento peasant women's dresses in gay colours, Pulcinellos, and -almost white dress; above all, shining helmets, with cuirass of -cardboard to match, and wooden swords. Masquerading costumes were on -hire everywhere for a few francs; they gave a jocular tone to these -dull lanes, hanging even from the first-floor balconies, sticking out -in a row from the damp, dark shops with grinning, devilish masks, or -showing sickly faces of white or greeny-blue satin. - -Wherever one went, in lower class neighbourhoods as well as in -aristocratic parts, one could see a lively movement, cheerful labour, -a noisy bustling about, a never-ending activity, a daily and nightly -ferment of all forces, the constant, lively, energetic action of -a whole peaceful, laborious town, intent upon one single piece of -work, given up to it heart and mind, hand and foot, using up its -nerves, blood, and muscles in this one tremendous work. Everywhere, -everywhere, one guessed or knew it; it caught the eye; it was written -up what this great work was--'_For the coming carnival festivities_.' - -Nothing else but the carnival. The great city gave itself over to -that impetuous, joyous exertion, not for love of work in itself--for -work that is the cause and consequence of well-doing, which in itself -is the ground-work of goodness and respectability. The great town -had not given itself over to that lively activity for any immediate -civic reason, for hygienic improvements, industrial art exhibitions, -changing old quarters or making new ones: it was for the carnival -only--a carnival by official decree of the Prefecture and of the -Municipal Palace; a carnival warmed up by committees, associations, -commissions, set agoing by thousands of people, arranged and carried -out as a great institution, widely spread in the minds of the whole -five hundred thousand inhabitants, made to resound as far as the -southern provinces, echoing even to Rome and to Florence, putting -in the place of any other project, initiative or work, this of -the carnival; nothing but the carnival--enthusiastically, even -deliriously. - -But, as at the bottom of all joyous things in this land of Cockayne, -there is an ever-flowing vein of bitterness. This carnival, that -turned all the gravest persons and things in the town into fun and -masquerade--this carnival was a merciful thing. From autumn to -January the damp, grievous scirocco had blown in Naples' streets, -overcoming the energies of healthy people, and making invalids' -maladies worse. The winter crowd of foreigners was smaller than -usual. Many works had been stopped for a time, and those just -starting had been delayed, so that many poor people slept on the -church steps under San Francesco di Paola portico and the Immacolata -obelisk in Piazza Gesù. A great wind of fasting had blown with the -scirocco, so that the official carnival, carried out by the desire of -thousands, was intended, if it succeeded, to satisfy for ten days at -least a lot of starving people, from shoe-binders to flower-makers, -from tailors to shop-clerks, from wandering salesmen to the small -shopkeepers. Twenty days' carnival!--that is to say, ten days' -bread, and a relish with it. The idea had been taken up at once. All -helped, even the least enterprising, knowing they were putting out -their money at good interest. Carnival, carnival, in the streets and -balconies, in the gateways and houses! - -On that Shrovetide Thursday the damp winter scirocco had got a spring -softness. Toledo Road, where the carnival spread from one end to -the other, both in its popular and fashionable form, had put on an -extraordinary appearance. All the big shops were shut. The tradesmen -and their ladies wished to enjoy the day's outing, also they were -nervous about their plate-glass windows. All the signs were covered -with linen or tow, as were the gas-lamps. As to the common smaller -shops, they had taken out the glass and put up wooden platforms, and -the owners, with their friends and children, sat with a store of -caraways, having to do battle almost face to face with the people on -the pavement; but they bravely flourished their ladles all the same. -The balconies on the first floor were all differently draped with -bright, cheap muslins, put up with a few nails or pins, with a very -Southern and rather barbarous love of gay colours, some in the style -of church decorations, blue, red, white, and gold, some tucked back -with big camellias, roses, and dahlias, to make the balcony look like -an alcove, an actress's room, a saint's niche, or a wild beasts' show -even. The finest and smartest hangings began near Santa Brigida. Some -Swiss gentlemen had had a chalet put up in their balcony, and the -ladies wore simple, rather silly costumes, with hair down, a big cap, -and gold crosses at their necks. Just after that, at Santa Brigida, a -great man's natural son had hung his balconies with dark-blue velvet, -covered with a silver net, which might represent the firmament, the -kingdom of the moon, or the sea, but, at any rate, it surprised the -good Naples folk. A balcony near the Conte di Mola Lane was made into -a kitchen, with a stove, kettle, frying and stew pans, and eight or -ten youths of good family worked as cooks and scullions, with white -caps and aprons. A famous beautiful woman, whose beauty brought her -wealth and led her into deadly sin, had changed her balcony into a -Japanese hut, all stuffs and tapestries. Now and then she appeared -wrapped in flowing, soft robes, just gathered in at the waist, with -her black hair caught up in a shiny knot held by pins, her eyebrows -arched in an unvarying look of surprise. - -The common people smiled admiringly as they passed. They said, with -their vague one idea of the East, 'The Turk, the Turk!' All these -balconies, draped from one end of the street to the other, and the -shop decorations, began to make one dizzy with bright colours, -firing the imagination, giving that quick feeling of voluptuous joy -Southerners get from outside impressions. Towards eleven, wandering -salesmen began to go about, shrieking out their wares. They sold -little boxes of inferior sweets made in bright colours--red bags, -green and white boxes, lilac and yellow horns, carried in big, flat -baskets in one hand. They sold artificial flowers also, made into -sprays, cockades, and bunches, tied on to long poles. Real flowers -were sold, too--white camellias and perfumed violets, from big -baskets; also masks, ladles, linen bags for caraways, red and yellow -paper sunflowers, that twirled round at every breath of wind like -wild things. They sold a bad quality of caraways, bought cheap, -intended to be sold dear in the blind, furious time of the battle. - -At mid-day the traffic in sweetmeat-boxes, flowers, musks, and -windmills began. Already the crowd began to fill the balconies and -pavements, running up hurriedly from all the side-streets. On the -first-floor windows and balconies a living, many-coloured hedge of -women swayed about. There was a shimmer of girlish forms brightly -dressed; their faces gently moved up and down like big pink and -white flower-heads, with a blood-red touch now and then from an open -parasol or scarlet hat. The balconies and windows of the second -story were filled with still more excited people, whilst on the -fourth children and girls here and there had thought of letting down -a basket tied to a long bit of ribbon to fish with, smiling from -above on some courteous unknown, who put a flower, some sweets, or a -chocolate-box into the baskets of these smiling beings so near the -sky. The people increased everywhere. Traffic with the hawkers went -on from the balconies to the streets, with loud discussions, offers, -and rejections, making the noise twice as great. - -Caraways were not to be thrown before two o'clock, by the committee's -express order, but some stray fights were started already. At San -Sepolcro corner a peasant nurse, slowly swinging her petticoats, was -fired at by some school-boys at close quarters. A grave gentleman, -in top-hat and long great-coat, was violently assaulted in Carità -Square. He tried to go at them with his stick, but he was hissed. -Then he called for the police, announcing pompously he was Cavaliere -Domenico Mayer, a State functionary; but the police would not help, -saying it was carnival, and that he should not tempt people with -his top-hat. And then the misanthropic Secretary of the Finance -Department, full of bitterness, had gone into the San Liborio Lane to -escape. A lady in a broad-brimmed hat, not able to move from one spot -in the pavement near San Giacomo, had a continuous shower of caraways -poured on her by a child on the third story. She heard it fall on her -felt and feathers without daring to move or raise her head, in case -she got the caraways in her face. - -At two o'clock exactly a cannon-shot was heard in the distance. Then -there was a sigh of relief from one end of Toledo to the other, from -the street to the upper stories, and the crowd swayed about. - -The four Rossi Palace balconies, first floor on the right, looking -into Toledo, were draped in blue and white linen, caught back by -big red camellias. Luisella Fragalà and her guests had thought of -white and blue dominoes, with high, ridiculous hats and red cockades, -and all the Naddeos, all the Durantes, all the Antonaccis, fat or -thin, young or old, wore dominoes made in the house themselves -to save their clothes from white powder, and, according to them, -give an elegant look to the balcony. Some looked like big bundles, -others like long ghosts; but the carnival madness had overcome these -middle-class women. Besides all, trade was flourishing in these -days. So many goods were sold; the men came back to the house in -high good-humour, whilst all winter had been one complaint, and -economy had got narrower and harder to bear. How happy they were, -all these placid, industrious little women! In this time of carnival -excitement they could share, in their blue and white fancy dresses -and red cockades. Luisella Fragalà had thought out the costume, and -that monkey Carmela Naddeo took up the idea at once and made others -follow suit. They were all there, ladles in hand, guessing what sort -of carriages were to appear, exaggerating, contradicting, shrieking, -laughing, hanging over the railings to see if any carriages were -coming round by the Museum. Only sometimes a cloud came over Luisella -Fragalà's face; some unhappy thought was behind her brown eyes. -Perhaps she was troubled by the thought that the balcony hangings -would be spoilt by the confetti. Perhaps she would have liked to keep -the shop open even on that profitable Carnival Thursday, her love of -selling having instinctively grown so great, as if by that alone she -saw a chance of being saved from imminent peril. Perhaps she secretly -regretted Cesare Fragalà's absence. He was often away lately, and had -disappeared early that Thursday, too. But these clouds were fleeting. -Luisella was going about from one balcony to another with her hood -down, vainly looking for places for the Mayer family, who had come -without being invited. All quietly snubbed them, so as not to give -up their places, saying to each other that the mother and daughter -had no dominoes, and they made a false note on the balcony. They set -themselves in the third row, the mother, as usual, rheumatic, and -wrapped in flannel to the finger-tips; the girl's big eyes still -dully misanthropic, as were her swollen, discoloured lips; the -brother, as usual, very hungry. - -'We will not get even a chocolate-box,' they grumbled one after the -other, muttering with their unending rage against humanity. - -But the great carnival wave, with ever-increasing force, swallowed -up their rage against mankind also. The noise among the carriages -got tremendous. The confetti war had begun between them and the -pony-carts, done up with myrtle as an attempt at decoration, all -being well filled with masqueraders of both sexes dressed in -bright-coloured calicoes. The Parascandolos, who lived on the other -side of the Rossi Palace, kept their balcony shut, for the Signora -considered herself in mourning; but Don Gennaro Parascandolo, in a -Russian linen dust-cloak and cap, with a bag of sweets hung round his -neck, after walking along Toledo, greeted from hundreds of balconies, -where his past, present, and future clients were, had gone to his -club at Santa Brigida, and from there, amid a group of young and old -boon companions, made a life of it, as they said there. They joked -about him, asked him how many cars he had lent money for, and if -it was true his collection of bills was increased by many princely -autographs. Ninetto Costa, the smart, lucky stock-broker, who had his -own reasons for making a fuss with him, said, to flatter him, that -not a handful of caraways was thrown that day he was not interested -in either providing or scattering. Don Gennaro Parascandolo laughed -paternally, not denying it. He answered those who asked him for -coppers as a joke, 'I have had to get the loan of forty pounds from a -friend to hold carnival with.' Others around shouted, whistled, but -always flattered him. One never knew when one might fall into his -hands. He stood out among them all by his great height and the little -cap oddly set on his big head, throwing ladlefuls of caraways at the -carriages and pony-carts. - -Slovenly, in her black dress, grown greenish, and her torn -shawl-fringe, Carmela the cigar-maker had set herself at the corner -of D'Affitto Lane, looking at the passing carriages with her hollow -eyes, her fine fresh mouth working impatiently, the only feature that -was still young in her worn face. Handfuls, ladlefuls of caraways -often new from the balconies and the street, frequently hitting her -face or back; but she only moved a little to avoid it, smiling at the -annoyance, and cleaned her face with a corner of her shawl. - -She was waiting there to see her lover, Raffaele, called -Farfariello, pass. He was in a carriage with four others, all dressed -alike; and, indeed, to get this dress, she had had to sell some -copper pans, a chest of drawers, and two long branches of artificial -flowers under a glass case, all things she was keeping for her -marriage. How it tore her heart to sell these things, bought bit by -bit by dint of hard saving! - -But Raffaele had insisted on having forty francs--blood from a -snail--because he was in despair at making a poor appearance among -his friends; and she, getting white when she heard him swear, had -sold all these things, and, like a fool, was quite pleased at heart -when she handed him the money, because he had smiled and promised to -take her and her mother to an inn at Campo the last Carnival Sunday -if she took as much as even an _ambo_ on Saturday. She, quite proud -of this fantastic promise, kept down her heart's bitterness, and went -as slovenly as a beggar that carnival day, her hair falling on her -neck, without a sou in her pocket, to see her handsome lover passing -proudly in a carriage, smoking a Naples cigar, in new clothes and -hat on one side, with that intensely indifferent look characteristic -of the _guappo_, or aspirants to it. She waited patiently, thinking -only of him, not caring about her day's work, as there was a holiday -at the factory. She quietly bore all the pushing about that noon-day -carnival that she took no part in, for she was wrapped up like a -Buddhist in contemplation of her lover. - -On the people went, on foot and in carriages, through the clouds of -caraways, flowers, chocolates, through the shower of coloured paper -from the upper stories, where, as they were not able to take part in -the caraway war, they amused themselves in that way. The noise got -clamorous, swaying about sonorously, rising to the skies that gentle -scirocco day. - -Carmela, confused by the noise and wild sights that noon-day, -when Naples' rejoicing became epic, screwed up her eyes, not to -lose sight of the two-horse carriages going along at a foot-pace, -white with powder. Now and then one of the large cars appeared. -There was the Parthenope Siren, a huge, pink lady with blonde hair -hanging down. She was made of cardboard, and the body ended up -in blue waves. This Siren was dragged along on a car full of men -dressed as fish--oysters, carp, bull-heads. One car represented a -merchant-vessel, a Tartana. The ship had rigging and sailors dressed -in pink and white stripes, also in blue and white with long red -caps. There was a car with eight or ten Jacks-in-the-box, from which -gentlemen dressed in satin burst out in the midst of flowers. On -one car all the Neapolitan masks were shown: Pulcinella, Tartaglia, -Don Nicolai, Columbrina, Barilotto the clown, the _guappo_, the old -woman--even to the newest mask of a pretentious, fast youth, Don -Felice Scioscimocca. - -When these cars passed, very slowly, almost quivering on their -wheels, showering down caraway, confetti, and presents, they were -much applauded. The Siren excited rather risky jokes; the Tartana -was thought picturesque; the Jacks-in-the-box luxurious and smart; -and the Naples masks were hailed with shouts of recognition and -quick-flying dialogues from all the balconies in dialect, which the -masks replied to in a lively way. There was one swaying movement from -the top to the bottom of Toledo, both in the balconies and the crowds -round the carriages. - -Carmela looked and looked. She saw the two sisters Concetta and -Caterina, pass in a carriage, the horses covered with flowers stuck -in the shiny brass harness. She owed Donna Concetta thirty-five -francs since ever so long, and managed to give her a few francs now -and then just for interest, and she had often staked on the _small -game_ with Donna Caterina when she had not enough money for the -Government Lottery, or, perhaps, only one penny left. The sisters -were in full dress, the hair done up like a trophy on the top of the -head with gold chains, and they wore heavy necklaces, pearl earrings, -thick rings, keeping up their usual discreet, severe expression, -casting oblique glances, and pursing up their lips. Two men were with -them in workmen's Sunday attire, with shiny long hair, hat over the -ear, in black jackets, with a spent cigar in a corner of the mouth. -The four, silent and solemn, looked at each other now and then with -serious, pleased glances of gratified pride, shaking their heads to -get rid of the caraways off their hat-brims, smiling at the people -who threw them. They looked to right and left haughtily, just like -rich, common people. - -Carmela bit her lips on seeing the two calm, ferocious heapers-up of -other people's money, but immediately after the usual words came from -her heart to her lips: - -'It doesn't matter, it doesn't matter.' - -But a very original car was coming down from the top of Toledo, -raising a colossal laugh, from right to left, up and down. It was -a great bed, with a bright pink cotton quilt, such as are used in -Naples. It had an open canopy, with images of the Virgin and patron -saints on the hangings. In bed, tucked in with white sheets, were two -people, with huge pasteboard heads, one an old man in a night-cap, -the other an old woman in a mob-cap. Very caressing, affected old -people; they nodded their great heads, pulled the coverlids from each -other with that selfish, shivering habit old people have; offering -snuff to each other, bowing, sneezing, and stretching themselves -out; greeting people in the balconies, thanking them for the shower -of caraways they got, and shaking them off the bed-clothes. It -was not found out who they were, but they displayed that familiar -caricature--a corner of a bedroom--without anyone thinking it too -risky; for Southerners are used to sleeping in the open air, they -live so much in public in this warm, easy-going country. - -What about it? Everyone laughed. Even the people in Don Crescenzio's -shop at Nunzio Corner, just beyond Carità Passage, laughed. It was -really the lottery bank, No. 117, a shop usually shut from Saturday -at noon till Tuesday, the crush beginning on Thursday up to Saturday -at twelve o'clock. - -Don Crescenzio, the lottery banker, a handsome man, with a red beard, -worked there with his two lads, who were anything but lads: one, an -old man of seventy, bent, half-blind, his nose always on the gambling -register, made people say their lottery numbers three times, to -make no mistakes, and wrote them very, very slowly. The other was a -colourless type of no particular age; his face had undecided lines, -his beard was an indefinite colour, one of those queer beings that -are employed as witnesses by ushers, as middlemen at the pawn-shop, -as distributors of handbills, and agents for furnished rooms. Don -Crescenzio lorded it over his two _young men_. That Thursday he had -quite changed his shop, putting up a gallery in it draped in white -and crimson, to which he invited his best customers. Yes, they were -all there, those that came every week to put down the best of their -income--money hardly earned, either snatched from domestic economies, -or got by cunning expedient, bold at first, and then shameful. - -All were there at the lottery shop, turned into a stand. The Marquis -di Formosa, Don Carlo Cavalcanti, with his lordly air; Dr. Trifari, -red of face, hair, and beard, bloated as if he were going to burst, -a suspicious look in his false blue eyes; Professor Colaneri, more -than ever that day, clearly showed the indelible marks of a priest -who has given up the Church; then Ninetto Costa, come from his club -in Don Gennaro Parascandolo's company, felt drawn by a powerful, -irresistible desire to his haunt; and other eight or ten--a court -judge, a steward of a princely house, a sickly painter of saints, -and Cozzolino the barber, who was a great Cabalist, down to the -shoeblack Michele, in a corner on the ground, a hunchback and lame, -his wrinkled old face full of irrestrained passion; beside him was -Gaetano, the glove-cutter, more worn and pale than before, his eyes -burning with discontent, uneasiness in every line of his face. Don -Crescenzio's clients held their carnival in the shop dear to their -ruling passion, and as they were tormented to buy caraways, they, -too, threw them at the carriages, but mostly at the passers-by, among -whom they found acquaintances sometimes. No one was surprised to see -such different sorts of people together--a Marquis, a stock-broker, -a court judge, a doctor, a professor, down to a workman. Carnival, -carnival! The gentle popular madness had seized all brains; the -warmish day, the bright colours, the whims in the thousands -of vehicles passing, the clamour of a hundred thousand people -overpowered even those suffering from another fever, which was pushed -back for a time into a corner of the mind. - -When Cesare Fragalà passed on foot, laughing and shouting, in a -Russia-linen dust-cloak and travelling-cap, two long bags of caraways -at his sides, which he emptied against balconies of his acquaintance -and went filling again at every corner of the street from wandering -salesmen, joking with everyone, fat, strong, and jovial, needing an -outlet to his spirits--when he passed before Don Crescenzio's shop -there was a chorus of greetings. Under the Rossi Palace, before -his own balconies, he had already had half an hour's fight from -below with his wife and her friends. Luisella, Carmela Naddeo, the -Durantes, and the Antonaccis had thought Cesare's idea so original -and he so charming that they had knocked him down by dint of caraway -showers; he had been obliged to run away, laughing, keeping down his -head, pulling his cap over his ears. There were noisy greetings, -therefore, from Don Crescenzio's shop, and calls for him to come in. -Was he not a customer, too, always hopeful of getting eighty thousand -francs hard cash to open a shop in San Ferdinando? But Cesare was -too satisfied wandering about alone, laughing and shrieking with -everyone, buffeted by the caraways, red, panting with health and fun. - -He went among the carts and carriages, borne by the crowd, through a -burst of excitement, which the time of day made keener. The quietest -did silly things now. Those standing on the cars, at first only -merry, looked like so many demons. Raffaele, nicknamed Farfariello, -loving Carmela's betrothed, passed in a carriage; to be seen better, -he and his friends had made up their minds to sit on the roof. From -there they waved white silk handkerchiefs, tied to sticks like flags, -at the crowd. Alas! he did not see her, the girl who waited so many -hours for him at the corner of D'Affitto Lane. She, having cried out, -waved her arms and a bit of white stuff, felt stunned at the neglect, -but whispered to herself as a consolation, 'It does not matter.' - -But she still stayed there, hemmed in by that growing carnival -frenzy. A thicker crowd closed in under the balcony where the lovely -lady dressed as a Japanese was. She, getting excited, began to send -down a shower of confetti by handfuls and boxfuls, as if she had a -store in the house, a servant handing them to her. A shout of rogues -and enthusiastic common folk rose to the skies, whilst she from -above, quite serious, but a pink flame in her cheeks, recklessly -flung down confetti, sweets, and chocolate-boxes. On the balcony -draped with blue and silver net, the exalted personage's son had -thought of the joke of tying a bottle of champagne, a game pie or a -big chocolate-box, to a long rod, and letting it down to the level -of the crowd's outstretched hands, pulling it up, dancing it about, -amidst the longing cries, uplifted hands, and open mouths of the -people below, until a shout of triumph announced some lucky one had -carried off the prize of the new Cockayne. The rod was pulled up, -and the young fellows, who had taken a mad fancy to the game, tied -on some other eatable or drinkable--a bottle of bourdeaux, a cheese -wrapped in silver paper, or a bag of confetti, and the game started -again, with an unutterable row and obstruction to traffic. The men -in the cars now, having taken in new stores as the evening went on, -danced, sang, and threw things, behaving like demons. - -It was at this most exciting time of the day that a new cart came -out from a side-street of Toledo, arriving late, the horses drawing -it at a foot-pace. It was queer and fantastic, being a philosopher's -chemical laboratory, where a wretched old Faust sat cursing all -human things in a frozen, melancholy way. It formed a dark room, -with two shelves of books, a furnace, and an alchemist's retort, and -there was an open Koran on a carved wooden desk. A bent old man in -a black velvet skull-cap, with a long yellowy-white beard, tottered -about the car, throwing boxes of sweets shaped like books, retorts, -alembics, furnaces, to the crowd in the streets and balconies, each -having a figure of Mephistopheles. But they were good sweets. Then -a chimerical touch got into the carnival fury. The sorcerer's car -seemed quite supernatural. The old man, whom the laughing women -in the balconies called the Devil, his bald head in the skull-cap -quivering, threw out things, magically producing them from beneath -the car. Now and then amid the clamour of the populace a shrill voice -called out to the decrepit sorcerer, 'Give us lottery numbers! give -us tips!' - -Having got to San Ferdinando, Faust's car turned to go back the same -way up Toledo, when a most curious, indescribable thing happened. The -old man took out of a copper alembic, beside the boxes of sweets, -long, narrow strips of yellow paper and threw them to the crowd, who -rushed furiously on them. A shout went before, and followed Faust's -car, 'These are _storni, storni_!' - -To carry out a new, splendid, eccentric generosity pleasing to the -people, the old man threw lottery-tickets of two or three numbers, -ready paid for next Saturday, at two sous each. They are called -_storni_. He nobly threw handfuls of them to the people, laughing in -his thick, white beard, forgetting he was old, holding his head back -with ferocious gaiety. - -What a shout everywhere, from the streets and windows up to the sky -paling at sunset! What a lengthened shout of desire and enthusiasm! -The whole population raised their hands and arms as if to seize the -promised land. They cast themselves on the ground and kicked each -other, so as to snatch a lottery-ticket, with its conditional promise -of ten or two hundred francs gain. What joyous excitement among -men, women, boys, rich and poor, needy and comfortably off! What -an irresistible rush, that from holy fear respected the sorcerer's -car; they made a triumph for him of glorious shouts from one end of -Toledo to the other! But when he had thrown ten thousand tickets to -the crowd he disappeared, no one knew where or how. - - * * * * * - -Antonio Amati met Margherita the maid on the staircase as she was -going in, too, rather tired. Brusquely, as if he would have preferred -not to speak, perhaps, he asked her: - -'How is your mistress?' - -'She is better,' the old domestic said in a low voice. 'Why have you -not been to see her, sir?' - -'I have a lot to do,' the doctor muttered, without, however, knocking -at his door. - -'That is true; but you are so kind, sir.' - -'And then there was no need of me,' he added in a hesitating tone. - -'Who can tell?' Margherita retorted in a still lower and mysterious -voice. 'Why don't you come in now, sir?' - -'I will come,' he said, with his head down, as if he was giving in to -a superior will. - -She put a key in the lock and opened it, going before the doctor -into the quiet house, right on to the drawing-room, and he, though -accustomed to keep down his own impressions, felt at once the cold -silence and emptiness of the big room. He found the girl in black -before him, smiling vaguely, holding out her hand--a long, cold, tiny -one, which he kept a minute in his, more as a doctor than a friend. - -'Are you quite well again?' - -He spoke in a low voice, feeling the oppressive surroundings. - -'Not altogether,' she said in her clear, tired voice. 'I had another -fainting-fit one night; but very short--at least, I think so.' - -'Did no one come to your help?' he said regretfully. - -'No; no one knew about it; it was at night, in my own room.... It -doesn't matter,' she added, with a slight smile. - -'Why did you not go to the country?' - -'My father hates the country,' she said. 'I will not leave him here -alone.' - -'But why do you not go out? It is carnival to-day; why did you not go -to see it? Do you want to die of melancholy?' - -'Signora Fragalà did ask me, but I hardly know her. I think I would -have had to wear a mask. My father does not like such things; he is -right.' - -She spoke in a gentle, pretty voice, with a tired sound in it. Amati, -who had been working all that day by sick-beds while others enjoyed -the carnival, felt rested by that harmonious voice and the tired, -delicate calmness of the young girl. They were alone, facing each -other--around them was a great silence; they hardly looked at each -other, but they spoke as if their souls had long lived together, in -joy and sorrow. - -'Where were you a little ago?' Antonio Amati asked brusquely. - -'I was in the chapel,' Bianca Maria answered, taking no offence at -the question. - -'Do you pray a great deal?' - -'Not enough,' she replied, raising her eyes heavenwards. - -'Why do you pray so much?' - -'I must do it.' - -'You don't sin,' the unbeliever muttered, trying to make a joke of it. - -'One never knows,' she said gravely. 'One must pray for those that -don't pray themselves.' - -So saying, she gave him a passing glance. He bent his head. - -'You spend too many hours in the cold church. It will do you harm.' - -'I don't think so; and, then, what does it matter?' - -'Don't say that,' interrupting her quickly. - -'Few things can hurt me,' she replied in a tone he understood and did -not want to inquire into. - -'Let us go and see the carnival from Signora Fragalà's windows. She -asked me, too;' and he got up promptly to carry her off. - -'Let us stay here,' Bianca gently retorted. 'Here at least there is -peace. Don't you think this calm and silence good for one, too?' - -'You are right,' Amati owned, sitting down again quite subdued. - -'My father has gone out with his friends to see the carnival,' she -went on quietly. 'Everyone in the palace is out on the balconies that -look on Toledo; no noise reaches here, you see.' - -They looked at each other frankly. That strange hour of -unconsciousness, when he saved her, and she knew he was saving her, -had set up something like an inward life between them. What she felt -was a humble need of protection, help, and counsel; his feeling was a -very tender pity. He could not keep back a question that rose to his -mind. - -'Is it true you wish to be a nun?' he asked in rather a choked voice. - -'I would like it,' she said simply. - -'Why should you?' - -'Just because,' she replied with a woman's favourite answer. - -'Why should you be a nun? No one wants to be a nun nowadays. Why -should you do it?' - -'Because, if there is one single person in the world that should go -into a convent, it is I; because I have neither desires, nor hopes, -nor anything before me. As that is so, you see, I must at least have -prayer across this void desert and the desolation that comes before -death.' - -'Don't say that--don't say it!' he implored, as if for the first time -fatality had breathed on his energy and destroyed it. - - - - - CHAPTER VI - - DONNA CATERINA AND DONNA CONCETTA - - -The two sisters, Donnas Caterina and Concetta, were sitting opposite -each other at the dinner-table. They were eating silently, with -their eyes down; and occasionally they bent down to wipe their lips -on a corner of the tablecloth that was all marked with bluish wine. -A large deep-rimmed dish stood on the table between the two, full -of macaroni cooked in oil, salted anchovies, and garlic, all fried -lightly in an earthen pan and thrown over the boiling pasta; the two -women plunged their forks now and then into the shiny oily macaroni, -put some in their plates, and began to eat again. There was a big -loaf of white underbaked bread, too--the _tortano_: they broke -off bits with their hands to eat the macaroni with. A greeny-blue -glass bottle full of reddish wine, that made bluish reflections, -stood on the tablecloth; big glasses, and a salt-cellar, also of -glass--nothing else. The sisters used leaden forks, and coarse -knives with black handles; they sometimes broke off a bit of bread -and dipped it in the fried oil at the bottom of the dish. Caterina, -who was the roughest and saw fewest people--she lived furtively -almost--put her bread into the macaroni dressing with her fingers; -Concetta, who was more refined, from always going about and seeing -people, put the bread neatly on her fork to dip it in the garlic, and -nibbled at it after examining it. At one point, indeed, Concetta, -finding a burnt bit of garlic, put it aside with a frown. Otherwise -the sisters were exactly alike in gestures, way of speaking, and -style of dress, though not so much so in features. Both had their -hair dressed by the same woman at two sous each: it was drawn up to -the top of the head, the coil fastened by big sham tortoise-shell -pins, and the fringe slightly powdered over the forehead. Both -wore the dress of well-to-do Naples common folk--a petticoat with -no jacket, merely a trimmed bodice, that keeps the Spanish name -_baschina_; and they never went without a thick gold chain round -the neck--it was the sign of their great power--and they wore high -felt boots, with noisy wooden heels. It being dinner-hour, they had -left their usual work--a great coverlet of calico, pink one side and -green the other, stuffed with cotton-wool--stretched over a big loom, -where they stitched at it in wheels, stars, and lozenges, working -quickly, one on each side of it, their heads down and noses on the -pattern, pulling the needle out and in monotonously. The loom was -pushed into a corner; the displaced chairs were noticeable. Now a -little servant of fourteen came in, red-haired, white-faced, and -marked with freckles, carrying the second course--a bit of Basilicata -cheese, like a dry cream cheese, called _provola_, and two big sticks -of celery. She glanced at Donna Caterina to know what to do with the -macaroni left in the dish. - -'Keep two bits for Menichella,' said the holder of the _small game_, -as she cut a big slice of cheese. - -'Yes, ma'am,' the girl said as she went out. - -Menichella was a poor old thing of sixty; her son, in the Municipal -Guard, had been killed in a fight with Camorrists in Pignasecca -Square by a revolver-shot in the stomach. She lived on alms, and -every Friday arrived at the Esposito sisters' house, where she got -a hot dish, half a loaf of bread, and some scraps. The Espositos -did this out of devotion to our lovely Lady of Sorrows, whose day -is Friday. On Wednesday they gave the same alms to a blind beggar -called Guarattelle, because for many years he kept a puppet-show; -this charity they dedicated to the Virgin of the Carmine, Wednesday -being her day. On Monday, too, they fed a deserted boy of ten, that -the whole Rosariello di Porta Medina Road were taken up about and -fed, while the Esposito sisters helped him that one day for the -sake of souls in Purgatory, their day being Monday. A beggar seldom -knocked at their door any day without getting something. 'Do it for -St. Joseph; his day has come round.' 'The Holy Trinity be praised! -to-day is Sunday; give alms.' Something to eat, a glass of wine, some -scraps, beggars always carried off--money never. The sisters had too -great a respect for sous to give them away. It was better charity, -they explained, to give food, than encourage vice by giving money. - -The beggars stayed on the landing; the sisters never let them in, -fearing always for the valuables in the house; they used to carry out -the dish of macaroni, vegetables, or salad. Sometimes the beggar ate -it on the stairs, muttering blessings. They had now eaten the smoked -cheese and bread, slowly, moving their jaws rather voluptuously, -tearing the celery off in strips, and munching it noisily, like -fruit, to take the taste of oil out of their mouths. When they were -done, they kept still for a little, gazing at the blue stains on -the tablecloth, with their hands in their laps, silently digesting -and making long mental calculations, as women of business. The -servant-girl, Peppina, carried off everything in a trice; the clatter -of her old shoes was heard in the kitchen next door, as she went -backwards and forwards to wash a few plates, stopping now and then to -turn her macaroni in the pan; she had set it to fry again, seeing it -was cold. - -Now the sisters got up, shook the crumbs out of their laps, and -went to take their place at the loom again, bending over it, the -right hand, covered with rings, rising methodically, the left held -under the loom, to stitch through. There was a ring at the bell; -the sisters glanced at each other, and quickly took up their work. -Besides what they earned from it, it served as a screen, morally and -physically. - -Two girls, dressmakers, came in, pushing each other forward. The -first, the bolder, was Antonietta, who worked with a dressmaker in -Santa Chiara Street, the same that went to buy lunch for Nannina and -herself at the wine-seller's opposite the lottery office. Both of -them were, wretchedly dressed, in poor woollen skirts, a gaudy but -shabby jacket of another colour, and a little black shawl, which they -liked to let slip down on their arms, to show their bust; a bunch -of red ribbon was tied at the neck. Nannina, the smallest, was a -relation of the Espositos; she had a holy terror of her aunts, with -their money and jewels, for they always received her with pensive and -intentional coldness. Still, they let her kiss their hands. - -The two girls were still standing near the loom, looking on at this -alert industry as if they were put out. - -'Have you not gone to work to-day?' Donna Caterina asked Nannina. - -'I have been at it,' the girl at once volubly answered, being prodded -by Antonietta's elbow. 'But our mistress sent us to buy some things -near here, and, as this friend of mine wants to ask a favour from -you, we came....' - -'Who do you want this favour from?' said Donna Concetta, raising her -head from her work. - -'From you, aunt,' stammered the niece. - -'You don't say so!' her aunt exclaimed, in an ironical tone, smiling -and shaking her head. - -The girls said nothing; they looked at each other: from the start the -thing was going badly. - -Caterina, as she took no interest in the subject now, cut the tacking -with a pair of scissors, where it had been already stitched, which -covered her maroon bodice with white threads. - -'Have you lost your tongues? What is it about?' Donna Concetta asked, -laughing. - -'Well, now I will tell you, ma'am,' the blonde began, biting her lips -to make them red. 'I would like a new dress for Easter, a pair of -boots, and cotton to make three or four chemises. If I was frugal, -and made them myself, after my day's work is done, forty francs would -do. I have not got it; it would take a year to save it. Knowing you -are good and kind to poor folk, I had an idea you might lend me these -forty francs.' - -'It was not a good idea of yours,' said the money-lender freezingly. - -'Why? I can pay off the debt at so much a week. I earn twenty-five -sous a day; I don't owe a penny to anyone. Ask Nannina; she is my -guarantee.' - -'Nannina ought to find a security for herself,' Donna Concetta -grumbled. 'But why do you need this dress? Is what you have on not -enough? If one has no money, get no dresses. When my sister and I had -no means, we got no clothes. You are all mad, you girls, nowadays!' - -'Aunt, aunt, do her this favour; she has a lover, and she is ashamed -to go ill-dressed,' the niece begged for her friend. - -'I have had a lover too,' Donna Concetta answered; 'he was not -ashamed when I was ill-dressed.' - -'Men nowadays are quite different,' Antonietta murmured. 'So do me -this favour.' - -'I don't know you, my dear.' - -'I work for Cristina Gagliardi, at No. 18, Santa Chiara, the -first-floor. I live at No. 3, Strettola di Porto; you can make -inquiries.' - -Silence followed, and the girls again gave each other an alarmed look. - -'At most--at most,' said Donna Concetta, looking up, 'I can give you -stuff to make a dress on credit, and cotton for the chemises.... -I will ask a merchant that knows me--a good man; but you will pay -dearer for your clothes.' - -'No matter, it doesn't matter,' Antonietta quickly interrupted; 'do -so.' - -'What colour is the stuff to be?' Donna Concetta asked maternally. - -'Navy blue or bottle green; I like navy blue best.' - -'It will suit you best--navy blue; you look well in it,' said -Nannina, in an important way. - -'It does not discolour so easily,' Donna Concetta settled it by -saying. 'How many yards do you need?' - -The girl counted to herself, moved her fingers as if she was -measuring, looked at her figure, and counted over again. - -'Ten metres--yes, that would be enough.' - -'Ten metres; Jesus! so you want to be in the fashion.' - -'Donna Concetta, be forbearing,' Antonietta answered smilingly. - -'Very good--very good; for each chemise four metres is -needed--sixteen in all.' - -'And the shoes?' the girl asked hesitatingly. - -'I know no shoemaker, my dear.' - -'You will give me the rest of the forty francs in money?' the sewing -girl risked saying. - -'Listen, my dear,' said Donna Concetta: 'I am going to-morrow, or -Saturday, to the dressmaker's to ask if you really get over a franc -a day, and if you have taken any money in advance. Then I'll arrange -with the dressmaker that, instead of giving you your whole pay for -the week, she keeps back two francs for me as interest on the forty -francs.' - -'Two francs?' the girl cried out, alarmed at this long story. - -'Of course. I should get four, a sou a week for each franc; but you -are a poor girl, and I really wish to help you. The dressmaker gives -me the two francs for interest. You pay off the rest of the debt as -it suits you, five or three francs at a time. Do you understand?' - -'Yes, ma'am, yes,' the terrified girl cried out. - -'The quicker you pay the better for you, and it will suit me. -However, I warn you, if you were to get the dressmaker to pay you in -advance, go away, or play any trick of the kind, I'll come to you, -my dear, and let you see who Concetta Esposito is. I would think -nothing of going to the galleys for my heart's blood.... Have I made -it plain?' - -'Yes, ma'am, yes,' Antonietta stammered, with tears in her eyes. - -'There is still time for you not to do it,' Donna Concetta ended up -icily, bending down again to stitch the coverlet. - -'No, no!' the girl screamed out--'whatever you like. Promise me to -come to-morrow to Santa Chiara Road.' - -'We see each other to-morrow,' said Donna Concetta, taking leave of -her. - -'You will bring the things and the money?' - -'I must think over it.' - -'Good-bye, aunt,' Nannina murmured, pale and more frightened than her -friend. - -'The Virgin go with you,' answered the Espositos in a chorus, -beginning to work again. - -The girls went off quite silently, with their heads down, not able to -speak or smile. A woman coming up, hurriedly, knocked against them; -and with a quick 'Excuse me!' she went to ring at the Espositos' -door. It was Carmela, the cigar-girl, with her big, sorrowful eyes -and worn face. Before going into the house she sighed deeply, and her -face flushed. - -'May I come in?' she said from the lobby, in a weak voice. - -'Come in,' was the answer from inside. 'Is it you, good soul?' said -Concetta, on recognising her; 'are you really come to give me back -that money? your conscience pricked you at last? Give it over here.' - -'You are joking, Donna Concetta,' said the poor thing, with a pale -smile. 'If I had thirty-four francs, I would give as many leaps in -the air.' - -'It is thirty-seven and a half francs, with last week's interest,' -the money-lender coldly corrected her. - -'As you like: who is denying it? As you say, it is thirty-seven and a -half, I am sure you are right.' - -'You have brought the interest, at least?' - -'Nothing, nothing,' the girl said desperately, holding down her head. -'I am eaten up by misery: I have got to earning a franc and a half a -day; now I might live like a lady, but----' - -'Why do you waste your money?' asked Donna Concetta, giving in to her -fad of preaching prudence to her debtors. 'You are a beast, that is -what you are!' - -'But why,' Carmela cried out desperately--'why should I not give a -bit of bread to my old mother? When my sister is dying of hunger with -her three children, and one of them wasting away piteously, can I -refuse her half a franc? When my brother-in-law, Gaetano, has nothing -to smoke, for all his vices, should I deny him a few sous? With what -heart could I do it?' - -'It is Raffaele that sucks you out--it is Raffaele!' the money-lender -sang out, threading a needle with red cotton. - -'What about that?' the girl cried out, throwing out her arms; 'he was -born to be a gentleman. In the meanwhile, if I don't pay the landlord -on Monday, he will turn me out. I owe him thirty francs: but I might -at least give him ten! If you would just do me this charity!' - -'You are mad, my dear.' - -'Donna Concetta, what are ten francs to you? I'll give them back, you -know: I have never taken a farthing from anyone. Don't have me thrown -on the streets, ma'am. Do it for the sake of your dead in paradise!' - -'No, no, no!' sang out the seamstress. - -'Listen, look here,' the other went on sorrowfully: 'these earrings -I am wearing my godmother paid seventeen francs for; I give them to -you--I have nothing else. You will give me them back when I give you -the ten francs.' - -'I never take a pawn,' Donna Concetta replied, glancing at the -earrings. - -'But it is not a pawn; it is a favour you are doing me. If I were -to pawn it, I would get five or six francs; they would take the -interest beforehand, with the money for the ticket, the box, and the -witness, and only three or four francs would be left. Do it only this -once, ma'am--the Virgin from heaven preserve you!' She convulsively -took out her rather worn earrings, rubbed them with a corner of her -apron, and put them gently on the coverlet, still looking at them -earnestly, taking leave of them. Donna Concetta took them with a -scornful grimace, and glanced at her sister, who just raised her head -and signed 'Yes,' with a wink. Donna Concetta got up stiffly; without -saying anything, she carried the earrings into the next room, where -the sisters slept; a noise of keys in locks was heard, an opening and -shutting of strong boxes, with silent intervals. Then Donna Concetta -came in again. She carried two rolls of yellow paper in her hand. - -'They are sous: count them,' she said shortly, putting them down -before Carmela. - -'It does not matter-they are sure to be right,' said the poor little -thing, trembling with emotion. 'The Eternal Father should give it -back to you in health, the kindness you do me.' - -'Very good,' Donna Concetta finished up with, sitting down again to -work. 'But I warn you I'll sell the earrings if you don't pay.' - -'Never fear,' Carmela murmured as she went off. - -For a little the sisters were alone, stitching. - -'The earrings are worth twelve francs in gold,' said Caterina. She -had sharp ears. - -'Yes,' said Concetta; 'but Carmela will pay; she is a good girl.' - -Again they heard the bell tinkle. - -'It sounds like the midwife's bell,' Caterina remarked. - -A dragging noise was heard, the sound of a box put down in the corner -of the stair, and Michele, the shoeblack, came in with his hip up, as -if he was still carrying his block. He greeted them in the Spanish -style, saying, 'La vostra buona grazia' (I am your humble servant), -whilst the thousand wrinkles on his rickety boy's face, grown old, -seemed to breathe out malice. The sisters looked patiently at him, -waiting till he spoke. - -'Gaetano Galiero, the glove-cutter, sends me----' - -'Fine honest fellow he is!' exclaimed Donna Concetta, putting a strip -of paper in her thimble--it had got too large. - -'If you don't make people speak, you can never get to understand each -other,' the hunchback rejoined philosophically. 'Gaetano is under -great obligations to you; but you are a fine woman, not wanting in -judgment, and you will forgive his failings. What does not happen in -a year comes the day you least expect it. Gaetano is here with the -money.' - -'Yes, yes,' the sisters said, grinning. - -'You will see him afterwards. But I have come to speak of an affair -of my own. I, thank God, work at a better trade than Gaetano does; I -stand beside the Café de Angelis in Carità Square. I don't say it out -of boasting, but I polish the shoes of the best nobility in Naples. I -can earn what I like; I laugh at ill fortune. When it rains, I stand -under the archway of the café door; the dirtier it is in the streets, -the more shoes I polish. My good woman, if I had a clear head, I -would be a gentleman now. But now, to carry out a big affair that -may bring me my carriage, I need a little money; and as you oblige -people that way, I have come to propose the business to you. Forty -francs would do for me; I would pay it off by three francs a week -until I have managed the _combination_; for then I will give you back -capital, interest, and a handsome present.' - -'Don't put yourself about,' said Donna Concetta ironically. - -'If you won't lend me money, who do you lend to?' the hunchback -asked audaciously. 'If I stand all day in front of the café, I -earn two francs, do you know. Not even a barber's lad can say as -much. So that stand is my fortune, my shop; if I go away from it, I -don't earn a half-penny, so I can't run away. Do you see? Ask the -coffee-house-keeper who Michele is. Your money is safe in my hands. -You will hear all about me from the café-owner.' - -'If he guarantees you, I'll give you the money,' Donna Concetta said -at once. - -'In that case, he would give it himself' the hunchback objected. 'No, -no, Michele has no need of a guarantee. Come to-morrow, Saturday, -at nine, to the café-owner; you will hear what he says; you will -willingly give me sixty instead of forty francs. I am an honest man; -I am subject to public scrutiny.' - -'Good; we see each other to-morrow. You know what the interest is?' -said Donna Concetta. - -'Whatever you like,' the hunchback gallantly answered; 'you can -have a cup of coffee, too, and a roll inside: I am master at the -coffee-house! Can I do anything for you?' - -'We wish for your prayers always,' the two women said in a low tone, -as he was going away. After working a little, Caterina observed: - -'You said yes to him too soon.' - -'I will make the coffee-house-keeper guarantee him. He is a -hunchback, too; that brings luck,' Donna Concetta replied. - -'If it brings luck, it ought to bring an end to this hard life of -ours,' Caterina began again. She liked to complain of her luck. - -'Oh,' the other sighed, 'we have no man to give us a helping hand, -ever; so we have to do justice for ourselves always. Ciccillo and -Alfonso are simpletons. It is no use....' - -'What can we do?' sighed the other. - -The two sisters gave up working, let their hands fall idle on -the red coverlet, and began to think of their secret sorrow--the -tormenting pain they confessed to no one--of their betrothed lovers, -two good workmen, brothers, at the arsenal, Jannacone by name, who -loved them, but would not marry them, either of the two, because of -their trade. The struggle between love and money had gone on for -three years, but Ciccillo and Alfonso Jannacone would not hear of -marrying a gambler or a money-lender; the whole arsenal would have -taunted them. They were good workmen, rather simple, very silent, -who did not spend their day's wages; they had some savings, and came -to spend the evening with the two sisters. Obstinate on that idea, -one of the few that got into their heads, neither love nor avarice -could overcome it. Several times the sisters, being keen on gain -and bitterly offended at that refusal, had quarrelled with their -lovers and chased them out of the house; but only for a short time: -peace was made, Concetta and Caterina naturally promising to give -over their business. The women must have made a lot of money, but -they never spoke of it, and, in spite of their love for Alfonso and -Ciccillo Jannacone, they themselves put off the marriages so as to -gain still more money, not knowing how to break through that round -of money-lending business. They did not wish to give up old loans, -and could not resist making new ones; they did not understand why -their lovers were so ashamed, and complained of it as an injustice. -The sisters thought themselves humane to lend money at usury; to -give lottery tickets at a sou or two seemed an act of charity to -them, because the Naples poor--skinned and flayed as they were -when they took money from Concetta to give it to Caterina and the -Government--thanked and blessed them with tears. When they were quite -alone, in expansive moments, the two complained of their fate; anyone -else but the Jannacone brothers would have been happy enough to have -such industrious, hard-working wives with dowries. But the workmen -would not given in; they persisted they would never marry unless that -way of gaining money was given up. Ciccillo especially, Caterina's -betrothed, was hard as a stone; indeed, he said to her sometimes: -'Caterina, one day or other you'll go to prison.' - -'I'll pay for bail and get out. Then the lawyer will get me off.' - -She knew the law and its intrigues. - -'If you go to prison, you don't see my face again,' Ciccillo -retorted, lighting his cigar. - -Yes, when they were alone the sisters despaired. But love of money -was so strong, it made them put off the time for the double marriage. -The two workmen waited patiently, slowly buying furniture with their -savings to set up house together, as they never left each other. - -'Wait till Easter,' the sisters said, thinking of ending up all their -affairs by then. - -'Good; at Easter,' the brothers agreed. - -'We will be ready by September,' said they in April, being more than -ever involved in a network of sordid business. - -'In September, then,' the workmen complied. - -Always when they were alone the women complained of being badly -treated by Fate, and of being misunderstood by the men they loved, -ending up with: 'Ciccillo and Alfonso are fools.' - -But they were not long alone that day, either. The wretched trade -went on till evening. There came a painter of saints, so far an -artist that he painted the face, hands, and feet of all the wooden -and stucco saints in Naples and its neighbourhood's thousand -churches: a sickly man, who asked for money, and only got it on -condition he brought a statuette of the Immaculate Conception in -blue, covered with stars, next day, that Madonna being Concetta the -money-lender's patron. Annarella, Carmela's sister, came in to ask -for a loan, being desperate: 'just two francs for the day, just as -a charity.' She wanted to make a little broth for her sick child. A -horrible scene followed: the women would not believe her; she just -wanted to fool them again, for Gaetano and she had a big debt, and -were not ashamed to take poor folk's blood and not give it back. -Annarella screamed, wept, and cried out that she would go and get -her baby, all burning with fever, to show to them. A stone would -pity him. Then she sobbed out that they said what was quite true; -but to pity the poor little thing, who was not to blame, and now -that he was weaned, she could take another half-day service, which -the Virgin would help her to find. At last, as Concetta felt bored, -to get rid of the crying and weeping she gave her the two francs, -cursing and taking her oath they were the last, as true as it was -Friday in March--perhaps the day our Lord died, as it is not known -what Friday in March Jesus died on. Other people, either embarrassed, -furious, or sorrowful, came to pay up old interest, to offer goods -in pledge, or ask for more money. The debtors went on from humility -to bitterness, from threats to beseeching, from solemn promises to -mean tricks. Concetta continued working opposite her sister through -the disputes, quarrels, and threats till evening came. She never got -tired, and always had an effective retort ready or some lucid remark, -finding out a good or bad payer at once. Only for one neatly-dressed, -discreet caller, shaved like a good class of servant, she got up and -went into the next room, where they chattered in a low tone for some -time. The usual noise of keys creaking in the locks, and opening and -shutting of strong boxes, was heard; the servant went out, still -looking reserved, followed by Concetta. - -'Is that the Marquis di Formosa's steward?' Caterina asked when he -had gone. - -'Yes, it is,' said Concetta, without adding more. - -That hard, fatiguing Friday came to an end. Now it was getting dark -the sisters had given up stitching the coverlet. Caterina, for -Saturday, her great day, got ready some thick registers, written in -shapeless characters, all ciphers, which she understood very well. -She leant over it under the oil-lamp, thinking whilst her lips moved; -and Concetta, seeing her deep in her important weekly work, kept -silence out of respect to that sagacious preparation, feeling sure -that next day money would be flowing in to them. - - - - - CHAPTER VII - - DON GENNARO PARASCANDOLO'S BUSINESS - - -With the odorous smoke of a Tocos cigarette filling the little -room, Don Gennaro Parascandolo was deeply wrapped up in the study -of his little pocket-book, turning over the pages of a ledger, and -comparing the long rows of figures in it with the dark, enigmatic -ciphers in the note-book; then he took the pen and wrote something -occasionally--one word or a figure--on the full side of the ledger. - -He was working very placidly in that little room of his flat in San -Giacomo Street, opposite the door of the Exchange. He had rented it -from time immemorial, and he called it the _study_; there he began, -unravelled, and finished all his business, with a discretion and -secrecy he kept up even with his wife. She was far off, isolated -for whole days in that sad, solemn, splendid suite of rooms in the -Rossi Palace. When it was said Don Gennaro Parascandolo was at his -_study_, all was said. Those who said it and those who heard it felt -respectful terror; a fearful vision of riches always increasing, a -magical flow of money running to money by enchantment, rose before -them. The study was the place where Don Gennaro Parascandolo, strong, -wise, audacious, and cold in his audacity, made his fortune grow -by leaps and bounds. It was composed of two rooms: one big one, -with two balconies, was quite full of valuable things gathered in a -queer way--pictures by good artists, foreign furniture, gilt-bronze -candelabra, curious antique pendulums, rolls of carpet and of -linen-cloth, terra-cotta statuettes, even a trophy of antique and -modern arms. - -It was quite a museum, that room. Salvatore, Don Gennaro's -confidential servant, spent half the day trying to keep it -clean, and it required the greatest care not to spoil or break -anything. Occasionally, some rarity left the museum, either sold -advantageously, exchanged for another, or given away in a fit of -calculated generosity. But the empty place was soon filled by a new -article, or by some of the things heaped on each other in the strange -museum. - -When Don Gennaro was alone, he sometimes opened his writing-room -door and stood on the threshold, smoking his everlasting cigarette, -to give a look over what he called his _omnibus_. But he did not -venture to go in, the accumulation was so great. The other room was -prettily enough furnished with the respectable pleasant luxury of -easy-chairs, sofas, small tables with smoking accessories, and a -writing-desk that seemed placed there purposely to make the name -'study' appropriate. The hangings were bright, but not gaudy; on the -desk were dainty knickknacks that Don Gennaro Parascandolo often -played with. Whoever came in there felt calmed; even if he had an -incurable sorrow in his mind, he was reconciled to existence for a -time. Don Gennaro Parascandolo's own genial face, clouded sometimes -by melancholy, his lively, frank manner, managed to give a benignant -look to the surroundings that overcame all fears, difficulties, and -prejudices, and gave a weak, morally defenceless guest into the -host's hands, vanquished beforehand. The whole round of Don Gennaro -Parascandolo's business was regulated by the minute hieroglyphics in -his pocket-book, and a ledger thickly written in also with names, -ciphers, and remarks. - -Whenever a caller was announced, Don Gennaro, without hurrying, shut -up the ledger in the safe, and put the note-book back in his pocket; -every trace of business disappeared. An inkstand of gilt bronze and -rock crystal, shaped like a jockey's cap, with racing accessories, -made a good show on the desk, as well as a silver paper-weight like a -book, with five seals made of old guineas, an ash-tray shaped like a -woman's shoe, and a long, carved ivory Japanese wand that Don Gennaro -trifled with. - -So that Friday in March, after breakfast, he went on smoking -his Tocos cigarette, gazing at the smoke; but when the faithful -Salvatore, clean-shaven and in black, like a high-class servant, a -discreet, silent fellow, came to say Signor Cesare Fragalà wished to -come in, Don Gennaro quickly shut up the ledger and put the note-book -in his pocket. - -'With your permission,' said Cesare Fragalà, coming in smiling. - -'My honoured patron, how are the wife and child?' - -'Very well indeed, Don Gennaro. They are Fragalàs, a strong house, -with no bad luck. You keep well, do you not?' - -'Quite well; but Naples bores me. Cesare, this is a beggarly country. -In a week I go off to Nice and Monte Carlo; after that I go to Paris.' - -'Do you play at Monte Carlo?' Fragalà asked, with a scrutinizing look. - -'Yes, a little. I often win; I have luck; I am learning to play.' - -'How will that serve you?' - -'It is good to know everything,' Parascandolo answered modestly. -'Have you never been there?' - -'No,' said Cesare thoughtfully, 'I have a wife and daughter; still, -it is a fine thing to gain twenty-five or a hundred thousand francs -in an evening!' One could read in his eyes, that filled at once with -melancholy avarice, a great passion for heavy, immediate gains, -depending on luck, and for the most part unlawful. - -'What would you do with it?' asked Don Gennaro, taking another -cigarette, and offering Cesare one from an elegant engraved-silver -Russian cigar-case. - -'What would I do with it? First of all I would let fifty thousand -melt away to enjoy life a little with my friends. I am not selfish, -and fifty thousand would do to open a shop with in San Ferdinando -Square. I will never gain it in the San Spirito shop,' Cesare ended -up low-spiritedly. - -'Still, in the carnival you must have made great profits,' said Don -Gennaro slowly, shaking off his cigar-ash. - -'Yes, yes, enough! but Monte Carlo, or something else, is needed; if -not, one must vegetate, and Agnesina's dowry won't be ready. Then I -am always pushed to it--so many calls.... Why, yesterday I should -have given you back those five hundred francs you lent me without -security--you know I am always punctual--but I could not.' - -'For one day it does not matter,' Don Gennaro said coldly, setting -his face like a stone the moment Cesare spoke of the debt, gazing at -his cigar-smoke as if not to look his friend in the face. - -'But I can't even pay you to-day,' said Cesare quickly, as if he -wanted to get rid of his worry all at once. 'I have had to take a lot -of sugar out of bond, and then----' - -Don Gennaro, quite indifferent to all this chatter, said not a word. - -'Be neighbourly, and complete the favour. I have a little bill due -to-morrow,' Fragalà said, passing through a sharp momentary agony; -'it is five hundred francs, and I have not got it. You might lend -them to me, and I will give you a thousand francs next Saturday ... -it is a great favour ... and you can be sure of my being punctual.' - -'I can't,' Don Gennaro said icily. - -'Why, you have the money,' Cesare cried out ingenuously. - -'Of course; but I can't lend it.' - -'Then, you think I am not solvent?' - -'Not at all; it is to carry out a rule. With intimate friends and -relations, people like you, I always lend five hundred francs; often, -nearly always, I get it back again. Then I willingly lend it a second -time; but once it has not been paid I never lend any more, so I can -only lose five hundred francs.' - -'But I am to give you back a thousand,' said the other in alarm. - -'He who can't give back five hundred is very unlikely to give back a -thousand. A man that fails to keep his word once may do it again,' -said Don Gennaro ponderously. - -'Still, I did not believe you would refuse such a favour to a -friend,' Cesare muttered. 'You put me into great embarrassment.' - -'I think I do well not to give you that money,' said Parascandolo, -opening a gold matchbox like Dellachà's paper ones, with -figure-painting on it. 'I think you are going a bad road; you -frequent very queer company....' - -'I have done some idiotic things, I allow,' said Cesare, with his -big-boy's honesty; 'but I did it with good intentions. Besides,' he -added, as if speaking to himself, 'that Pasqualino De Feo is always -needing some hundred francs. He is a poor man, with no profession nor -trade. The spirits torment him--beat him at night. I have to have -Masses said and prayers to appease them; if not, they drag him to -death. If I have thrown away some hundred francs, I had my reasons. -This business with spirits is important! You are clever, and have -travelled a lot; but if you knew all, you would see it is worth -knowing about.' - -'It may be,' nodded Don Gennaro assentingly; 'but you are going a bad -road.' - -'No, no!' cried out Cesare; 'something must be settled. Either in or -out. Perhaps we will get it this week--that is to say, to-morrow; or -it may be necessary to sacrifice some more, next week, and then win. -Really, you should oblige me,' he added, going back to his trouble. - -'I can't,' retorted Don Gennaro. - -'As a fact, I am an honest trader: anyone would do business with me!' -Cesare called out, beginning to get angry. - -'If it is business, that is another thing,' said Don Gennaro, giving -in suddenly. - -'Well, let us treat it as business,' said Cesare, calming down at -once. - -Then Don Gennaro quietly opened the safe and drew out a blank bill, -of a thousand francs' value. Taking a finely-carved wooden pen, with -a gold nib, he wrote the sum in figures and words, and asked, without -raising his head: - -'To fall due in a month?' - -'Yes, in a month,' agreed Fragalà. Don Gennaro handed the promissory -note to him. It was headed 'Domenico Mazzocchi.' 'Domenico -Mazzocchi--who is that?' asked Fragalà, astounded. - -'He is the capitalist I work for,' Parascandolo answered icily. -Seeing that after Fragalà signed he was going to put down his -dwelling-house, he stopped him warningly. 'Put down the address of -the shop.' - -'Why so?' - -'In business and commercial affairs it is better to take action at -the firm's address.' - -Fragalà felt a chill down his back. - -'There will be no need,' he thought it necessary to say, to -reassure himself. He gave back the promissory note to Don Gennaro -Parascandolo, who read it over carefully, twice; then he opened -another safe and took out bank-notes, and counted three hundred and -eighty francs twice over: he handed them to Fragalà, saying: - -'Three hundred and eighty francs. Count your money over again.' - -'Three hundred and eighty only?' asked the other, again astounded. - -'Twelve per cent. interest is taken off,' explained Don Gennaro. - -'Is that by the year?' asked Fragalà stupidly. - -'No; by the month.' - -Then there was silence. While Fragalà was counting the money -mechanically, he thought, but dared not say to Parascandolo, that -the interest had been calculated on the first five hundred francs, -too, that he, Don Gennaro, had lent him, and not the capitalist -Mazzocchi. He said nothing about it, though; indeed, in the innocency -of his soul, he remarked, as he got up to go away: - -'Thank you!' - -'Why thank me? It is business. Only, think of when it falls due. -Mazzocchi stands no nonsense--he is an ugly sort.' - -'Never fear,' said Fragalà, with a sickly smile. After taking leave, -he went off, with a colourless face and bitter mouth, as if he had -been chewing aloes. At once Don Gennaro set himself to his accounts. -But it was only for a few minutes, as Salvatore came to say Ambrogio -Marzano, the lawyer, was there, with another gentleman, wanting to -come in. He expected them, evidently, as he frowned slightly and -looked stiff. Marzano came in, with his usual gentle smile--he was -a lively, excitable old fellow; the one that looked put out was his -companion, a gentleman of about forty, fat but pale, with very clear -eyes that rolled vaguely and sadly. - -The greetings were short. For a fortnight Marzano and Baron Lamarra -had kept coming to San Giacomo Street to see Don Gennaro, on money -business. They talked it over, made suggestions, accepted and then -refused, then started the arguments over again. Baron Lamarra, son -of a sculptor, who had become a contractor by dint of chiselling in -the open air, and rich by dint of laying one son on another, had left -his son a lot of money, though he was now trying for a loan of three -thousand francs. He kept up his beggar-on-horseback airs at first, -but as the days went on, and difficulties came in the way, he dropped -them, and did nothing but play with the charms on his watch-chain; -his conceited blue eyes got to have a despairing expression, which -Don Gennaro studied sagaciously--perhaps it was for his benefit -that he looked so cold. Only Don Ambrogio Marzano went on smiling, -obstinate in his good nature. - -'The Baron is rather anxious to finish up the business now we -have talked it over for days,' said the little old man, trying to -encourage his client. - -'Let us finish it, then,' Don Gennaro answered, without lifting his -eyes. - -'You have not thought out a better arrangement?' Baron Lamarra -murmured. - -'No, I have not,' said Don Gennaro. - -The two looked at each other, hesitating; the Baron made the lawyer -an energetic sign to go on. - -'How would it be?' Marzano asked. - -'Here it is. My capitalist, Ascanio Sogliano, has no funds; but he -can dispose of about forty dozen Chiavari chairs at six francs each, -seventy-two francs the dozen, over two thousand seven hundred francs -in all. He would give these goods, which are easy to dispose of, on -a three months' promissory note, with the Baron and the Baroness -Lamarra's signatures, each bound for all, with the usual interest, in -advance, of three per cent; three times three, nine--that is to say, -ninety francs a month; three times ninety, two hundred and seventy -francs for three months.' - -'And you said there would be a buyer for these Chiavari chairs, did -you not?' Marzano replied, keeping up his frank tone. - -'Exactly so,' said Don Gennaro, still very cold. - -'Buyer at how much?' asked Baron Lamarra rather anxiously, knowing -the answer quite well, but almost hoping for a different one. - -'I told you: at two thousand francs.' - -The lawyer shook his head; the Baron fumed with rage. - -'It is too great a loss, far too great!' he cried out; 'and, then, my -wife's signature, too!' - -'Excuse me, Baron,' Don Gennaro remarked, 'you seem to be under -a wrong impression. I am doing you a favour, finding a tradesman -and a buyer. I am not taken up about this business. I often have -as good aristocratic names as yours on bills, I can tell you. This -is to clear up the position. You come here shouting as if you were -in brigands' hands and your ears were being cut off. Here we don't -cut off ears. If the affair does not suit you, let it go. It is -indifferent to me, I repeat.' - -As a sign of the greatest indifference, he lighted a Tocos cigarette, -and began smoking, looking up to the ceiling. Baron Lamarra, whose -face got flabbier and more unhealthy-looking in that annoying -struggle, was disturbed. Silence followed. Marzano shook his head -gently, as if he was lamenting over human weakness; he gazed at the -silver top of his cane, without saying a word. The Baron ran his -fingers through his black locks flecked with white; then he made up -his mind, and drew out a thick black pocket-book, took out a paper, -and put it on the table opposite Don Gennaro. - -'It is settled,' he said, in a choked voice. 'Here is the promissory -note.' - -Don Gennaro only fluttered his eyelids in assent. He opened the note -and looked at it a long time, the figures, dates, and signatures, -reading in a low voice, 'Maddalena Lamarra--Annibale Lamarra. -All right,' he ended up aloud, casting a scrutinizing glance at -the Baron, whose face got livid from suppressed rage or some -other feeling. 'Do you want to see the goods?' he then remarked -punctiliously. - -'What does it matter to me?' the Baron said sulkily, shrugging his -shoulders. 'Give me the money to use.' - -Don Gennaro nodded assent. As usual, he opened the middle drawer, -shut up the promissory note in it, opened the side drawer, took out -bank-notes, and counted them methodically. - -'Count your money over,' he said, handing the bundle to the Baron, -who had watched the appearance of bank-notes with a flashing eye. - -But he did not count; he put the notes into his pocket-book, and, -without saying a word, rose to go away. - -Marzano vaguely stammered some words of thanks and farewell, but the -Baron was already on the stairs, and the old man ran after him, not -to let him elude him. When he was alone, Don Gennaro Parascandolo -opened the drawer again and took out the Lamarra promissory note; -he studied the signatures a long time, saying over the syllables -ironically: 'Maddalena Lamarra ... bound for whole amount ...; -Annibale Lamarra for himself and the conjugal authorization.' He -ended up with a smile, and pushed it into the drawer again. - -Ninetto Costa had come in without being announced, and the dark, -lively, elegant stock-broker, in a suit of English check, a flower in -his buttonhole, ebony stick in hand, and big iron ring on his little -finger as a seal, seemed the pattern of happy youth. He stretched -himself in an arm-chair, threw his leg over, and lit a cigarette, -humming. - -'Good settling-day Monday was, eh?' Don Gennaro asked. - -'It was bad--bad!' sang out Ninetto Costa. - -'You don't seem much put out. It will be bad for your clients then, -and not for you,' said Parascandolo. - -'It is bad for me; I have thirty to forty thousand francs at stake,' -said the stock-broker, beating his trouser-leg with his stick in an -elegant way. - -'And how are you to pay?' - -'I will pay,' the other ended up by saying, in a vague way. - -'You have had several bad settling-days, it seems to me.' - -'So, so. It is Lillina that takes away everything,' he muttered, with -a not perfectly sincere gesture of regret. - -'Lillina? She says "No," 'remarked Don Gennaro. - -'Did she tell you so? She is the greatest liar among women! You can't -think what a liar she is, Gennaro!' and he cried out more against -her, rather in a sham rage. 'Have you got these jewels?' he added -anxiously, though he tried to seem indifferent. - -'Yes. Are they for Lillina?' - -'Yes--that is to say, I am not certain; she is too great a liar! -Besides, I have someone else in my eye.' - -'You are a devil, Ninetto!' Don Gennaro said laughingly. - -From the same drawer from which he had previously taken the money, -Parascandolo took out a leather case and opened it. The jewels -twinkled on the white velvet: there were a pair of solitaire -earrings, a row of diamonds, a bracelet, and an ornament for the -hair. Ninetto Costa looked at them, beating his lips with the knob -of his stick. He went further off, to judge them better. He did this -very gracefully; but a twitching of the muscles now and then made his -smile unpleasant. - -'They are fine, eh?' he asked Parascandolo. - -'I think so,' said the other modestly. - -'You would give them? You are a man of taste.' - -'I would give them--according to the woman. Not to Lillina.' - -'I don't know if I will give them to her--I don't know,' Costa burst -out again hurriedly. 'You think,' he added timidly--'you think they -are worth twenty thousand francs?' - -'It is not what I believe; Don Domenico Mazzocchi, who sold them to -you, thinks they are. I don't know about them. Besides, you can get -them valued. Remember, they will ask two per cent. for the valuation.' - -He said all this in such a cold, disdainful way that Ninetto Costa -tried to interrupt him more than once, without managing it. - -'Are you mad? What valuation? I would not do such a thing, with you -and your friend Mazzocchi. To take so much trouble! I would not -dream of it. It would be offensive to a friend--two friends.' - -'Have you noted the terms of payment?' - -'Yes, yes! at three, four, five, and six months--five thousand francs -at a time, with a consignment on my mother's revenues, and all the -necessary papers. All is going right. Do you wish nothing on the -Exchange? I'll buy for you.' - -'I don't do business; I have retired,' said Parascandolo, smiling and -bowing, as Costa went off, carrying the jewel-case. - -When he had gone, the other, being now alone, looked at the clock. -It was getting late. San Giacomo Street is dark naturally, and -already, at four o'clock, it looked as if the day was failing. Don -Gennaro was thinking whether he had given an appointment to anyone -else, and if he could go away, having finished his day's work, one -of those hard-working Fridays for all that provide money--bankers, -money-lenders, pawnbrokers. No, he thought, he had not given an -appointment to anyone, and he could go away. He felt sure his -coachman had brought round his carriage to take him to Carracciolo -Street. But once more the faithful Salvatore came in to say three -gentlemen wished to come in. - -'Are there three?' asked Don Gennaro, pondering. - -'Yes, three....' - -'Let them in,' his master said, recollecting. - -Dr. Trifari came in, fat, thick, red of beard and face, embarrassed -and suspicious, taking off the high hat he always wore, like all -provincials settled in Naples. Professor Colaneri was with him; -he had a false look behind his gold spectacles, and bowed in the -ecclesiastical style. A student, a fellow-countryman of Trifari's, -and Colaneri's pupil, was the third one--a youth of twenty-two, with -sticking-out teeth, a tartan necktie, and a decidedly silly look. The -two, while keeping an eye on each other, glanced now at Don Gennaro, -then at the embarrassed provincial lad, who seemed not to know what -to do with his teeth, quite unhappy at not being able to shut his -mouth. There was a curbed ferocity in Trifari's suspiciousness--it -was palpable in him morally and physically; while Colaneri's was -oblique, sly, cold, and hypocritical. The student looked like a fly -between them--a stupid little fly held between two spiders, one -cruel, the other treacherous. - -Don Gennaro looked at them with a smile, guessing all that. Only -to look at the wicked intentness of Dr. Trifari's eyes on the shut -desk, Professor Colaneri's humble but dishonest look, the student's -silliness--for he seemed to see nothing, or saw and heard without -understanding--explained Salvatore's hesitation. But Don Gennaro -Parascandolo, who loved artistic things, had taken up a long Japanese -carved-ivory scabbard, and half drew out, as if by accident, a -knife's shining blade. It was a book-cutter, though there was not a -shadow of a book on the desk. With a click he sheathed it and laid it -on the desk, but his fingers trifled with it. He smiled, smoking his -everlasting cigarette, without offering one, however, to his three -visitors. - -'So we have come on that business, Signor Parascandolo. What has -been done?' Dr. Trifari questioned, with a sham politeness that -ill-covered his roughness. - -'Yes. What do you refer to?' Parascandolo said. - -'The money--the bank bill,' the plethoric doctor burst out. - -'It is an ordinary affair enough,' remarked Parascandolo with an easy -air. - -'What do you say? With three signatures--mine, Professor Colaneri's, -and Signor Rocco Galasso's--you call it an ordinary affair? Whose -signature do you want--Rothschild's?' - -'Certainly I would prefer Rothschild's to all signatures,' was said, -with a mocking little smile. 'Business is business,' he added in his -solemn way. - -'We are honest men, it seems to me,' Professor Colaneri yelped out. - -'I have the highest respect for you,' said Parascandolo with -exaggerated politeness. 'But signatories must be solvent; that is -all. I have made inquiries on account of my principal, Ascanio -Sogliano. You will understand, I must prevent him making any loss, -as I make use of his money. Now, Dr. Trifari, here is an excellent -young fellow--he will become a light in the scientific world--but -his signature is not good for a thousand francs, nor is Professor -Colaneri's....' - -'This is infamous!' Dr. Trifari cried out. 'I did not come here to be -insulted, by Jove!' - -'These are slanderous statements!' shrieked Colaneri the hypocrite. - -'Where did you make inquiries?' Trifari asked, yelling. - -'In your own neighbourhood,' answered Parascandolo coldly. - -'Of course, in my own neighbourhood.... It is political hatreds ... -election struggles!' Colaneri and Trifari shouted in chorus. - -'That may be,' said Parascandolo; 'I cannot know about that, and -it does not matter to Sogliano. So there remains this worthy youth -here, Rocco Galasso; he is solvent. So, instead of three thousand -francs, Sogliano will give a thousand, with your three signatures as -a precaution.' - -'It is impossible for us to agree to that!' Trifari thundered, purple -with rage. - -'Impossible!' shrieked Colaneri, quite livid. - -'As you like,' said Parascandolo, getting up to go out. - -But the most dumfounded of the three was poor Rocco Galasso, the -student. He turned his stupefied eyes from Colaneri to Trifari and -gasped, as if his saliva choked him. The two left the office in -confusion, without saying 'Good-bye,' talking to each other, and -shoving the student before them like a silly sheep. Parascandolo -quietly called Salvatore to brush his great-coat. It was done -silently, while he filled his case with cigarettes. - -All at once, without being announced, the three burst again into the -room, looking queer: Colaneri and Trifari as if forcibly restraining -their rage, and Rocco Galasso, pale and humiliated, behind them, like -a beaten dog. - -'We are to do the business,' Trifari muttered, as if he was -swallowing the wrong way. 'One thousand francs, as you said.' - -Professor Colaneri agreed. Then the usual scene was repeated: The -money-lender pulled out a blank promissory note for a thousand francs -from the drawer and put it before Rocco Galasso, who dared not take -it, but went looking Colaneri and Trifari in the eyes one after the -other. The two, as if they were putting him to the torture, made him -sit at a corner of the desk, and bent over, one at each side, to give -him directions, and they dictated the formula word by word. He put -his nose down on the paper, being short-sighted and knowing nothing -about the business, never having signed a promissory note before. -Then, crushed down by the two leaning on his shoulders, he got -confused and frightened, and held his pen up hesitatingly. The work -took a long time. The poor fellow was just going to mis-state the -time of its falling due, when Trifori was down on him with a shout: -'At two months!' - -At last the work was ended, and the student's forehead dropped sweat -as he raised it that cool March day. Don Gennaro in the meanwhile -pulled money out of his drawer and counted it. - -'Seven hundred and sixty francs,' he said, holding out the bundle of -notes to Rocco Galasso. 'Count your money.' - -But the latter dared not take it. He looked again at his tutors. -Colaneri put out his fat, cold hand and pocketed the money quickly, -while Trifori glared at him. - -'You take the interest in advance?' asked Trifori with a sneer. - -'Yes, in advance.' - -'Could you not add it to the promissory note?' Colaneri retorted, -putting his hand in his pocket over the money. - -'No, I cannot,' said Parascandolo dryly, getting up again. - -The three went out silently. Colaneri rushed on in front; Trifori -followed precipitately, forgetting Rocco Galasso, who was now of no -use, while his greatest torment was that Parascandolo had made him -write his address at Tito di Basilicata; and the thought that his -father would know about it one day or other brought tears to his eyes. - -In spite of Don Gennaro's wish to go out, he had to wait five minutes -more. A little old woman, neatly dressed in black, a lady's-maid, had -arrived, bringing an introductory note from Signora Parascandolo. -Looking around her, she spoke to Don Gennaro in a whisper, and he -listened with a fatherly, amiable smile. Then she timidly showed -him something in a case, wrapped first in black cloth and then -paper, which he would not even look at. He pushed it away, but not -contemptuously. Then, after a few words to the old woman, he signed -to her to keep silence, as she wished to begin her speech again, and -he went to the desk, took out money, counted it, and handed it in an -envelope to her. She waited to thank him, but he, to cut her short, -asked: - -'How is Lady Bianca Maria?' - -'Not very well,' the old woman said, with a sigh. - -In a few minutes the victoria bore easy, contented Don Gennaro -Parascandolo to the Carracciolo promenade, where all his debtors, -past, present, and future, greeted him with smiles and raised hats; -and he smiled and bowed in return. - - - - - CHAPTER VIII - - IN DON CRESCENZIO'S LOTTERY-SHOP - - -Donna Bianca Maria Cavalcanti read that letter over eight or ten -times before putting it in her pocket. She was working at her lace -alone in the bare large room, thinking over what was in it, for she -knew the words by heart already. She saw it before her eyes, going -over its meaning in her mind. So the slender bobbins slipped from her -hands while she dreamt. - -The letter was honest and frank. It said that, as a doctor and -friend, he once more advised her to leave that lonely old house where -she just vegetated. He begged she would deign to accept a humble, -plain offer of hospitality in the country, in the village and home he -was born in, where his mother lived alone piously. Donna Bianca Maria -Cavalcanti should not despise this offer so frankly made. She could -go down there with Margherita. The air was good, the country around -fresh and green; it was an agreeable solitude. Dr. Amati could not go -because of his work; but his mother would be sure to be very fond of -her. She would be quite cured down there in that lifegiving, bright -air. He implored her tenderly not to say 'No,' to believe in his -devotion. He could not hide the real state of her health from her. -Travel and country air were necessaries of life to her. - -So the great doctor wrote in that short, precise style of his, -honest, like his face and voice; a deep, sincere vein of feeling ran -through each phrase. Feeling this, Bianca Maria shut her eyes to keep -down her emotion. When Margherita brought her the letter, she guessed -at once who it came from on seeing the clear, straight, precise -writing. She opened it quickly, without hesitation or false modesty. -After reading it, a country landscape, poor and humble, but bright -and perfumed with green, rose before her eyes with the sweetness of -an idyll; a flow of heat enlivened the slow blood in her veins; a -desire for life and happiness gnawed at her heart; a first rush of -youthful eagerness came. Antonio Amati's letter, read so often, was -fixed in her mind. As she thought it over that fresh Friday evening -in March, the blood rushed to her heart and her eyes filled with -tears. - -The Marquis di Formosa came in that evening, about eight o'clock. -He also was more excited than usual, with a quiver in his limbs and -features, which he got every week on Friday evening, as if he shortly -expected a great sorrow or a great joy. But his daughter took no heed -at first. She was distrait; though she went on working mechanically, -the good, decided words of the letter that begged her to save herself -buzzed in her mind, delightfully disturbing. - -'Well, is there nothing yet?' asked the Marquis. - -'What are you asking about? I do not understand,' she said, coming -back to herself. - -'What am I asking about? Why, the revelation the spirit is to make to -you. Perhaps you don't wish to tell it? Why not? You must tell me; I -expect to hear it from you.' - -'Dear father, I know nothing about it,' she answered, growing pale, -but trying to keep her voice steady. 'I will never know anything of -what you imagine.' - -'I don't imagine!' he cried out. 'They are truths and religious -mysteries. Don Pasqualino is a pious soul. He _sees_. You could see, -too, if you liked, but you don't want to. Tell the truth: you sup -before going to bed?' - -'No, I do not,' she said, keeping down her head, resigned to the -torture of the inquiry, touching Amati's letter in her pocket. - -'A full body is impure; it cannot have heavenly inspirations,' he -said in a mystical way. 'What do you do before sleeping?' - -'I pray.' - -'Do you not ask for this favour with all your strength? Do you ask -for it?' - -She looked at her father, and opened her mouth to say 'No.' She did -not utter it; but he understood her. - -'It is natural the vision does not come--quite natural. Faith is -needed,' said he, with deep disdain. 'But what do you pray for? What -do you ask for, unloving heart?' - -'I ask for peace,' she said gravely, waving her hand. - -He shrugged his shoulders disdainfully. - -'I will make Don Pasqualino pray,' he added. 'You will get the -vision, whether you like or not; the spirits will insist on it. They -command, you understand. They are masters in this world and the next. -You will have the spirit by you when you least expect it; you will -see it....' - -'God help me!' said she, crossing herself with an uncontrollable -shiver. - -'Are you afraid?' he asked sneeringly, no longer, in his mad -excitement, seeing how she suffered. - -'Oh yes, I am,' she said feebly, as if she were fainting. - -She clutched Antonio Amati's honest, affectionate letter -convulsively, as if to get strength from it. But the Marquis paid -no more heed to his daughter. He had rung the bell, and Giovanni -came in in his old livery. He looked undecidedly at his master as he -handed him his hat and stick, as if he were alarmed to see him go -out earlier on that than on other Fridays. But what he dreaded was -unavoidable, because the Marquis said to him, 'Come with me,' going -towards his bedroom, a poor, bare room like the rest of the house. -Giovanni lighted a wretched candle to hold their conversation by. The -servant respectfully stood right before his master, who kept up his -aristocratic bearing and natural haughtiness, which even vice could -not subdue. - -'Giovanni, have you any money?' he asked in a lordly way. - -The servant bowed; he did not dare to answer 'No' exactly, so he said -nothing. - -'You must have some,' the Marquis went on rather sternly. 'I gave it -to you two weeks ago. Have you spent it all? You waste the little I -have left.' - -'My lord, last Friday you took it almost all. We must live. You -would not like her ladyship to die of hunger,' said Giovanni in a -complaining voice. - -'Very good, very good; I understand,' the Marquis interrupted, -irritated, but concealing his rage. 'I need at least fifty francs. -I have a debt of honour to pay this evening. Then to-morrow -evening'--emphasizing the words--'I will give it to you back. I will -give you other money, too, a lot of money, so that you will not -accuse me of letting my daughter die of hunger.' - -'You are master, my lord; but if you knew what money it is----' And -he took a torn note-book from his pocket. - -'What is it you refer to?' said the Marquis, casting devouring eyes -on the pocket-book. - -'Nothing, my lord;' and he respectfully handed his master a -fifty-franc note. - -He did it in such a way as to try and prevent the Marquis seeing a -second one he had; but the old gentleman dared not ask for it just -then. - -'You can go,' he said to the servant, who went off. - -He walked up and down the room impatiently; then he rang the bell -twice. Margherita came forward in the same trembling, almost -hesitating way as her husband. The old nobleman, descended from Guido -Cavalcanti and ten generations of gentlemen, now stooped to cheat -like a rogue. - -'Margherita, do you know if Bianca Maria has money?' he asked -absently. - -'Who would give it to her? The few francs she gets from Sister Maria -degli Angioli and her godfather at Christmas she gives to the poor.' - -'I thought she had some,' he said, putting on his great coat. 'I am -much embarrassed; I have to pay a debt this evening, and I supposed -Bianca Maria would help her father. I am very much annoyed. Perhaps -you have some money, Margherita?' - -'I have money,' said she, not daring to deny it, out of respect and -fear of her master. - -'Can you give me some? I'll give it you back to-morrow evening.' - -'Really,' she replied, 'I have some money, but I wished to buy a -dress for her ladyship. Your lordship does not notice it; but at -twenty, and as lovely as a queen, my mistress has only had two -dresses in two years--one for summer, the other for winter. She does -not even notice it herself, poor soul!... I had thought of buying one -for her. Your lordship could have given me back the money at your -leisure.' - -'Sister Margherita, give me that money now, and _to-morrow evening_, -I promise you before God, Bianca Maria will have money for ten -dresses.' - -'Amen,' said Margherita sadly and resignedly. - -She could not resist the emotion in her master's voice. Pulling out -a silk purse from her bodice, she detached a hundred-franc note from -a roll of notes. He took it and hid it at once in his purse, and -went out, saying with wild joy, in a queer tone of certainty, 'Till -to-morrow evening.' And he said 'Till to-morrow evening' again as he -passed through the drawing-room, standing by his daughter at a window -which she had opened to get fresh air to try and recover from her -moral and physical weakness. - -The Marquis di Formosa went down the steps quickly, lively as a lad -going to a love-tryst. Someone, in fact, was waiting for him, walking -up and down before the door. It was Don Pasqualino De Feo, the -medium. His sickly, mean look was not changed at all; he still wore -his torn, dirty clothes, but that evening his eyes were sparkling -in his thin face. He put his hand on the Marquis di Formosa's arm. -Formosa, who had not noticed him, greeted him with a smile. - -'Have you the money?' asked Don Pasqualino, lowering his eyelids as -if to hide the flame alight in his eyes. - -'Yes; how much is needed?' - -'Four Masses must be paid for in four parishes to-morrow morning. We -will make it five francs each Mass. I must spend the night in prayer. -The _spirit_ told me to shut myself up in San Pasquale at midnight. -I have promised a gift of ten francs to the sacristan; otherwise it -would not be allowed. We agreed to light four candles before San -Benedetto's altar; it is his day to-morrow. Ten francs--forty; yes, -forty francs would be enough.' - -He made his calculation coldly, keeping his eyes cast down, but his -queer, mysterious talk was unusually clear. The Marquis di Formosa -agreed with a nod to every new expense that the medium enumerated, -thinking it reasonable. - -'And how much for yourself?' he asked, after counting forty francs -into Don Pasqualino's hands. - -'You know I need nothing,' said the other, waving it off. - -'When do we meet?' - -'To-morrow morning after my vigil, if the spirit leaves me alive. -Friday last I was so beaten I thought I was dying,' the medium said -emphatically, but in a whisper. - -'I trust in you,' Formosa murmured. - -'Let us trust in _him_,' retorted the other fervently, showing the -whites of his eyes. - -'Pray to him--pray to him!' the Marquis implored. - -They separated after the Marquis had pressed two soft, wet fingers -that Don Pasqualino held out to him. De Feo went up again towards -Tarsia; Formosa went down towards Toledo. He was going to the -lottery bank, No. 117, at the corner of Nunzio Lane, where the -handsome, chestnut-bearded Don Crescenzio was the banker, and where -Formosa and his friends were in the habit of staking. The shop, -lately white-washed, glittered with light. Three gas-jets were -burning at full cock above the broad wooden counter and high wire -grating that cut off the bottom of the shop from one wall to the -other. Behind this counter, seated on three high stools in front -of openings in the grating, Don Crescenzio and his two clerks were -working, his lads, so called, though one of them--Don Baldassare--was -seventy, and might have been a hundred, he looked so decrepit; though -the other had one of those colourless faces, with indefinite lines -and colouring, that might be any age. - -They kept a big register open before them, called '_To mother and -daughter_'--that is to say, with double yellow slips of paper. They -wrote the numbers on them with heavy, sharp-pointed pens, so as to -have a clear, strong hand-writing, putting down each number twice; -one could see their lips move as they repeated it. Then they cut the -ticket with a dry click of the great scissors held in the right hand, -passed it quickly through a wooden saucer of black sand to dry it, -and, after taking the money, handed it to the gambler. Don Crescenzio -had the fine contented look of a good macaroni-eater, smiling in his -dark beard; whilst Don Baldassare, so bent he seemed hunchbacked, -his crooked nose drooping into his toothless mouth, worked very -phlegmatically. Don Checchino, the pale clerk, wrote hurriedly, so as -to finish and go away. - -When the Marquis di Formosa came in about half-past nine, the shop -was full of people putting down their stakes. The game began feebly -on Friday morning, increasing at mid-day, and in the evening it got -to the flood. The Marquis di Formosa beckoned, and Don Crescenzio -opened his little door and attentively handed him a chair. The -Marquis always spent Friday evenings there, seated in a corner, -watching all the people gambling. He tried to get up an excitement -by the sight, and succeeded to a great extent. He had the lottery -numbers and the money in his pocket; but he never played when he -first came in. He tasted the joy a long time, from seeing others do -it. - -The shop was full of people. They came in by two wide-open doors, -one in Toledo Street, the other in Nunzio Lane. The flood rolled -in and out, beating against the wooden counter, which was shiny -from human contact. The crowd was of all ranks and ages, with every -variety of the human face: good-looking and ugly, healthy and sickly, -gay, sorrowing, stupefied, and dull. The crowd came from all the -streets around, from Chianche della Carità and Corsea, San Tommaso -di Aquino cloister and Consiglio ward, Toledo and San Liborio Lane. -Certainly there was another lottery bank a short distance off, one -in Magnocavallo Street, and another in Pignasecca Road. In a few -hundred steps' radius there were several, all flaming with gas and -overflowing with people. But if a lottery bank was opened for every -three other shops in Naples, from Friday to Saturday, each would have -its crowd. Besides, lottery banks go by favour, like other things; -some are popular, others are not. The one in Nunzio Lane, like the -Plebiscito Square and the Monte Oliveto Road ones, had a great name -for luck. Large sums had been gained there. Many people, therefore, -came from a distance to stake a franc, five francs, or a hundred, at -the bank. - -The three groups in front of the wickets in Don Crescenzio's lottery -bank melted into one, for ever flowing and ebbing; and the Marquis di -Formosa, his hat a little back on his head, showing his fine forehead -with some drops of sweat on it, looked on this sight with enchanted -eyes, holding his ebony stick between his legs. Sometimes, on -recognising a friend or acquaintance before one of the openings, his -eyes shone with delight, much flattered that so many distinguished -worthy people shared his passion. He opened his eyes wide to see it -all, to take in the ever-changing picture, stretching his ears to -hear the conversations and soliloquys--for lottery gamblers speak -to themselves out loud, even in public--to find out which number -among so many mentioned came oftenest into people's mouths, so as to -play it that night or next morning. It was warm, and the light was -strong in that crowded little shop. But the Marquis di Formosa felt -a curious pleasure, a full wide sensation of vitality; he felt young -again, and in the pride of health and strength. - -In the meanwhile the crowd was not getting smaller; it increased. -While in front of white-faced Don Checchino's wicket a lot of -students made a row, calling out their own numbers, laughing, and -pushing each other, at old Don Baldassare's, in front of the humble -crowd were two or three great gamblers, who gave a whole string of -numbers, staking tens and hundreds of francs on them. The old clerk -wrote slowly, phlegmatically, and read them out before handing -the tickets. At Don Crescenzio's, where the work was got through -quicker, the scene changed every minute: the clerk came after the -soldier-servant sent to stake for his Colonel, a sulky workman gave -place to a stupid-looking country nurse, the old lay Sister stuck -herself behind the retired magistrate--all were chattering, looking -ecstatic, or deeply, sadly engrossed. That was how Don Domenico Mayer -looked, the misanthropic Under-Secretary of Finance. He was now -standing before Don Crescenzio, his eyes cast down, his cavernous -voice dictating ten _terni_, _terni secchi_, on which he boldly -played two francs each, to win ten thousand francs, less the tax on -personal estate. At the third _terno_, he asked fiercely: - -'How much is the tax?' - -'Thirteen and twenty per cent,' Don Crescenzio replied playfully, -waving his fat white hand in a graceful style. - -'Cheat of a Government!' a shrill voice called out behind Don -Domenico. - -It was Michele the shoeblack, waiting to play his small Friday -evening game. He was to play higher stakes next day, when he got the -money from Donna Concetta. In the meanwhile he tasted the delight of -being there as he waited his turn. At the third _terno secco_ Don -Domenico explained his game. - -'I don't care about taking the _ambo_; fifteen francs are nothing to -me.' - -'Indeed!' said complacent Don Crescenzio. - -He took the twenty francs, folded the coupons neatly, and handed them -to him. Getting on tiptoe to reach the wicket, the lame hunchback was -already dictating his numbers. He gave the explanation of each. - -'This I have played for twenty years ... this is Father Giuseppe -d'Avellino's _terno_ ... this is the _ambo_ of the day ... this is -the _terno_ of the man killed in Piazza degli Orefici.' - -But they were small stakes, seven or eight francs in all, and -those waiting behind him got impatient. By a curious attraction, -big gamblers went to Don Baldassare, the old man. Ninetto Costa, -in evening dress, just showing under his overcoat, his _gibus_ -hat rather askew on his curly, scented hair, his very white -teeth uncovered by smiling red lips, handed his list over to the -accountant, while he smoked a Havana calmly, cheerful as usual. He -satisfied Don Baldassare's inquiries pleasantly. The sum staked had -to be repeated to him as a precaution, not because he wondered at the -largeness of it. - -'On the first ticket seventy on the _terno_, twenty on the -_quaterna_?' - -'Yes, that is it;' and he puffed out odorous smoke. - -'On the second _terno secco_ a hundred and fifty is it?' - -'Yes, a hundred and fifty.' - -'On the third the whole ticket, two hundred and forty francs. Is that -right?' - -'Two hundred and forty--that is right.' - -The Marquis di Formosa, who had exchanged a smile with Ninetto Costa, -strained his ears to hear the ciphers. He quivered, touched with a -little envy, regretting he had not so much money to stake. When he -heard the whole amount, six hundred and fifty francs, and saw Ninetto -Costa pull out this sum lightly to hand to Don Baldassare, he grew -pale, thinking how much he could win with so high a risk. He went -out, almost choking, to get air at the door. There Ninetto Costa -joined him. Both gazed down Toledo, on its crowd and lights, without -seeing them. - -'You are lucky,' stammered the old nobleman; 'you have money.' - -'If you knew all!' said the other, grown grave suddenly. 'I pawned -jewels I paid twenty thousand francs for, and I only got five -thousand. The pawnshops keep down the loans on Friday and Saturday; -they get such a lot of things.' - -'What does it matter?--you will win,' said the old man, rolling his -eyes, excited by the vision of success. - -'On Monday I have a settlement on the Exchange--twenty thousand -francs' loss, and not a penny in my pocket. If I don't take -something, where will I put my head?' - -'You have good numbers?' Formosa asked anxiously. - -'I have staked everything. Pasqualino De Feo wanted fifty francs -to soothe the spirit. He gave me three _ternos_, two _ambos_, and -a _situato_. Then that common girl I pay court to, I gave her a -watch. She gave me some numbers, but under a symbol. You understand? -Then there are the Cabal numbers we play together, and Marzano's -cobbler's ones, and so on. I know if I don't win, Marquis, and a big -sum, I must go bankrupt;' and the thoughtless stock-broker's voice -trembled tragically. 'I am going to a dance--good-evening,' he said -then, lighting his cigar again; and he went off with his nimble step. - -Excited by this talk, the Marquis di Formosa went into the -lottery-shop again. Now, before the pale, flabby Don Checchino's -grill, leaning her elbow on the counter, Carmela, the cigar-girl, -using the ten francs Donna Concetta gave her for her earrings, was -saying her numbers, faintly, with pauses, playing three or four -popular tickets. - -'Six and twenty-two--put half a franc on that; eight, thirteen, -and eighty-four--two sous for the _ambo_ of it, eight sous for the -_terno_; then eight and ninety, on the _ambo_ another four sous.' - -She stopped now and then, as if other sad thoughts distracted her; a -flush coloured her delicate cheeks. When Don Checchino made up the -account, four francs forty centimes, she took out a roll of copper -money and began to count slowly. - -'Hurry up! hurry up!' an impatient woman's voice cried out. - -She turned round and recognised the woman, an old servant, Donna -Rosa, she that served in the house where her unfortunate sister -lived. They spoke in a whisper. - -'Oh, Donna Rosa, and how is Filomena?' - -'She is well; but she is in distress. She sent me to play this -number--three girls are playing it, rather, as there has been a wound -given, unluckily.' - -'Oh, Jesus! God bless her, poor sister! And you--where do you come -from?' - -'I live in Chianche Road, and I am going home.' - -'Greet her for me,' Carmela whispered eagerly. - -Pulling her shawl round her, she went away, with her head down, as if -overpowered by tiredness. Next to Rosa, the unfortunates' servant, -came Baron Annibale Lamarra, fat, pale, panting with his hurried walk -from one lottery bank to another. He played many tickets of twenty, -fifty, a hundred francs each; but, fearing to be spied on by his -miserly wife, whose dower he wasted, in spite of terrible scenes, -afraid of being caught by his father, a self-made man, he had got up -the fraud of playing a ticket at each place. He ran panting from one -lottery to another, trying to believe he would win on Saturday and -take back the promissory note from Don Gennaro Parascandolo, the one -that had his wife's signature. The thought of it made him shiver with -fright. When he got out of Don Crescenzio's lottery-shop he breathed -again, and reckoned up mentally. Of the two thousand francs, he had -given two hundred to Ambrogio Marzano, the cheerful old lawyer, for -arranging with Parascandolo; then he had staked one thousand six -hundred francs in different banks. He had two hundred francs left. -He would stake them next day, for perhaps he would dream of some -good number at night. It was no use risking it all at once. In the -meanwhile, from the other door, just as he got out, Don Ambrogio -Marzano came in. He stopped to talk with the Marquis di Formosa. - -'Have you some good lottery numbers?' Formosa asked anxiously. He -clung to the pleasant old man as a bearer of luck. - -'I have a forty-nine _secondo_ that is a love, my lord!' whispered -the enthusiast, so as not to be heard. - -'Ah! and what else?' - -'Twenty-seven, you know, is the sympathetic number at the end of the -month.' - -'I have it, too. What do you say of the fourteenth?' - -'It is _very good_, my lord; but do you wish really to know the -lightning, the dazzling number?' - -'Tell me--tell me!' - -'I tell you in brotherly love, because when I have a treasure I can't -be selfish with it, and keep it to myself. You may have it as a proof -of affection--it is thirty-five!' - -'Ah!' said the Marquis in a stupor of admiration. - -In the meanwhile, still quite serene, Don Ambrogio Marzano went to -place his stakes with Don Crescenzio. It is true he had had to give -the usual fifteen francs to his Cabalist cobbler. He had given ten to -Don Pasqualino, though he did not believe in him much, and a journey -to Marano, to take Father Illuminato a tortoise-shell snuff-box, had -cost him thirty francs; but he had taken them from a prepayment of -law expenses he got from a client, so that the two hundred francs was -intact, and he paid it all. Gaetano the glove-cutter, Annarella's -husband, whose child was dying, was waiting his turn to stake; but -it was a hard week, he had not got the loan of a sou, and had had -difficulty in getting an advance of five francs from his master. He -staked four of them, keeping back one for the numbers he might think -of on Saturday morning. - -Now, as night came on, Don Crescenzio and his tired, stupefied clerks -had a sort of confused look, like those that have sat too long at -musical and dancing entertainments, with dazzled eye and deafened -ears; but they went on working. It was the grand weekly harvest, -a gathering in of thousands, hundreds, and tens of francs for the -Government. Don Crescenzio got a percentage of it, and on good -weeks he gave his 'lads' a little extra. Even the people coming in -constantly to stake had a queer look. Some were uneasy, some were -looking round them suspiciously; others dragged along in a tired way, -or their eyes were distracted, as if they were out of their senses. -There were those who had just found out numbers, or got money to -stake; servants, their day's work over, had run off to the lottery -before going to bed; shop-lads, that had just shut up shop, and -youths who had run out between two acts at the Fiorentino Theatre, -were coming in; and Cabalists from the Diodati Café, or the wine-room -of the Testa d'Oro Café, who were all Don Crescenzio's customers, and -after long discussion now ended by risking all they had that evening; -then a magistrate, weighed down by children and poverty, on his way -back from a game of _scopa_, at a sou, ventured the twenty francs -that was to feed them for four days; and the pale, sickly painter -of saints, having insisted on getting the money for a Santa Candida -beforehand, came in just then to stake it, and he was certain to play -next morning what Donna Concetta had promised him for the statue of -the Immaculate Conception. - -Even a very elegant little street carriage stopped, and a hand in -pearl-gray gloves, studded with diamonds at the wrist, handed a -paper and money to a gallooned footman. The Marquis di Formosa, who -had left his seat out of nervousness, and was wandering among the -gamblers who came out and in, recognised the profile of a lady of his -own set, the Spanish Princess, Ines di Miradois. - -'It is true, then, that Francesco Althan takes everything from her,' -the old lord thought to himself. - -He joined Dr. Trifari and Professor Colaneri as they now came in, -still quivering with rage. They quarrelled by the hour about dividing -poor Rocco Galasso's seven hundred and sixty francs. Trifari made -out he had induced his fellow-villager, Rocco Galasso, to sign, and -he wanted five hundred francs. Colaneri made out that Rocco Galasso -had signed the promissory note so as to get the examination papers -from him beforehand, and by giving them he had gravely compromised -himself; he might lose his post through it; therefore the five -hundred francs were his. The struggle had been tremendous. They -nearly came to blows twice; but Trifari very unwillingly, choking -with rage, gave in, because he knew Colaneri had revelations at -night--a thing he, a full-blooded heretical blasphemer, did not have. -And Colaneri gave in because Trifari brought him many students to do -business with for the examinations--a most dangerous thing to do, and -he himself was afraid of the risk, but he yielded to temptation to -satisfy his vices. In short, they divided the seven hundred and sixty -francs. They had met the medium, who asked them in an inspired tone -if they wished to do alms of five francs to St. Joseph. They gave it, -thinking the question meant numbers, and that they ought to play five -for the money and nineteen for St. Joseph's number. All the medium -says on Friday evening and Saturday morning means lottery numbers. -So that Trifari and Colaneri, after making their game on their -favourite numbers, came down at once to play these less probable -ones, according to them; then they played the popular numbers, which -were three and four, just in case; and at last, leaning on the great -wooden counter, they looked in each other's faces with an idiotic -grin, still thinking out if they had forgotten anything. - -In spite of the late hour, people went on crowding up Don -Crescenzio's lottery bank. He would get a large profit this last -Friday in March, owing to a flowing back of malignant fever, one -of those wild, gathered-up rushes of the slow disease that eats up -Naples' fortunes. There were people coming out of theatres who had -thought all evening about what ticket to play; they did not wish to -put off doing so till Saturday, for fear of forgetting it in the few -morning hours left. There were night-cabmen who stopped before the -shop, came down from the box, and waited their turn to play, the -inseparable whip in hand, with the patient eyes of those accustomed -to long waiting; there were those ragged, wretched, wandering -night-hawkers, shadowy figures, who shivered with fright in the -bright warm gaslight--vendors of newspapers, fritters, pickers-up -of cigar-ends, sellers of _pizze_, of beans, of grass for the horses -of night-cabs passing from time to time, calling out their wares; -and they, too, stopped at the lottery-stand, and went in, not able -to resist playing a franc, half a franc, a few sous. The driver and -two porters of the omnibus that takes travellers by the last train to -the Allegria Hotel came in; whilst the bus-conductors and drivers in -Carità Square, as soon as their day's run was over, which must have -made them dead-tired, had come to stake on the lottery before going -home. - -Formosa had not made up his mind to play yet, with that sort of -dallying with time all lovers and excitable people go in for. In a -corner of the entrance, so as to let people pass, he conversed with -Trifari and Colaneri, who did not want to leave either, though they -had nothing left to stake. They stood to enjoy that light, warmth, -and crowd, the money flowing in, the lottery-tickets going out, -pledges of fortune and riches, and to muse over which of them was the -right one. Which? which? Here was the tremendous, delightful doubt, -the immense, burning unknown, the mystery that smiled through the -veil that cannot be lifted. - -After taking a little walk through Toledo, being unable to resist the -attraction, Ambrogio Marzano, the lawyer, had come back, too, and -joined his little group of Cabalist friends, conversing with them -by fits and starts. Quite incapable of not mentioning his number, -his crowning stroke, he told them of thirty-five, so that Colaneri -and Trifari went in to play it, and he, Marzano, went in to play -seventy-three, which Colaneri had given him. No, Formosa was not -going to stake yet. But the end of his enjoyment was drawing near; he -felt the great moment coming on, and in one of his fervent, mystic -bursts he prayed silently to the Lord, the Casa Cavalcanti Madonna, -the Ecce Homo he worshipped in his family chapel, to enlighten and -inspire him, to do him the one great favour he had asked for years. -His friends, after tasting this other drop of pleasure, came out -again, and chatted vivaciously about numbers, getting excited with -the big shadows that now filled Toledo, broken by that square of -light the lottery lamp cast on the pavement. Just then they saw -Cesare Fragalà go in. After shutting his shop, the gay confectioner -always spent a couple of hours at his club to play dominoes with -other tradesmen--grocers, drapers, oilmen, fishmongers--putting down -a sou a game. On Friday evening he played these long games, too, but -rather distractedly, nervous, in spite of his youthful gaiety, and he -made off rather early to go to his dear Don Crescenzio's to make his -weekly large stake. - -Really, there was a little crabbedness in his gambling ardour, -something like a feeling of remorse, of shame at throwing away his -money in that way, so he came late to the lottery bank, when there -were fewer people about to see and know him. He was put out that -evening on Formosa greeting him; it annoyed him to be seen by his -neighbour. Then he shrugged his shoulders, and stood by his dearest -friend Don Crescenzio, who went on writing, stroking his fine beard, -making a lot of fine flourishes with his pen. He began to dictate his -numbers to him on and on, showing his white teeth in a smile. Don -Crescenzio wrote on quite unmoved. For the six months that Cesare -Fragalà played at his bank the stakes had gone on increasing. In that -flood of numbers dictated, Don Crescenzio, with his peculiar memory, -recognised the medium's numbers--that is to say, his symbols, that -everyone had interpreted differently, so that Formosa, Colaneri, -Trifari, Marzano, Ninetto Costa, Cesare Fragalà, and all who took -their luck on Don Pasqualino's words, played different numbers, and -a great many of them, and thus they all managed now and then to make -some small hazardous gain--fifteen or twenty crowns over a _situato_, -six hundred francs over an _ambo_--very seldom, it is true, but -often enough to fan their passion and make them all slaves to Don -Pasqualino's cloudy phrases. So with a slight smile, while he was -adding up the sum, Don Crescenzio said: - -'You, too, are one of Pasqualino De Feo's clients?' - -'You know him?' asked Fragalà anxiously. - -'Eh, we are friends,' Crescenzio muttered. - -'He knows the numbers, does he not?' Fragalà asked, with a quiver in -his throat. - -'Often he gets them right.' - -'How often?' - -'When his client is in God's favour,' the agent answered -enigmatically. Wishing to end the conversation, he politely handed -over the tickets, saying: 'Five hundred and forty francs.' - -Fragalà paid stolidly with a tradesman's calm, without changing -expression. But when he got out of the lottery-shop, at the door, -his smile faded; he remembered he had made his first debt to a -money-lender that day, and that he had given security on the shop -funds, having also taken out the whole balance to make up the big -sum he had staked. It was to get away from these sad thoughts that -he joined the group of Cabalists. At one in the morning, standing in -front of the gambling place, they neither felt the hours passing, -the lateness, nor the penetrating damp; for they burned with that -constant inward fire that flamed up from Friday to Saturday. They -began the same stories again, at great length, for the thousandth -time, interrupting each other, getting heated and excited, staring at -each other with wild, humid eyes, as if they were possessed. Cesare -Fragalà listened, trying to get the same fever, but not succeeding; -for he was only a weak soul, not mad, nor subject to nerves. When -they all went over the reasons that made them gamble, such and such -material and moral needs, urgent and impelling, that the lottery -alone could satisfy, he listened in a melancholy way. At one point he -said: - -'I--I need sixty thousand francs to open a shop towards San -Ferdinando, and make a marriage portion for Agnesina.' - -A deep sadness overpowered him. Good, honest, incapable of lying -about anything to his wife, he had deceived her for months, like a -cheat; he took the ledgers she often stopped to turn over out of her -hands, and with hourly caution he tried to hide his vice from her, -thus destroying his good temper and ease. - -'If it were not for this shop, if it were not for Agnesina----' he -muttered, a prey to inconsolable bitterness. - -Now, about half-past one, the time came to shut the lottery bank, -as the customers became fewer and fewer; and at last the Marquis di -Formosa made up his mind to go and stake. Notes in hand, he said the -lottery numbers slowly over to Don Crescenzio. There was a slight -tremor in his voice, and his eyes stared at the string of figures -on the paper, as if he was enjoying himself. The gambling-shop was -deserted now. His Cabalist friends, Colaneri, Trifari, Marzano, -bringing Fragalà with them, who was in very low spirits, got behind -the Marquis di Formosa to listen to his numbers, and either winked -approval or shook their heads unbelievingly--in short, they served -at Formosa's by no means short gambling operations with the gravity -of priests taking part in a Bishop's service. Don Baldassare, the -decrepit old man, and pale-faced Don Checchino, stood motionless -behind the counter, their eyes half shut, dead-tired with that ten -hours' gabbling, thinking of having to go through the same thing next -day, from seven till noon, with great heat the last hour. Only Don -Crescenzio kept up his calm, placid, Neapolitan felicity, that has -its plate of macaroni secure, and serenely watches others' excitement -from behind a phantom plate of macaroni, many plates of it in the -great imaginative country of Cockayne. The Marquis di Formosa, -greatly excited, played high. He put down what Giovanni got from -Concetta the money-lender, what the lady's-maid got from Don Gennaro -Parascandolo, and seventy francs he got from the pawn-shop for two -artistic antique gilt-bronze candle-sticks, found in a lumber-room in -his house--two hundred and twenty francs in all. He was still pallid, -discontented, and melancholy, suddenly mistrustful of the value of -some numbers, sorry not to be able to risk more on others, in despair -at the end at not being able to stake on all the others, all that -were in his calculations. - -So the lover, after a long-wished-for interview with his lady, having -got it, sees the moments fly past with frightful rapidity, and is -afterwards deeply grieved at not having said to the lady a word of -what he felt. This old man, whose ruling passion was not dulled by -age, bent his head, crushed suddenly, as if he had lived ten years -in a minute. He went out slowly and silently with the others, slow -and silent, too, through the dark street leading to his house. They -were all cold at that late hour. They shivered, and pulled their -great-coats round them, holding their heads down, not speaking to -each other. Thus they got as far as Dante Piazza, under the Rossi -Palace, where the cabalistic talk began again. They went two or -three times up and down the piazza, while the poet's stern white -statue seemed to scorn them with its blank eyeballs. They took poor -Fragalà with them, eaten up now by overpowering remorse for having -thrown away so much money that belonged to his family. But it was no -use. He gambled because he was a weak, cheerful creature, pricked on -by commercial ambition. He would never be a Cabalist. The others' -madness sadly surprised him, and they never could have infected him -with it. Still, he stayed with them, feeling that he had not the -strength to go home and lie by his wife's side with this remorse on -him for having thrown away five hundred francs. He began to look -distractedly and fixedly at the shadows, as if he saw some frightful -vision. At one point Marzano bowed and went off towards Porta Medina -archway, for he lived in Tribunale Road. But the others continued -to walk up and down, raving, in the darkness and cold, which they -no longer felt. The Marquis di Formosa was the most fervent of all. -His eyes sparkled, his figure stood out in the gloom, strong and -vigorous, like a man of thirty. Then Colaneri and Trifari took leave. -They both lived in a poor house in Cavone Street. Then Formosa went -on, with a monologue, speaking to Fragalà, the shadows, or himself. -They were going down very slowly towards Toledo once more, when a -quiet voice greeted them: - -'Good-night, gentlemen!' - -'Good-night, Don Crescenzio,' said the Marquis. 'Have you shut up, -eh? Was it a good day?' - -'Thirty-two thousand five hundred and twenty-seven francs was the sum -staked,' said the banker, all in one breath. - -Silence followed. - -'Do you not play, Don Crescenzio?' Fragalà asked. - -'No, never. Good-night.' - -'Good night.' - -He went off smartly, and they, seeing the lottery bank was shut now, -turned back heavily. It was with a sigh that they knocked gently at -the palace gate. They were sorry to go home. They parted on the first -landing with a hand-shake and a smile. - - - - - CHAPTER IX - - BIANCA MARIA'S VISION - - -Both the gamblers went upstairs very quietly, like evil-doers or -timid young fellows who have disobeyed their father's orders; each -carried a latchkey, and shut the door without any noise. On going -into his apartments and his own room, Cesare Fragalà, taking a -fit of penitence, shook like a child; only his sleeping wife's -placid breathing calmed him a little. He was afraid of awakening -her, in case she questioned him, and guessed the truth with that -extraordinary alarming intuition women have. He undressed by the -slender light of a lamp before St. Agnes, and got into bed with the -greatest caution, trembling--yes, trembling--lest he should wake his -wife; and in his humble, contrite, desolate heart he swore not to -stake another sou. Only this oath and his healthy constitution freed -him from sleeplessness, which sits at the bedhead of all gamblers. - -Sleeplessness had visited Formosa's pillows. He had vainly tried to -read Rutilio Benincasa's mathematical table, to calm his wandering -thoughts; the figures danced in a ring before his eyes. He vainly -tried to say the rosary, to fix his mind on prayer, to humiliate his -heart before the Eternal Will; prayer came coldly and haltingly from -his lips. A strong fever of fancy held him, and put his nerves on -the rack; it made him start up in his bed, quivering like a violin -string: a madness took hold of him, and, from the black darkness and -solitude, made itself all-powerful over his thoughts and feelings. He -could not stay in bed; in spite of the cold, he got up and dressed, -and began to walk about in his freezing room. He did not feel cold; -his hands and head were warm; the candle-flame seemed a great blaze -to him. All was silent in the house; he never allowed anyone to wait -up for him. The two poor old servants--Giovanni and Margherita--whom -he had despoiled of their money got on loan, to keep Bianca Maria -alive, were sleeping in the closet--tired and sorrowful, perhaps. -Bianca Maria was asleep in her cold room many hours ago certainly. -But the Marquis di Formosa, devoured by his gambling folly, hoping -and despairing of winning from one moment to another, implored God, -the Virgin, the saints, the souls of his dead, his guardian angel, -Fortune, all the powers of heaven and earth, to help him to win, to -get the victory; he forgot his fears as a man and a Christian so far -as to ask it from evil spirits, even. Formosa, burning with such -madness, could not bear that all in the house should sleep quietly, -placidly, while he was torn with anguish and hope. Ah no! he was not -afraid of solitude and night, little noises from old furniture, old -creaking ceilings, or noisy doors; he was afraid of nothing in that -icy house where his wife died of languor and sorrow, where her meek -shade still seemed to linger. Fear! He asked, he implored a voice, -a revelation, a vision; he would have been pleased, happy, and not -frightened, if he had seen something. But his soul was too stained -with sin, his heart was unclean from earthly desires; a white soul, a -virginal heart, was needed to get this heavenly grace, by which one -_saw_ what other human eyes were not allowed to see. Bianca Maria -was sleeping; she slept, cold creature! though so near to Grace, -and still refused to satisfy her father's wishes. He left his room, -crossed the passage in front of the drawing-room, and stopped at his -daughter's closed door. He listened--no sound. She was sleeping, -cold-hearted girl! She had no pity for her father's tortures, and -would not pray God and the Virgin for a vision. A dull rage mingled -with his Friday madness; he went up and down the passage more than -once, trying to go away from his daughter's room; but he could not -manage it: his curiosity was so strong to know from her the spirit's -revelation that she certainly must have had that night; it could not -have failed to come. Don Pasqualino, the medium, after a three days' -voluntary fast, after two nights' flagellation on his shoulders and -bare, thin breast, had heard from the spirit who helped him that -Bianca Maria would get the revelation. The spirit does not lie. Then -involuntarily, as if pushed by a force he must obey, he took hold of -the door-handle; it creaked, the door opened. But a sharp cry from -inside answered to the noise--a girl's cry, whose light, watchful -sleep had been disturbed. She rose up in bed, in her white nightgown, -her black hair loose on her shoulders, eyes wide open, and hands -clutching the coverlet. - -'It is I, Bianca--it is I,' the Marquis di Formosa murmured, coming -forward. - -'Who--who is it?' she asked, shaking with fear, not daring to move. - -'I--it is I, Bianca,' he repeated, getting impatient. - -She sighed deeply without saying anything, but her breathing was -still alarmed. The Marquis had got to his daughter's bed, guided by -the faint light of a lamp before a small image of the Virgin. - -The girl fell back on the pillows and looked at the ceiling. The -Marquis sat down by her bed, and his nervous fingers played with the -white fringe of the coverlid. - -'Why were you so frightened?' he asked, after a long silence. - -'I don't know; it is stronger than I am.' - -'When one is in the Lord's grace there is no need for fear,' he -remarked sententiously and severely. 'Have you some mortal sin on -your conscience?' - -'No ... I don't think so, at least,' she said, hesitating. - -They kept silence. The Marquis di Formosa looked into the shadows. - -'Has the spirit come?' he asked afterwards, in a whispered, -mysterious tone. - -'Oh, do not speak of that,' she said, sighing again, shutting her -eyes, and hiding her face in her hands. - -'Has it come?' he insisted; a gambler's cruelty was raging in him now. - -'For mercy's sake, if you love me, don't speak of that!' she said, -taking his hand and kissing it, so as to move him more. - -'Tell me, has it come?' he again repeated implacably. - -She, feeling she could not escape that persecution, looked -despairingly towards the Virgin, then hid her face in the pillows. - -'Tell me, tell me, if it has come!' he cried out, bending over the -pillows, as if to breathe his magnetic curiosity into his daughter's -face. - -'No, it has not,' she said, in a thread of a voice. - -'You are lying.' - -'I am not.' - -'You are lying. The spirit has been here, I feel it.' - -'Be good to me; say no more about this,' she said, trembling -dreadfully. - -'How did you see it? Awake? dozing? sleeping? It was a white figure, -was it not, with lowered eyelids, but smiling?... What did it say to -you? A very weak voice, wasn't it? Something you alone could have -heard?' - -'Father, you want to kill me,' she uttered desolately. - -These are womanly fears,' said he disdainfully. 'Who ever died -through a communication from on high? The meeting of soul and spirit -is a spring of life. Bianca Maria, don't be ungrateful, don't be -cruel; tell me all.' - -'You are trying to kill me,' she repeated, desperately and resignedly. - -'You are a fool! Do you wish me, your father, to pray to you? Well, I -will; there is nothing else to be done. Children are ungrateful and -wicked; they give back cruelty for our love. I pray to you, Bianca, I -beg of you, as if you were my patron saint, to tell me all.' - -'I will die of this, father,' she murmured, her voice choked in the -pillows that helped her to curb her crying and sobs. - -'Listen, Bianca,' he went on coldly, keeping in his anger; 'you must -believe me. I am a man, I am sane, I am in my senses, I can reason. -Well, it is an article of faith with me, as clear as the light, -as the sun, that you have had to-night, or will have, a spirit's -apparition. It will come to bless our family; it will tell you words -of happiness. If it has come, so much the better; your duty as an -obedient, loving daughter of the House of Cavalcanti is to tell me -all, at once.' - -'I know nothing,' she said dryly. - -'Do you swear it?' - -'I swear that I know nothing.' - -'Then this vision will come in the succeeding hours of the night. I -am going into the chapel, to pray. I am a sinner, but sinners, too, -can ask for grace. I will pray that you may see and feel the spirit.' - -'No, don't go away!' she cried out, getting up in her bed and -catching hold of his arm with a despairing clutch. - -'Why should I not?' - -'Don't go away, for the love of God! If you have any affection for -me, stay here.' - -'I must go and pray, Bianca,' he exclaimed, carried away by -excitement, not understanding his daughter's convulsive state. - -'No, no--stay; I can't be left alone here, or I'll die of fright.' -She spoke restlessly, quite pallid, her trembling hands still -clutching her father's arm. She dared not look round. With her head -down on her breast, she shut her eyes and bit her lips; while he, in -his mad obstinacy, looked fixedly at his daughter, thinking he saw -in her that spiritual disorder that must, by a fatality, go with the -great miracles that have to do with the soul. - -'How do you feel?' he questioned, very deeply and intensely, as if he -wished to tear the truth from her soul. - -'Stay here, stay here,' said she, her teeth chattering with terror. - -'You see something?' he asked suggestively, with an intensity in his -voice and will that was bound to influence that fragile feminine -frame, broken as it was by the nervous shock. - -'I am afraid to see--I am afraid!' she said, very low, leaning her -forehead on her father's arm. - -'Don't be afraid, dear; don't fear,' he whispered tenderly, -paternally caressing her black hair. - -'Be silent; keep silence,' said she, with a quick shiver. She -continued to lean on his shoulder, hiding her face, shrinking all -over. The Marquis put his arm round her waist, to keep up her -quivering, feeble body; she hid more, clinging to her father as to a -raft of safety. He sometimes felt her quiver all through her nerves. - -'What is the matter?' he asked then. - -'No, no!' she said, more by gesture than voice. - -'Look, look--don't be frightened,' suggested the deluded man. - -'Be silent!' she answered, shuddering. He held her up, waiting with -a madman's patience that would wait for hours, days, months, years, -provided the truth of his delusion were proved. - -'Bianca darling,' the Marquis murmured, sometimes encouraging -her tenderly. She answered with a sigh, that seemed a lamenting, -suffering child's sob. Holding her against his breast, Formosa -felt the strong rigidity of that young sickly frame shaken by long -shivers. When she trembled all over, he felt the rebound. It seemed -to him the implored revelation was imminent. He again said to her, -obstinately, pitilessly, 'How do you feel?' She waved her hand, in an -alarmed way, as if she wished to chase away a frightful thought or a -dreadful vision. What did the agony of that young breast matter to -him, the fatal want of balance in the nerves? In that chilly virginal -room, a circle of light on the ceiling from the Virgin's lamp alone -breaking the shadow, with the quivering form in his arms, the soul -trembling before Divine mysteries, he felt it a solemn moment; -time and space were not. He, Formosa, was facing at last the great -mystery. From his innocent daughter's lips he would know his life's -secret, his future: the fatal ciphers that contained his fortune--the -spirit would tell Bianca Maria everything, and she would tell him. - -'Bianca, Bianca, implore _him_ to come and tell you whether we are to -live or die. Pray to him, because _he_, the spirit, comes forth from -the Divine, to tell you the divine word; pray to him, if he is here -near you, or in you, if he is before your eyes or your fancy; pray to -him, Bianca, pray to him. Our life is at stake. Save us, Bianca, save -us!'... - -He went on speaking, incoherently, invoking the spirit's presence, -addressing the wildest, saddest prayers to her and to him. The girl, -trembling, shivering, her teeth chattering with terror, clung on her -father's neck, like a suffering child, fastened like a vice. She -said no more, but it was evident the hour, the surroundings, and her -father's voice increased her nervousness. A stifled sob came from her -breast, and a very faint, constant lament, like a dying child's, from -her lips. He spoke to her all the time, but when he got more urgent, -almost wrathful in his sorrow, he felt her arms twitching with -despair. Then gradually a change came. To begin with, Bianca's hands -and forehead were, as usual, icy cold; she was so bloodless, she had -lost her vital heat. Indeed, in that spasm the deluded old man had -felt that her whole body was frozen. Suddenly, at intervals, when -her teeth stopped chattering and her arms relaxed through debility, -he felt a slight heat rising under the skin on her hands and up to -her forehead. It seemed a current of heat spreading all through her -young body, which filled her impoverished veins with warm blood, and -made her forehead and hands burn. He beard her breathing get more -distressed; sometimes her breast rose with a long sigh, as if she -needed air. Twice he tried to put her head down on the pillow, but -she gave a frightened shiver. - -'Don't leave me alone, for the love of God!' she stammered, like a -baby. - -'I won't leave you. Tell me what you see,' he repeated, indomitable -and implacable. - -'It is dreadful, dreadful!' Bianca stammered, going on trembling, -trembling as if she had the body of an old woman of seventy. - -'What is dreadful? Speak, Bianca, tell me everything; tell me what -you have seen.' - -'Oh!' lamented she despondingly. - -Now the teeth had given up chattering, her short breathing came from -her throat faintly, she burnt all over, and her quick respiration -scorched her father's neck where her head leant; besides this, her -temples and pulse beat rapidly, but her father, possessed altogether -by his madness, in the mysterious half-light of that chilly night, -close to the poor drowsy soul in the tortured body, lost all sense of -realities. His sick fancy keenly enjoyed the hour's drama, without -taking in how cruel it was. He was quivering with joy, indeed, as he -believed the great moment of the spirit's revelation had come; the -fortunes of the House of Cavalcanti were to be decided that moment. -His daughter's uneasiness, terror, spasms, broken words, were easily -explained; it was the Favour drawing near. So much time, so long had -gone by in unhappiness and wretchedness; now all was to be changed. -To-morrow he and his daughter would be rich--have millions! Oppressed -and uneasy, Bianca Maria had slid down from her father's breast on to -the pillows; her whistling breath was very audible, her eyes shone -curiously. Nailed to the spot by his unhealthy curiosity, the Marquis -stood by the bed, watching his daughter's every movement by the -lamp-light, struck down as she was on that bed of sorrow. Suddenly, -as if by an electric shock, her hands clutched the coverlet wildly; a -hoarse cry came from her throat. - -'What is it?' the Marquis cried out, shaken also. - -'It is the spirit--the spirit!' she stammered, her voice changed to a -deep cavernous tone. - -'Where is it?' the father said in a whisper. - -'In the doorway! Look at it; it is there!' she said firmly and -forcibly, staring at the door. - -'I see nothing--nothing! I am a poor sinner!' Formosa cried out -despairingly. - -'The spirit is there,' she whispered, as if she heard nothing. - -'How is it clad? What is it doing? What does it say? Bianca, Bianca, -pray to it!' - -'It is clad in white ... it does not move ... it says nothing ...' -she murmured in a dreamy way. - -'Implore him--implore him to speak to you. You are free from sin, -Bianca.' - -'It does not speak ... it will not speak!' - -'Bianca, pray in God's name, by His strength and power.' - -They kept silence. The Marquis di Formosa kept his whole attention on -the door where his daughter alone saw the spirit, his whole soul in -prayer. She lay still more restless; her burning hands clutched the -folds of the sheet between her fingers. - -'What does it say?' - -'It says nothing.' - -'But why will it not speak? Why has it come if it will not speak?' - -'It does not answer me,' she replied, still in the same voice that -seemed to come from a distance. - -'But what is it doing?' - -'It looks at me ... looks at me steadily ... the eyes are so sad, so -sad. It looks pityingly at me, just as if I were dead. Am I dead, -then?' - -'Now it will go away without telling you anything!' Formosa shouted -out. 'Ask him what numbers come out to-morrow.' - -She gave an agonized moan. - -'I think it is weeping now, as if I were dead; it looks so to me. -Tears fall down its cheeks.' - -'Tears, sixty-five,' Formosa said to himself, as if he feared someone -would hear him. - -'It raises its hand to greet me....' - -'Look how many fingers it lifts--look well; make no mistake.' - -'Three fingers. It bows to me; it wants to go away....' - -'Tell him to come back; pray him to--pray....' - -'He signs "yes,"' Bianca Maria went on after a pause. 'It is going -away--it has gone; it has disappeared....' - -'Let us praise God!' Formosa cried out, kneeling at the foot of the -bed. 'The fingers three, the hand five, tears sixty-five; we must -find out the number for the dead girl. Let us thank God!' - -'Yes, yes,' the girl murmured in a queer tone; 'we must find out the -number for the dead girl--we must find out....' - -'We will find out,' exclaimed Formosa, laughing like a madman. - -He thought no more about his daughter, who was now in a state of -high fever with the violence of the _effimere_, that carries off -a life in twenty-four hours. She panted, drinking in the air with -her open mouth, like a dying bird. The blood beat so wildly in her -veins it seemed it would burst them; her whole slender form burned -like red-hot iron. But the Marquis di Formosa only felt a youthful -impatience; he had gone twice to the window to see if day was -breaking. No; he had still some hours to wait before he could play -the spirit's numbers. It occurred to him he had no more money. How -could he play? Not a franc. It was a cruel thing, this continual -thirst nothing could satisfy. But he would find the money, if he had -to sell the last of his furniture and pawn himself. He would get it, -by Gad! now he had got the revelation--now the ministering spirit had -deigned to enter his house. His fortune was in his hands; he would -put everything on the spirit's numbers. - -'Oh, Ecce Homo! Ecce Homo of Cavalcanti House! it was you did us -this favour. A new chapel must be added for you, and four lamps of -massive silver, always kept lit, in remembrance of what you have done -for us.' The Ecce Homo would help him to get the money too. Good and -powerful Ecce Homo, the family protector, give money--money to gamble -with! - -Overmastered by his fervent, passionate thoughts, the Marquis di -Formosa spoke aloud, gesticulating with his hands through his hair, -wandering about the room like a madman. - -Bianca Maria went on raving in a whisper, because her breath was -failing, softly, vaguely speaking of Maria degli Angioli, or with -deep melancholy of a fresh, laughing, green country place she would -like to live in, down there far, far off. But the old man, carried -away by his thoughts, no longer listened to her, and as the cold dawn -of March burst forth, two deliriums were confused together in that -room--father's and daughter's tragically. - - * * * * * - -In the livid cold light of dawn the Marquis di Formosa wandered in a -shaky way, with wild-looking eyes and pallid face, through his flat, -searching his empty drawers and sparse furniture for something to -sell or pawn. He found nothing. He opened the drawers with trembling -hands again, and groped in them, shaking them hard, then he looked -around with madness in his gaze, thinking he would like to sell or -pawn the bare walls of the house that had once been his. Nothing, -nothing! Little by little, eaten up by the lottery, valuable jewels -had disappeared, heavy antique and modern silver plate, pictures by -great masters, precious books, artistic rarities in bronze, ivory, -carved wood--the house was stripped, only the furniture that it would -have been disgraceful to part with was left. Alas! nothing could be -found to turn into money so as to play the spirit's number. He wrung -his hands despairingly; he had left Bianca Maria in a feverish, -oppressed stupor, a few confused words still came from her lips, -and the servants were still sleeping. He even went into the chapel, -wildly; but the lamps burning there were brass. He had bought the -altar vases himself when he sold the real silver ones, and had got -imitation silver instead. He thought a moment of taking the silver -crown from the Virgin's head, and the seven swords in her heart that -represent the great agonized Mother's sorrows, but a mysterious dread -restrained him. - -He went out without being able to say a prayer even, the night's -delusion and Saturday morning's feverish haste held him so strongly -that dawn. He thought who he could borrow money from, but could -not find anyone; he held his beating temples to keep his thoughts -together, so as to get what he wanted. All friends of his own -rank and his great relations kept away from him after his wife's -death; but only after he had laid them all under contribution for -his gambling. His present friends? They were all gamblers, all -making desperate attempts that morning to go on staking; they would -certainly not lend money--each one thought of himself, looked out for -himself. New friends? That passion prevented him from finding any, -except that morbid set of madmen, damned like himself. A great deal -of money was needed, as the spirit had deigned to reveal himself; a -fortune must be made that day or never. Suddenly a flash of light -struck him: a name came to his mind. He could give him the money; -he was a man of honour; he had a lot of money; he would not refuse -a Formosa a small loan. While he wrote to Dr. Antonio Amati at his -desk, on a leaf torn from a book full of ciphers, he thought he need -not feel ashamed to ask a loan from a stranger, for he would give it -back that very evening. After he had written, one thought made him -tremble: if Amati said 'No'? He was a mere acquaintance, a stranger; -money hardens all hearts. - -'Take this letter to Dr. Amati, and bring the answer back,' he said -to Giovanni, who came in, hardly awake, on being rung for. - -'He will be asleep....' - -'Take it!' Formosa ordered. He bit his lips, certain now that Amati -would refuse; he felt a blush of shame come to his cheek. But he -must have money--he must, at whatever cost! He flung himself in the -easy-chair, looking at the ciphers on bits of paper scattered on the -desk without seeing them; he felt overcome by that irrepressible rage -of his ruling passion, at war with realities. - -'When he awakes he will give the answer,' said Giovanni, coming in, -silently waiting his master's orders. - -'Giovanni, give me the rest of the money you have,' said Formosa -sullenly. - -'I haven't got any, sir,' the other answered, shaking all over. - -'Don't tell lies; you have other fifty francs. Give me them at -once....' - -'My lord, I took the loan of it from a money-lender. I must give it -back at so much a week; don't take it from me....' - -'That does not matter to me,' Formosa said haughtily. - -'Don't take it from me, my lord. If you knew what it was needed -for....' - -'It does not matter to me' the Marquis said fiercely. 'Give me the -fifty francs....' - -'They are for getting food for her ladyship....' - -'That does not matter to me!' Formosa yelled. - -'As that is so, I obey,' said the old servant despairingly, and he -took out the other fifty-franc note. The Marquis snatched at it like -a thief, and put it quickly in his pocket. - -'Your wife has money, too; get it from her,' Formosa went on again -coldly. - -'Where could my wife get it?' - -'She has some. Make her give it to you, and bring it here. Spare me -a scene. If your wife denies it, you can leave the house at once, -both of you.' - -'No, my lord--no; I am going at once,' said the servant humbly. - -But a scene followed in there; there was long, agitated talk between -the husband and wife. The woman did not wish to let her money be -carried off; she cried, wept, and sobbed. Silence at last, and then a -moaning. - -Giovanni came in again, with his old face distorted, and bent more, -as if struck by paralysis. As he put another fifty francs down on -the desk, silently, his eyes red with the rare, burning tears of old -age, the Marquis was so struck by his appearance that he suddenly -relented, and said good-naturedly: - -'It is three hundred francs, between yesterday evening and to-day. -This evening you will get it all.' - -'How am I to get to-day's dinner?' - -'I will see about it--at _four o'clock_,' the Marquis said vaguely. - -'Her ladyship is ill; she will want a little soup this evening,' the -servant muttered. - -Then, searching his pockets, with a miserly grimace, the Marquis di -Formosa gave three francs to the man, following them with a greedy -look. - -There was a knock. Formosa started. It was Dr. Amati's answer. It -did not matter now if he said 'No.' But as he got the envelope in -his hands, he knew by touch that the money he wanted was there, -and, red with delight, he put the envelope in his pocket without -opening it. He went out now, at eight in the morning, as if carried -by an irresistible breath of wind; he went without turning back to -look at his sick child, his bare house, his weeping servants, who -had given him everything, the neighbour whose visits he had not -paid for, and yet dared to ask a loan of money from--he went off, -taking three hundred and fifty francs with him, to put it all on the -spirit's numbers, while he had left his poor old servants fasting, -and had haggled over a little soup for Bianca Maria. No one in the -house saw him again till mid-day. His daughter lay in bed, in a -burning fever, breathing with difficulty, often asking for something -to drink--nothing else. Margherita sat down by the bed, saying the -Rosary over to herself to pass the time. She often put her hand -on the invalid's forehead, alarmed at its being so hot. The sick -girl said nothing; she was sleeping, breathing uneasily. Suddenly, -opening her eyes, she said distinctly to Margherita: - -'Call the doctor to me.' - -'He won't be at home now.' - -'When he comes back, then.' And she shut her eyes again. - -The doctor only came at half-past four. He stood at the door of the -little room, scenting the feverish air. - -'You might have called me before,' he said to Margherita roughly. - -'Oh, sir, if I could tell you----' - -He told her to hold her tongue. The invalid was looking at him, her -lovely, gentle eyes wide open, her hand held out to him. The strong -man, with the massive head, the good-natured, ugly face, got a look -of great tenderness before the fragile creature Affection welled up -from his heart. He felt at once that the fever would soon be over: it -was falling already, with the suddenness of malaria; but the thorn of -that miserable existence, trembling between life and death, victim -of a disease he could not find out the meaning of, would stay in his -heart. - -'Now I am going to order a medicine for you,' he said gently to the -sick girl, holding her hand in his. - -'No, do not,' she said softly. - -'Don't you want any?' - -'Listen, listen!' she said, pulling him to her to let him hear -better--'take me away!' She trembled as she said this, and Antonio, -paling suddenly, struck by an indescribable emotion, could not even -answer. 'Take me away!' she added humbly, as if imploring him. - -'Yes, dear--dear,' he stammered; 'wherever you like--at once.' - -'To the country--far off,' the poor thing whispered, 'where one -sees no ghosts in fever, where there are no shadows nor frightful -spectres.' - -'What do you say?' said he, surprised. - -'Nothing; take me away to the country, to greenness and peace with -your mother ... before God.' - -'Oh dear, dear!' He could say nothing else, this great man, in the -supreme emotion, the sweetness of the idyll. - -'Far away take me,' she still whispered, looking at him with great, -good eyes. - -Alone, very sweetly and modestly, they spoke of love without using -words. - - - - - CHAPTER X - - MAY AND SAN GENNARO'S MIRACLE - - -Gentle April opened all the flowers in the gardens, terraces, and -balconies in Naples; wherever there was a little earth warmed by the -sun, bedewed with rime, a flower sprang up. Common, uncultivated, -popular flowers, quite a humble flora without refinements, having -no exquisite colouring or scents, but bright, warm, bursting from -the earth with profuse vegetation and plump, full petals. April made -the big, sweet-smelling, blood-red roses blossom, and the pinks, -beloved of the people--white, pink, variegated--_written on_ as they -poetically call them, as if these stripes were mystic words; then -single and double stocks--white, yellow, red--that the town girls -love; they grow them on the damp north balconies of Foria Street; and -the mallow with green, perfumed leaves and little pink flowers; but -above all, everywhere, roses and pinks--magnificent, velvety, almost -arrogant roses, and rich, close pinks bursting their green envelope. - -In the damp, dark squares of the low-lying quarters, from Santa Maria -la Nova to Porto Piazzetta, from San Giovanni Maggiore to Santi -Apostoli, in all these half-popular and cloistral, middle-class -and archæological quarters, rose-sellers wandered about; some -queer-looking hawkers with big baskets full of cut roses or slips, -the root wrapped in a cabbage-leaf, giving such pathetic drawn-out -cries that they reached the hearts of sentimental girls. The -rose-girl comes into one of these little squares that are always -soaking, dripping with dirty, black water, puts the basket on the -ground, and sings on in a melancholy, drawn-out voice: 'Roses, -lovely roses!' Then women's heads stick out of shops, balconies and -gateways, attracted by the long, sad chant, full of melancholy, -almost painful, voluptuousness. - -Whoever has a few sous, or only one, buys these roses, the slips for -the balconies, or cut ones to put before the Virgin, and to scatter, -when faded, in the linen drawers. The girl, having sold part of her -merchandise, lifts the basket on her head, and goes off, taking up -her melancholy cry in the distance, dwelling on the roses' beauty. - -That warm May-day all the seamstresses going errands, who found their -lovers by chance at the street corners, carried a rose in their -hands; all the common folk walking about in the narrow streets round -Forcella wore pinks on their white muslin camisoles; the children out -from school playing in the streets had flowers; even the servants had -flowers on their market-baskets, laid on the provisions wrapped in a -white towel. - -Really, poetic sentiment was not the only reason that scattered -flowers everywhere--at the street corners, in women and children's -hands, on washing baskets, flour-sacks, fruit and tomatoes, in the -big frying shops at Purgatorio ad Arco, and the old-clothes shops -at Anticaglia; it was the quantity one could get for a penny: for -a smile, a word, and flowers are so precious to humble folk, who -love colour and are intoxicated with the slightest perfume. May-day! -In that noon-day sun many dull, gloomy houses of Trinità Maggiore, -Forcella, Tribunali, San Sebastiano, San Pietro a Maiella Streets, -besides the flowers in the balconies, had put bright-coloured flags, -old red damasks, yellow, bright, buttercup curtains, blue silk -hangings edged with gold and silver, and many coloured stuffs, kept -up in boxes for years, outside the railings for drapery. - -The people that live in these tall, black, melancholy palaces, that -only get the sun on the terraces, are patricians of old clerical -families, very devout and pious, under the influence of all the great -old churches around: the Gesù Nuovo, Santa Chiara, San Domenico -Maggiore, San Giovanni Maggiore, Pietra Santa, the Sacramentiste, -the Girolomini, San Severo, Donna Regina; and finally the influence -of the old minster, the grand cathedral, so old, they say, it was -a temple of the Sun in Naples' pagan times--or, rather, its early -pagan times. There are rich, stern old middle-class families also -in the high, dark houses who keep up the customs of their citizen -forefathers, and have rigid monastic tendencies. These people, that -bright May-day, had taken out of camphored chests silk draperies they -had bought at the great factory Ferdinand of Bourbon set up at Terra -di Lavoro, or from San Leucio, with its bright, gay factories, for -weddings and baptisms held in their private chapels and oratories. A -pious folk, that inherits faith in its blood, they are born, live, -and die without doubting for a moment. They put all the repressed -strength of fancy into that grand mystic dream that rises from the -terrors of Hell to the supreme ecstasies of Paradise, having a horror -of Purgatory, as if the flesh felt its warm flames; and, dreaming -and dreaming on, they come to the last moment with eyes shut in -invincible hope. - -Besides the May roses and the hedge of pinks blooming on the -balconies, in spite of want of sun, these pious folk had put out for -rejoicings this May-day their brocades, damasks, and watered silks. -May-day! The darkness of old Naples' streets was brightened up by -that general wealth of sweet-smelling flowers, with petals scattered -on the gray Vesuvian lava stones; and there being so many flowers -everywhere, it seemed the sun must be there too. Its presence was -felt up there, where the two narrow lines of tall palaces ended in a -clear streak of soft blue sky--spring's thin azure. It seemed as if a -white sun was down in these narrow openings, Tribunali and Forcella -Streets, because so many coloured stuffs, such vivid draperies, waved -from the balconies, windows, and terraces. In San Domenico Maggiore -Square, especially, the ancient De Sangro and Carigliano Palaces -had magnificent brocades; even San Severo Palace, that hides in a -dark lane its gloomy vestibule, was dazzling with ancient stuffs. -The fresh flowers in the shops, in the tiny balconies of poor houses -that come by turns in old Naples with magnates' palaces, on the flat -roofs and terraces, out in the air, between earth and heaven; the -flowers carried by women, children, humble working people, artisans, -beggars even--fresh flowers--formed the people's festival in honour -of Naples' protector. That was the explanation, too, of the silk -draperies, the gold and silver damasks, the tapestries; it was all -the tribute of the old Naples' nobility and burghers to Naples' great -patron. - -May-day is lovely in Naples, from the air's caressing breath, from -the vivid streak of blue sky that manages to make the darkest, -most villainous streets gay. May-day is lovely, from the roses -that bloom on all sides, seeming to grow from women and children's -hands even, as well as all the common garden and field flowers. It -is miracle-working San Gennaro's day. It is on May-day his relics -are carried from the cathedral crypts--called _Succorpo_, or San -Gennaro's Treasury--to Santa Chiara Church, so that the saint may -deign, on the prayers of the people, to do the miracle of liquefying -his blood. The Bishop of Pozzuoli's head, which was cut off by the -executioner's axe, is set in an old gold mask. It bears the Bishop's -mitre, enriched with precious stones, and sparkles with a thousand -fires. The other relic is the coagulated blood, kept in a very -fine crystal phial: through the cold dark clot of blood a straw is -visible, going across it and immovable. It was gathered by pious folk -present at the Bishop's martyrdom, and religiously preserved. This is -the day, the fourth of the flowery, sweet-smelling May calends, that -these relics go, borne in triumphant procession, from the cathedral -to Santa Chiara Church. - -Now, that year 188- it seemed as if the flower of faith grew more -vigorously in the people's heart--that devotion to the city's patron -burst forth more brightly; for since two in the afternoon the crowd -had been rushing along to old Naples, obstructing the narrow streets, -lanes and blind alleys. San Gennaro is profoundly popular in Naples, -much--a hundred thousand times--more than the real first Bishop of -Naples, Sant' Aspreno. But who remembers _him_? He is one of the -forgotten ones of the martyrology, which has its shipwrecks in the -sea of oblivion, such as happen in other seas. - -Sant' Aspreno's little church stands in a lane in the Porto quarter, -and is underground; one goes down thirty steps, below the level of -the soil; it is merely an oratory, rude, dark, damp, and alarming, -where Sant' Aspreno's stick is adored, the pastoral staff of Naples' -first pastor. But who goes to Sant' Aspreno's? A few devout people -and some lovers of archæological things. San Gennaro, before all -the other saints--before Sant' Anna, the powerful old woman, or -San Giuseppe, the patron of a good death, next in order to the -Immaculate Virgin and the Eternal Father, who are worshipped in -Santa Chiara. San Gennaro has the devotion of all lowly Neapolitan -hearts to himself. Above all, he was a Neapolitan, born in that -black, evil-smelling quarter, Molo Piccolo, where it seems his -descendants still live, and take great pride in such an ancestor. -He came of Naples common folk, and his family consists of some old -working-women, who spend their time between work and prayer, carrying -out the _spiritual life_--trying, at least, to reach their great -ancestor's perfection in piety. Glorious San Gennaro, the Bishop who -suffered martyrdom! His head was cut off by infidels at Pozzuoli, on -a great marble stone, which is still preserved: it has a large scar, -and three streaks of blood running down; the severed head, being -cast into the sea, swam from Pozzuoli to Naples, the face keeping a -deathly pallor from loss of blood. - -Nor from that day that the saint's head was picked up and preserved, -and the coagulated blood put into a phial, to this, has the saint -ever ceased to protect Naples. In the maritime suburb, on the -Maddalena Bridge, where the little stream Sebeto has to go under a -stone arch, the patron saint's statue in marble looks at Vesuvius -close at hand, and stands with two fingers raised in a commanding -attitude. By that gesture the saint has prevented lava from coming -into Naples during Vesuvius' tremendous eruptions; never will the -lava dare to pass that limit. San Gennaro, with uplifted finger, -says: '_Thou shalt go no further!_' From the most ancient times, -twice a year--in soft September, when his name-day occurs, and in -flowery May--San Gennaro does the miracle of liquefying his blood -before the people. Whilst here at Naples the blood in the phial -boils up, making the straw fixed in the cold, dry clot move about, -in Pozzuoli the blood on the marble block gets fresh and bright; and -whoso standing on the shore has the eyes of faith sees the saint's -livid, cut-off head floating in. The miracle is repeated twice every -year. When it is later than the usual hour, it is a bad sign; it -means a bad year: if he were not to do the miracle ... but the patron -saint could not forsake his faithful city. In eruptions, epidemics, -earthquakes, his hand is always raised to mitigate and overcome the -scourge. All the common people have their own legends about him, -besides the great legend of the miracles. The great saint was a -Naples man, poor, of the people; there has not been a king, a prince -or great lord who has visited San Gennaro's chapel without adding a -splendid gift to the patron's wealth. Naples' common folk, to cry up -their saint, go about saying proudly and tenderly, 'Even Vittorio! -Even Vittorio!' which means that the great King Victor Emmanuel also -brought his gift to the patron saint. In former days there were -knights of San Gennaro, and his treasury was guarded with hierarchal -pomp; the keys were under a solemn trust. There are no longer any -knights; indeed, the order is abolished, and the old patrician pomp -is rather diminished. But what of that? The saint is stronger than -ever, powerful, miracle-working, safe in the people's heart as in an -inviolable tabernacle. - -That year the people's love for San Gennaro came out stronger than -ever, as if a new rush of faith had fortified their souls. At a -certain hour the traffic through Forcella and Tribunali was stopped; -all who were leaving Naples or arriving had to make a long round to -the station by Marina or Foria Road. The cabman told any annoyed fare -who asked the reason of the endless journey, 'It was San Gennaro'; -and touched his hat with his whip in compliment to the saint. He -tried to hurry his horse, not for the sake of being obliging to his -fare, but that he himself, after putting up his cab or by taking his -stand with it at a street corner, might see San Gennaro's precious -blood pass. If all the little streets were crowded with people, all -the sumptuous balconies of the patricians' houses and the small, -mean balconies alongside were swarming, and in the wide street by -the cathedral the crowd was stupendous. That great road that goes -down rather too steeply from the hill to the sea from Foria Road -to Marina, which was the first surgical cut through old Naples -(an energetic cut, but not well carried out; rather ferocious and -ridiculous as regards architecture, but certainly sanitary--the Duomo -Road, which is the Toledo of old Naples), had then all the majesty of -its great days, when the popular flood alarms even those who count -over its numbers proudly. People stretched up to Gerolomini and -Pendino, above and below, in the two porticos to the right and left -of the cathedral; they stood on the broad flight of steps, climbed on -the gas-lamps, and even on the scaffolding that has been up so many -years for repairs to the west front; there were people there close -together, crushed in, choking in the open air, hanging on to iron -girders or a beam, and balancing themselves in an extraordinary way -on an insecure board. Sometimes a mother in the crowd held up her -child to let it get air, and it waved its legs and arms rejoicingly -for that throw into the gentle May air. The cathedral police vainly -tried to make way for the procession, which was already formed in the -church; but when they pushed back the crowd, it surged back again so -strongly it went up against the façade of the church. - -Suddenly from under the black arch of the great wide-open door, -where some torches were burning in the background, solemn psalmody -was heard, and the head of the procession appeared amidst silence -and stillness in the crowd. Very, very slowly, with an almost -imperceptible motion, the Naples religious orders came forward in -advance. White and black monks, brown, shoeless, or in sandals, with -cape or shaven head, singing holy San Gennaro's lauds, with wandering -eyes, and holding bent torches, whose slender flame was hardly -visible, being swallowed up by the sunlight. A little boy followed to -pick up the great wax drops that fell from the torches. Dominicans, -Benedictines, Franciscans, Verginisti, missionaries, Jesuits, monks, -and priests in double file were flowing along, carried by the crowd, -not looking at it, gazing at a far-off point on the horizon or on -the ground. All mouths were open to sing the Latin psalms--severe, -stem mouths, like the psalms that came from them, which rose in waves -over the crowd's head; and involuntarily, as the religious orders -moved along imperceptibly down towards Foria, the devout who knew -the Divo Gennaro's Latin prayers joined in the solemn song, while -many of the crowd, excited by the air and light and others singing, -intoned a wordless psalmody, seized by a mystical fervour. From the -bottom of the Duomo Road the crowd, advancing with the procession, -went with open mouths; thousands of voices were solemnly singing, -the wide sky swallowing up the sound. But those that went on towards -Forcella did not leave the Duomo Road open: others took their place, -and pushed them on; then, a string of parish priests and the canons -of San Giovanni Maggiore having passed, there was a lively tumult -among the people, showing evident interest and pleasure. It was -caused by the slow filing-out of saints that go with Saint Gennaro, -to do him honour in his chapel--there are forty-six of them, either -whole statues or busts, in silver. These saints stand on litters, -carried on four men's shoulders. These porters disappear among the -crowd, so that the saint seems to go along miraculously by himself, -all sparkling, over the people's heads. Very, very slowly, as I said, -for the crowd was so dense, so congested, the statues sometimes -stood motionless, while the people gazed on them with suffused eyes -lingeringly, for Naples' devotion loves to feed at length on the -sight of their special protectors, who are shut up in the treasury -all the year, and only come out that day to bless the poor folk. - -As every saint appeared under the dark vane of the great door and -went through the people on the way to Santa Chiara by Forcella, there -were shouts of joy. The first was Naples' other patron, one who comes -next to San Gennaro as a protector, Sant' Antonio. He carries a staff -with a tinkling bell on the top, and at his side is the head of the -animal he loved. The bell swayed as the saint moved, and rang out -cheerfully above the crowd, making them gay, so that they cried out: -'Sant' Antonio! Sant' Antonio!' - -Excited, almost sobbing, Carmela, the cigar-girl, asked the -saint's protection. He, too, loved an ugly beast, as she loved -that ungrateful, hard-hearted Raffaele, called Farfariello. She -had been pushed right into the telegraph-office in Duomo Road, and -her strained face following his figure showed her hard life and -privations plainer than ever. She gazed on the saint's shining face, -he who had resisted so many temptations, imploring him to take that -love out of her heart, and free her from love's temptations, for it -made her gnawing poverty twice as hard. - -'Sant' Antonio, Sant' Antonio!' the crowd shouted to the saint as he -went off. - -'Sant' Antonio, deliver me!' Carmela sobbed out, not knowing she had -cried out, and that her neighbours were listening. - -But one prays aloud in Naples, whether in the church or the street. -Now the Archangel Michael, the triumphant warrior, appeared, tall -and agile, in a splendid victorious pose, his dazzling corslet close -to his young figure, a helmet on the fair, triumphant head, lance in -hand to kill the dragon his foot presses down; Michael, mystic and -war-like, saint and hero. Seeing him appear so handsome and breathing -out triumph, with the devil wriggling vainly under his feet, the -devout had an artistic feeling in their enthusiasm: San Michele was -called on by thousands of voices. - -Leaning against a column of the portico, to the right of the -cathedral, was the Marquis di Formosa. He took off his hat in humble -greeting of the brilliant Archangel, for whom he had great devotion; -that combination of cherubim and warrior pleased his violent -disposition and love of fighting so much. As the splendid, handsome -saint came forward, for ever victorious, trampling on the dragon, -the old Marquis prayed passionately and fervently that he might be -enabled to overcome the dragon of poverty, shame and death that came -against him every day; he implored great Michael, overthrower of the -devil, to lend him his holy lance to kill the monster that threatened -to devour him. San Michele went down the road to the sea also; he was -so handsome, flaming with glory in the noon-day light, that the three -syllables of his name were repeated over and over again, up and down, -as fire runs along a powder-train: 'Michele! Michele! Michele!' - -But San Rocco made a diversion, the saviour of the plague-stricken, -the people's protector in all epidemics; he is dressed as a pilgrim, -with mantle, hood, and staff; he raises the tunic to show the bare -knee, with a sore carved on it, a sign of the plague. A faithful -little dog follows him--so faithful that people say: 'San Rocco -and his dog,' referring to inseparables. This strong friendship, -the saint's rather queer figure, in a short cloak, and the dog -following--this well-known story, excites affectionate hilarity among -the crowd. They look on San Rocco as a dear, indulgent friend they -can joke with, as he never gets in a rage. - -'Is your knee cold, Santo Rocco?' - -'Hi, hi, baldhead!' - -'Lend me your great-coat, Santo Rocco!' - -But the really devout were scandalized, and insisted on silence. The -lovely saint who was a sinner now appeared, the penitent Maddalena, -quivering over her bearers' heads, her fine hair falling down her -back, her eyes bedewed with petrified tears; behind her, curiously -enough, came another saintly sinner, Maria Egiziaca, consumed and -wasted by a not less ardent remorse than the Magdalene's. A sort of -dull shiver went through all those who saw the statues pass in their -midst--it was a quiet excitement that had no outburst. On the widest -low step of the flight, under the façade scaffolding, stood Filomena, -Carmela's unhappy sister, in blue skirt, gray silk bodice, a pink -ribbon round her neck, hair combed to the top of the head, cheeks -covered with rouge. She did not hear the insolent hints of those -around her. Pulling up her embroidered shawl, she prayed earnestly to -the two saints--sinners like herself, but still saints--in blessed -San Gennaro's name, to do her the grace of freeing her from her -disgraceful life, and she would offer up a solid silver heart. - -Then there was a great flutter among the women in the balconies -and street. After San Giuseppe and Sant' Andrea Avellino, both -patrons of a _good death_, and therefore very dear to imaginative -Neapolitans, who have the greatest fear of death; after San Alfonso -di Liguori, who is called 'wry-neck,' with loving familiarity, -because his head leans to one shoulder; after San Vincenzio Ferrari, -who bears the flame of the Holy Ghost on his head, and an open book -of the law in his hands--when all these popular saints passed amid -shouts, smiles, and affectionate greetings, a fine shining saint, -as if newly out of the engraver's hands, with a round, good-natured -face and open lowered hands to rain down blessings, came out of the -cathedral. It was San Pasquale Baylon, the girls' patron saint--he -they make a _novena_ to to get a husband; he sends husbands, being an -accommodating, joyous saint: all the lassies know the figure, they -recognise him at once. From a balcony with a dressmaker's signboard, -'Madama Juliana,' Antonietta the blonde, with her friend Nannina, let -fall a rose, that whirled slowly down on to San Pasquale's arm. All -felt the devotion, the longing, in that act; quantities of roses were -thrown from the balconies and street at San Pasquale. 'Like you, just -the same, oh, blessed San Pasquale,' prayed the girls, referring to -the husband they wanted. - -Now the procession hurried a little; the saints passed quicker, for -the impatience of the crowd in front of the cathedral and Duomo Road -got tremendous. Great shudders went through the people; all this -splendour of silver aureoles and faces, that singular walking over -people's heads, and going off towards Forcella, the continuous new -silvery apparitions in the great black vane of the cathedral door, -gave a nervous feeling even to quiet onlookers. - -Cesare Fragalà and De Feo the medium were standing in a little -coffee-house doorway to see the procession, but the mild little -confectioner, who fled from his shop every day he could, to follow -the mysterious lanky medium, had lost the old youthful joyousness and -certainty about life--his face had a sickly, care-lined look now. -The medium, though he pumped out money every week from the whole -cabalistic group, and from others too, still wore his dirty torn -clothes, unstarched, frayed linen, and cravat curled up like a wick; -his complexion was still yellow with dull-red, scirrhus-like streaks, -as if he had barely recovered from a severe fever. The medium always -brought Cesare Fragalà along with him now; he insisted on keeping up -with De Feo's fantastic ideas, though his simple commercial mind did -not understand them; but he was furious, enraged at himself for his -want of comprehension. He accused his own disposition, as being too -lively, healthy, and stupid to be able to take in the spirituality -and refinements of him who had the luck to be visited by the spirits. - -Now, Don Pasqualino had told all his devotees plainly enough that -a great fortune would come to them that May Saturday, sacred to -San Gennaro's precious blood. The gamblers listened greedily; for -many weeks, for ever so long, they had not won a half-penny. Except -Ninetto Costa, the stock-broker, who made a big profit off some -numbers he got from a wine merchant's lad who brought him an account -to settle, and Marzano, who got an _ambo_ of fifty francs from his -friend the cobbler's advice, no one else had got anything, in spite -of the inspired friar, or the medium, good spirits or bad, in spite -of all their prayers and magic. - -Now, Don Pasqualino, who had sucked up hundreds of francs that winter -and spring, said that San Gennaro would certainly grant a favour -that first Saturday in May, and all the Cabalists believed him, and -were scattered here and there among the crowd in Duomo Road, having -agreed to meet at Vespers in Santa Chiara. But Cesare Fragalà clung -the harder to the medium, the deeper he plunged in the gambling -gulf; he had staked a lot that Saturday, and was determined to keep -an eye on him. Whenever a saint appeared, the medium turned up his -eyes, and prayed in a whisper in the midst of the crowd; Fragalà, -alongside of him, crossed himself distractedly. He stretched his -ears to hear all the medium said when each saint came out. Now Santa -Candida Brancaccio passed, one of the first Naples Christian martyrs, -a young woman looking up to heaven, and in her right hand she held a -long arrow, that of divine love. A voice called out from the crowd, -supposing the arrow to be a pen: - -'Write a letter for me to the eternal Father, Santa Candida!' - -'The saint is writing for you,' the medium at once chimed in, turning -to Fragalà. - -'So we hope--that is my hope,' he humbly replied. - -A great noise greeted San Biagio, another Bishop of Naples; he -is shown blessing the town. For two or three years diphtheria and -quinsy had kept the hearts of Naples' mothers in terror, especially -among the lower classes. San Biagio is just the saint for throat -complaints. When the silver saint came out, amidst clamour, fathers -and mothers held out their children to the holy Bishop to get his -blessing, that they might escape the dreadful scourge that killed so -many innocents. - -'San Biase! San Biase!' screamed out the excited, sobbing mothers, -holding up their children. - -Annarella too, Carmela's and unhappy Filomena's sister, held up -her two remaining sons, for the smallest was dead, after having -languished a long time. Ah! he would never again be waiting for her -on the cellar doorstep, patiently munching a bit of bread till she -came back from work. Poor little Peppinello--he was dead! He died of -wretchedness in a damp, smelly cellar, from bad, coarse food, with -only his little garments to cover him when asleep, always clinging to -his mother for warmth. Mother's little flower was dead, starved by -the _bonafficciata_, by that terrible lottery that ruined Gaetano, -that drove him to steal his children's bread. Annarella would never -be consoled for that death. The two left to her were well-behaved -and strong, but they were not her blonde, delicate flower. They had -dragged her there to see San Gennaro, and when the wretched woman saw -so many little ones held up she lifted hers too, weeping and sobbing, -thinking her dear flower had not been saved either by San Biase, San -Gennaro, or all the saints in Paradise. But as the day went on, the -people's emotion increased; everyone was given up to strong emotions -that grew stronger every moment from the influence of those around -them. In the excited eyes of girls, mothers, the poor, the unhappy, -the guilty, all who needed help, whether moral or material, that show -of saints got to be like a dream; they saw a shining vision pass, -with silvery, dazzling reflections; the names got lost, but the whole -procession of the blessed images was impressed on them. - -The crowd, now confused and deafened, shaken by religious fervour, -did not recognise a group of saints of Naples' earliest ages--Sant' -Aspreno, San Severo, Sant' Eusebio, Sant' Agrippino, and Sant' -Attanasio, most antique saints, rather obscure and forgotten. A roar -like thunder greeted the five Franciscans who keep watch round San -Gennaro in the _succorpo_: San Francesco d'Assisi, Di Paolo, Di -Ceronimo, Caracciolo, and Borgia. Another shout when Sant' Anna, -the Virgin's mother, came out, to whom, say the people, no grace is -ever refused. No one troubled themselves much about San Domenico, -who invented the Rosary, as no one in the confusion of that noontide -hour recognised the proud Spanish monk, except the gloomy Finance -Secretary, Don Domenico Mayer. Being pushed by the crowd against a -wall, he kept his tall hat well over his eyes, and his arms were -crossed in a proud, gloomy way, his lips set in a sad, sceptical -smile. The saints went on and on, out of the cathedral's great dark -portal, towards Forcella, rather quicker now; the crowd swayed from -right to left, as if to free itself from the constraint of that close -attention. - -The saints' procession was just about finishing, having lasted -nearly an hour, from the slowness of the going, and it ended with -San Gaetano Thiene, the angelic San Filippo Neri, with the holy -doctors Tommaso and Agostino, Santa Irene, Sant' Maria Maddalena di -Pazzi, the great Santa Teresa in ecstasy, all ardour and passion, -that magnificent saint of Avila, who died of divine love. When the -long file of saints finished, and the first of the cathedral canons -came out, there was a great movement among the waiting people. All -stretched their heads to see better, not to lose a tittle of the -religious show; but the noise was unrestrained in spite of this close -attention. At last the canons ended also, and finally, under the -great embroidered, gold-fringed canopy, appeared the chief pastor -of the Neapolitan Church, pallid, his face radiant with a deeply -compassionate expression, his lips moving in prayer. Eight gentlemen -held up the poles of the canopy, eight choir-boys swung censers of -smoking incense around him. The Archbishop, a Cardinal Prince of the -Church, walked slowly, alone, under the canopy, his eyes fixed on his -own clasped hands; and the whole crowd of women stretching out their -arms, men praying, children lisping San Gennaro's name, gazed not at -the canopy, gold vestments, or jewelled mitre, but affectionately, -enthusiastically at the Archbishop's waxen, clasped hands, weeping, -crying, asking favours and pity, gazing fixedly at what he pressed in -his hands, now trembling with sacred respect. To it were directed all -glances, all sighs, all prayers. The Cardinal Archbishop of Naples -held the phial of the precious blood. - - * * * * * - -In Santa Chiara's fine church, all white with stucco and loaded with -gilding like a very spacious royal hall, the crowd was waiting for -San Gennaro's miracle. It was not yet night, but thousands of wax -tapers, on the high altar and in the side chapels, especially on -those dedicated to the Virgin and Eternal Father, lighted up the -vast, lovely, graceful church. On the high altar, San Gennaro's head, -in a gemmed mitre, the face ornamented with gold, was placed on a -white napkin in a gold dish. The two phials of the precious blood -stood more in the middle, for the adoration of the faithful. All -around the high altar and behind the antique carved wood balustrade -that cuts off a large space with the altar from the rest of the -church, stood the forty-six silver statues that form a guard of -honour to San Gennaro's relics. The Cardinal Archbishop and the -canons were doing service at the high altar to Naples' holy patron, -that he might perform the miracle; behind the balustrade, to the side -of the high altar, stood a solitary, favoured, happy group of old men -and women, all in black, with white neckerchiefs and cravats, the -men uncovered, the women with a black veil over their hair, a group -watched, commented on, and envied by all the other devotees. They -were San Gennaro's relations; they alone had the right to go up to -the high altar to see the miracle at half a yard's distance. - -Then came an immense crowd--in the great single nave of Santa -Chiara, in the side chapels, and even outside the two great doors, -on the steps and cloisters, where the latest arrivals stood on -tiptoe, dazzled by the thousands of tapers, trying to see something, -struggling vainly to push a step forward, for there was no more room -for anyone. All were agitated and disquieted, from the Cardinal -Archbishop kneeling in prayer before the altar to the humblest -little woman of the lower class; all were waiting till the heavenly -Gennaro carried out the miracle. Most fervently, with head bent over -the seat in front, with the trusting piety of a young heart, Bianca -Maria Cavalcanti was praying, as the miraculous moment drew near. She -prayed to San Gennaro, in the name of his precious blood, to give -peace to her father's heart, to give Amati faith; and sincerely, in -the great, wise, deep goodness of her heart, she asked nothing for -herself. It was enough for her that her father's sick, troubled, -tortured heart should have peace; that Antonio Amati's strong, hard -heart, besides its human love, should share the highest tenderness -of the Divine. Here in a short time one of the greatest miracles -of religion would be accomplished. Could not San Gennaro work a -miracle in their hearts, if she worshipped with her whole strength? -She prayed on, her cheeks flushed with an unwonted fire, a faint -blush over them, with a restrained force of mystic enthusiasm, a new -passion that had come into her frozen life and brightened it. - -At the high altar, his face turned to heaven, breathing intense -faith, his voice trembling with overpowering emotion, the Cardinal -Archbishop was saying the Latin prayers in honour of Naples' high -protector. The whole crowd responded with a long thundering 'Amen!' -'Amen!' came from Santa Chiara's patrician nuns, hidden behind the -choir grating. - -After the _Oremus_, a moment's silence followed; the fore-running -breath of great things seemed to pass over the praying people. San -Gennaro's relations at the high altar intoned the _Credo_ in Italian -impetuously, and the whole church took it up; that ended, there were -two minutes of uneasy waiting, to see if the miracle was beginning. -But a second, a third _Credo_ was soon taken up with vigour, as if -the whole people declared its belief, swore it on their conscience, -gave themselves over to faith in spirit and truth, impetuously. The -Cardinal Archbishop, kneeling, his hands covering his face, prayed -on in silence. The _Credo_ went on behind him, intoned at short -intervals by San Gennaro's relations, and carried on by the whole -people. A solemn note stood out here and there amid the general -rumble from a desolate heart, a sharp note struck off tortured -nerves.... 'I believe!' shouted the people, with a break in the voice -which seemed to denote a thousand prayers, vows, and hopes. - -Ah! Luisella Fragalà, too, seated in a corner beside the melancholy -Signora Parascandolo, was a profound believer. Tears, caused by -her excited religious feelings, ran down her cheeks silently. She -had a dark presentiment of coming misfortune; she felt it, without -seeing or making out what it was, but sure that it was on its way -inexorably. She asked San Gennaro for strength, such as he had in -his frightful martyrdom, to bear the mysterious catastrophe that -was coming on her. Signora Parascandolo was saying the Creed too -with the people in a feeble voice; but in the almost frightened -pauses, while waiting for the imminent miracle, she, bereaved of -her children, begged San Gennaro to grant her a grace, to take her -from this land of exile, whence all her children were gone, leaving -her alone, groping in the cold and darkness. Rosy Agnesina's happy -mother, just like the unhappy mother who was wounded in the past, as -she was to be in the future, asked for strength to conquer or to die. - -But at the fifteenth _Credo_ uneasiness began among the multitude; -the words of faith sounded shrilly, like a challenge flung to -unbelievers, but they had a quiver of secret dread; the pauses -between each _Credo_ got longer as the depression of waiting wore out -their nerves, then it was taken up again enthusiastically, as if the -renewed rush of feeling was terrible, as is the way with crowds. - -The wildest in mystic enthusiasm were the old people at the high -altar; from behind them a flame ran from one heart to another, -carrying the devouring fire into soft indolent temperaments, even -to the hearts of sceptics, who trembled as if a rude revolution had -struck them and was clearing their eyes. At the twenty-first _Credo_ -there was anguish in the expectation. All eyes went from the saint's -head on the gold dish to the clear crystal phial with its clot of -dark blood. The head, in its gemmed mitre and yellow gold mask, -sparkled with metallic, rather livid reflections; the blood was still -congealed, a stone that prayers could not break. At the twenty-second -_Credo_, intoned with a burst of rage, some shouts were heard, -calling out desperately: - -'San Gennaro! San Gennaro! San Gennaro!' - -The feverish prayers recited by the multitude in Santa Chiara, which -humbly, forcibly, tremblingly implored a miracle from Naples' holy -patron, were fervently said by two women kneeling in the crowd, -their elbows on straw seats, and faces hidden, absorbed soul and -body in the grace they implored. Donna Caterina, the clandestine -lottery keeper, and Donna Concetta, the money-lender, had taken a -vow together to San Gennaro for a bishop's heavy gold ring with a -large topaz, if he would do them the grace to end their sufferings: -either change their lovers, Ciccillo and Alfonso Jannacone's, hearts, -make them tolerant of the sisters' enterprises, or change their own -hearts, and free them from love of money. A ring, a magnificent -ring, to the miracle-working saint if he did that miracle for them; -so they both prayed in a whisper, saying their offer over again, -monotonously raising their imploring, tearful eyes to the high altar, -where the great mystery was imminent. But the people were in a panic -already from that delay; they felt a great terror that just that -year, after two centuries and a half, the saint, angry, perhaps, -with the sins of the people, should refuse to do the miracle that -is the proof of his benevolence. The Creed, taken up again after a -longer, deeper, and therefore more emotional pause of silence, had an -alarmed, almost angry, tone, and burst out with a despairing rush; -above all, the old women's voices at the high altar got angry and -frightened, trembling with sorrow and terror. In a silent pause, -suddenly one of them said, in a voice shaken by devout familiarity, -meek jocularity, and uncontrollable impatience: - -'Old cross-patch, you want to keep us waiting, eh?' - -'San Gennaro! San Gennaro! San Gennaro!' yelled the populace, -curiously excited. - -Down there, at the bottom of the church, near the wall, where that -sweet, faded Madonna, said to be Giotti's, calms the eye with its -subdued colouring, Don Pasqualino stood in an attitude that was -all prayer; he was standing, but his head and shoulders were bent -forward obsequiously, and now and then, when he raised his head from -tiredness or inspiration to look at the gilded, painted sky in the -church, the whites of his eyes looked enormous, out of proportion, -and all colour had left his cheeks; his livid pallor went on -increasing. By a magnetic attraction, all those who believed in him -and his visions had gathered round him, all disturbed-looking, full -of repressed despair, that showed itself in some faces as if they -were deep down in sorrow's abyss, for that Saturday, too, had brought -them a great disappointment, two hours before, when the lottery -figures came out; all were bent by a gnawing remorse, for they -felt guilty towards others and themselves. The Marquis di Formosa -was bowed, his fine figure looked almost decrepit, for he felt the -shame of his disreputable life; he was losing everything, even his -daughter, in a slow agony of bad health and wretchedness. Cesare -Fragalà's commercial standing was always getting more compromised; -he felt his trading correspondents' coldness, his wife's evident low -spirits and secret dread, hoping always, but in vain, to set it all -right with a big haul. Ninetto Costa was pallid, but smiling, his -eyes hollow from sitting up at night and anxiety; he often thought of -the catastrophe, choosing in his mind between dishonourable flight -and the revolver shot that does not clear scores, but softens people. -Baron Lamarra was there, big, fat and flabby, cursing his ambitious -beggar-on-horseback dreams, shuddering at the idea of that promissory -note signed by himself and his wife. Marzano's gentle smile had -got rather idiotic, for he increased his frugality every week so -as to be able to gamble; he had given up snuff, smoking and wine, -had pawned his pension papers, and was now getting compromised in -queer affairs. Colaneri and Trifari were getting no more pupils; the -first especially felt himself suspected, discredited, fearing every -morning, as he entered the school, to be turned out by order of a -superior, or knocked down by the students. All, all, were attacked -by that Saturday-evening desolation, the black, terrible hour when -conscience alone speaks, loudly, sternly, inflexibly. Still, they -were in church, and the most indifferent and unbelieving murmured -some words of prayer; they still surrounded the medium, eagerly -looking at him as he prayed. One could see from that fascination that -he still had power over them, and judge from their eager glances that -once the momentary discouragement was past the passion would grow -again. Ah! but that hour in the midst of the crowd, breathing out -all its unhappiness in prayer, was as frightful for them, who were -guilty, as the fatal night of Gethsemane was for the great sinless -One. - -Despairingly, all fixed their eyes on the high altar, where the -burning candles cast reflections on the saint's face. - -'San Gennaro! San Gennaro!' the people shouted out as every _Credo_ -ended. - -A wind of terror that the miracle would not come blew over them and -burst out in their voices. San Gennaro's relatives were torn with -sorrow and rage; they had got to the thirty-fifth _Credo_, and the -time was going by with threatening slowness; they, feeling at once -offence at their holy ancestor's delay and despair at his anger, -called out to him things like this: - -'San Gennaro, face of gold, don't keep us waiting any longer!' - -'You are in a rage, eh? What have we done to you?' - -'Old cross-patch, do the miracle for your people!' - -The feeling of rage, tenderness, devotion, and agitation that -breathed in these reproaches and pious invocations cannot be -expressed. The legend says San Gennaro likes to be pressed, and does -not get offended at the remarks his relatives and the populace make -to him, and the people's emotion was such that at the thirty-eighth -_Credo_ each sentence of the prayer was said desperately, as if every -word was dragged out by overpowering agony; cries burst out far back: - -'Green face!' - -'Ugly yellow face!' - -'Not much of a saint!' - -'Do this miracle--do it!' - -The thirty-eighth _Credo_ was clamorous; everyone said it from one -end of the church to the other: the Cardinal, the priests, men, -women, and children, everyone was seized by a mystical rage. All of -a sudden, in the great silent pause that followed the prayer, the -Archbishop turned to the people; his face, irradiated by an almost -divine light, seemed transfigured; his uplifted hands displayed the -phial. The precious blood in its thin crystal covering was bubbling -up. What a shout! The old church's foundations seemed shaken by it; -the echoes were so loud and long that passers-by in neighbouring -streets were alarmed; the sonorous bells in the tower seemed to -quiver of themselves; the weeping--the sob of a whole kneeling -people, cast down on the ground, kissing the cold marble, holding out -their arms, quivering with the vision of the blood--was endless. - -At the high altar the old relatives lay as if they were dead; one -single powerful force bent the whole crowd; there was one lament, -sob, prayer; in that long moment everyone mentioned with warm tears -and shaking voice his own sorrow and need. At the high altar the -Archbishop and clergy now stood up, and sang the anthem in full tones -above the organ notes. - - - - - CHAPTER XI - - AN IDYLL AND MADNESS - - -Dr. Antonio Amati was deeply in love with Bianca Maria Cavalcanti. -That rugged heart that had got like iron in its conflict with -science, men and things, that had had to drink up all its tears -again, and look on calmly at all kinds of wretchedness--that iron -heart which had a great deal of coldness in its simplicity, which, -as regards sentiment, was virginal, childishly pure, had opened -out slowly, almost timidly, to love. At first.... How had it been -at first? The habit of seeing the white, melancholy figure at the -balcony windows every day, noticing that gentle, slender apparition -among the shadows of the court in these melancholy surroundings. At -first it had been nothing but habit, which is often the beginning -of love; it creates, strengthens, and makes it invincible. Then -came pity, a lively source of tenderness--a source that often hides -underground, disappears, seems lost; but, later on, further on, it -burst forth gaily, flowing inexhaustibly. - -While Bianca Maria's fainting-fit was going on, from the -Sacramentiste parlour to her bare room in the Rossi Palace, her -transparent face, shut eyelids with their violet shadows, lips as -pale as the tender pink of a rose, made him fear more than once -she was dead. He often saw that youthful figure again in his mind -in a death-like torpor; he saw her as if dead. Pity twined itself -round his heart on recalling the sorrowful expression that often -crossed the girl's face, as if a terrible secret, a physical and -moral torture, went through her soul and nerves; pity led him to -wish to save her from her suffering. The day the idea flashed into -the great doctor's mind to snatch the pure creature from death, -sickness, and unhappiness, whenever his life-saving instinct warned -him the struggle was beginning, when he felt the appeal to his -intuitive perception of life, to his energy and courage, when his -whole strength was summoned up to save Bianca Maria, he knew the -word was said that not only the scientist, the man, wished the girl -health and happiness, but that the lover was shaking at the idea of -losing her. The slight touch of the thin hand, now frozen as if it -had no life, then burning with fever, sent flames of passion to his -brain. The word was spoken with a lad's simple tenderness and a man's -strong resolution, swaying from the purest idyll to violent dramatic -possibilities. He was in love. Why not? For one day, one single -moment, he had tried to conquer himself, from the natural egotism of -a man who has fought and triumphed alone; but accustomed to accept -all his responsibilities in life to the utmost, he bowed to love. -Why not? He never had loved, for passing attractions towards women, -short caprices, leave no trace in the heart. Being children of the -imagination, born of a hard, impetuous life, they come back sometimes -like a dream, but as indefinite and undecided as dreams; the heart is -not concerned. - -Dr. Amati, a lonely man, of strong brain and heart, had gained his -fortune and reputation at a bound, and up to thirty-eight he wished -to know no other joy but helping men, no ease but satisfied ambition. -Now he was so completely in love that everything seemed to lose its -colour and taste if Bianca Maria was not present, if he did not hear -her feeble, sensitive voice. - -In love. Why not? In the humblest, meanest, most obscure lives, -that warm, bright hour comes--an hour of such vast capacity that -it includes all time and space. So, in lives outwardly successful, -when the pomp of earthly things opens out, the warm, deep hour -comes, inward and intense; all is gathered up in the heart, the soul -trembles with passionate strength. Being intensely in love, with -all the greater force and violence from any expression of feeling -having been rare in past years, a heart like Antonio Amati's gathers -up all the friendships missed or neglected: affection for relatives -and congenial people; poetic admiration for women that was kept -down, never shown, conquered sometimes at the very beginning, and -almost always quickly forgotten; all the thousand attachments, petty -and great, the human heart fritters itself away on. He was in love -knowingly, willingly, tasting all the sweetness of this late fruit -of his soul. He found in his retarded passion the thousand and one -characteristics and feelings of the love affairs and attachments he -had never had. He was done with the great renunciation; he was in -love knowingly. - -Bianca Maria was in love without knowing it. She was simple and -right-minded; she had lived a solitary life, with no conflicts, -thinking and praying a great deal; her soul was refined by solitary -musing, not by the rough, sore pounding down of a struggling life. -From her mother, who had led a sad life, she got a keen, but silent, -sensitiveness; from her father she had taken a headstrong loyalty, -pride without haughtiness, and uncalculating generosity that delights -in giving without interested motives. Over it all was a deep, inbred -faith that seemed to be rooted in her, the food of her spiritual -life, just as the lamps lighted before the saints are fed on the -purest oil, and draw the prayers of the faithful from a distance by -their constant, feeble light. She loved unconsciously. Who could have -told her anything about it? Her mother had passed away seven or eight -years before from a lingering, fatal illness, suffering no pain or -sharp spasms; but her heart was pierced with agony for her almost -mad husband, who was hacking down the poor feeble stem of the House -of Cavalcanti and throwing its branches into an abyss--agony for the -poor daughter she left behind to her mad father's guidance, who was -going forward to wretchedness, perhaps dishonour. - -Bianca Maria remembered; she recalled her mother's face when she -was dying, the colour of clay from agonizing thoughts, inconsolable -at having to die so soon. These ineffaceable recollections left -her grave, made her youth austere, and took away from her all the -longings, ambitions, and coquettishness of her age. What did she -know of love? Nothing. She lived in a dull way, with no enjoyments, -beside a father she respected; but alarmed by his fatal passion, -she felt threatened by something obscure, but imminent, and already -pinched by poverty, she took to heart the necessary doleful shifts -to keep up appearances. She felt an unknown danger in herself like -the seeds of death; and now, a wise, strong, good man--an ark of -safety in danger, formed to overcome obstacles, to give help; a giver -out of consolation, whose presence and voice brought security and -hope, strong to lean against; a name never associated with anything -foolish; a vanquisher of sickness, pure of any stain--this man held -out his hand to save her. Well, she took his hand; it was natural; -she could not think of doing anything else but take it and love him. - -Unconsciously she loved him, because she must. From her age, -temperament, and surroundings, her whole existence, she felt that -innocent sort of love that weak natures, beaten down by tempests, -have for strong ones. - -When Bianca Maria was alone in the dreary suite of rooms where the -sparse furniture had got to have a still older, more wretched look, -with these old servants always in low spirits, busied in hiding their -poverty, in giving it an air of respectable ease, she felt chilled to -the heart; she seemed to be old, poor, and neglected like the house -and furniture, doomed to languish on in want of everything. And when -her father came in, uneasy always, led by his violent passions, his -one idea, credulous over vain dreams, giving in to mystic alarms, -calling around him a terrifying world of phantoms, she lost her -tranquillity at once; her brain whirled, and she saw curious ghostly -things with fatal effects. She could not get rid of the nightmare; -she felt so weak, so unfit to defend herself from the assaults of -that cabalistic madness; she shook all over from the jar to her -nerves, from the fever going up to the brain and making it reel. - -She always felt very wretched when she was alone or with her father; -helpless, without a guide, knocked about by a rushing wind, drawn -in by a whirlpool. But if Antonio Amati showed his manly face, his -genial strength; if she heard his firm, rather rough voice, that was -smooth for her; if his hand just touched hers, so that she felt a -magnetic influence, warmth, youthful vivacity, go through her nerves, -she knew she was guided, protected, started on the way of life and -happiness. The black clouds moved off with one breath; she saw the -blue sky; the fever grew milder, went off altogether, and the sombre -ghosts, the fears that blanched her lips, went off at the same time; -she quieted down as if a heavenly benediction enfolded her in its -sphere of help. She felt like a child again when he was there: Amati -was the firmest, safest, strongest. - -So she loved him, innocently, unconsciously. This kind of love allows -of great humility, great tenderness; it was pure and fervent, it -refreshed her. With their different ground-work, the two sorts of -love understood each other, melted into and completed one another. -That spiritual harmony that is the soul's finest, but also rarest and -shortest, experience began the first day she from her dull balcony, -he from his stern study, that saw so much agony, beheld each other. -Wherever the two minds, feelings, personalities met, the harmony got -greater. When she raised her great thoughtful eyes to his, asking in -all simplicity for help and affection, he felt his heart bound with a -longing for sacrifice. They understood each other perfectly without -speaking. - -He came from the land, from a small, out-of-the-way provincial town -that had little communication with Naples; he had made his name and -fortune by struggling with life and death, with men's indifference -and hatred, thus getting a formidable idea of his own powers, and -only believing in himself. He had plebeian blood and a powerful mind; -none of the refinement that comes from breeding and surroundings, the -triumph of ideals. - -How different from her! She was the daughter of a noble house, -refined by instinct, breeding, and surroundings; used to live in -meditation and prayer, without a particle of self-reliance to stand -out against the ruin of her family, or withstand her father's ruling -passion, to save her name or herself. She lived amid privations and -discomforts; she had set out too early on the sorrowful stages of the -Via Crucis; an unhappy future was before her. How different and far -off these two were! - -Still, they understood each other, as the secret, mysterious law -of love decrees. It mingles everything--feelings, tradition, -origin; puts force next to weakness, and binds two persons together -irrevocably by their very differences. She did not consider she -lowered herself by loving the obscure Southern peasant become a -great doctor; he did not consider he stooped to this decaying -family, impoverished in blood, means, and courage. The two souls -that had to love one another had set out far apart, had had to run -through infinite spiritual space to meet, know, join together. It is -Plato's grand love theory, that only fools and heartless folk dare -to laugh at; the grand theory of falling in love, once more, after -a million instances, was to be realized. Did it not seem arranged -purposely, that this unknown, common man should reach to fame and -riches by his own efforts, getting to know science and life so that -he could console the high-born girl's cold, faded, sorrowful youth, -languishing in solitude and secret poverty? - -When the serving Sister in the Sacramentiste convent ran from the -chilly parlour, where Bianca Maria fell in a faint, to the hospital -for a doctor, and obstinately insisted Antonio Amati should come to -help the invalid, that was the hour of the decisive meeting. The icy, -bloodless hands were at last enfolded in the doctor's strong, healthy -ones; once more the wonderful attraction by which loving souls -overcome time, space, a thousand obstacles, this attraction--unlucky -he who has not felt its power--brought together those who were bound -to be united. How could it be these two were not to understand -each other, if only Antonio Amati could, by his knowledge, save -Bianca Maria from the disease sapping her vital forces, if only he -could give her health, riches, and happiness? How not come to an -understanding if that innocent gentleness, that mild poesy, that -source of every affection, if all that was wanting in Antonio Amati's -laborious, stern life, could only reach him through Bianca Maria's -slight, modest personality? - -He was strength, with a serene, just conscience; she was goodness, -all unconscious tenderness and mercy. That strength and that goodness -called to each other to unite. They were obeying destiny's order -to join, so that love should create once more a fine miracle of -harmony. When she _had_ to will something, she lifted her eyes to her -lover's face and drank in will power. When he looked at her he felt -the stretched cords of his energy slacken and the great flower of -benignity blossom in his heart. - -But it was destined that all Amati's experiences in life were to -be conflicts, that every reward men of talent and energy get in -this life should only be gained by him after a fierce struggle. -With love it was the same. A serious obstacle arose between him and -Bianca Maria Cavalcanti. It was her father, the Marquis. The first -time Amati saw the proud, deluded, violent man, he felt a painful -suspicion rise in his mind. He divined dull hostility in Formosa. -Perhaps birth, past and present conditions, divided them, the -opposite ideas they had of life and its responsibilities. Perhaps the -one that came from the earth, bringing forth good like her, scorned -this falling away in health, fortune, and respectability. Perhaps -he who lived by the arrogant rules of a life given up to luxury, -pleasure, and generosity, despised the obstinate, unpolished worker, -sparing in pleasures, unfavourable to them, too hard on himself and -on others. Perhaps the one guessed the other's scorn, and felt -miles apart, with such different ideas that they could never meet. -Perhaps the reason of the mutual antipathy, of Amati's coldness and -Formosa's hostility, was more inward, deeper, more mysterious. It may -be neither dared confess it to himself. In short, it was suspicion, -distrust, an unconscious hostility. Indeed, Amati saw in Carlo -Cavalcanti the unknown danger that might wreck Bianca Maria's reason -and life. It was vaguely, but obstinately, without well knowing why -or wherefore; but he felt the danger was there. And Carlo Cavalcanti -felt Antonio Amati was his judge--his enemy, I would almost say. -Twice, when the doctor was present at Bianca Maria's fainting-fit and -at the attack of fever, that made her delirious a day and a night, -he said harsh things to the Marquis di Formosa about his daughter's -health. The old man listened, quivering with rage, fretting inwardly. -He submitted to this deliverer from a dark hour, but he looked -haughtily at him, and shrugged his shoulders when he threatened that -the girl would die. By what blindness did he always refuse to take -Bianca Maria away from that cold, mean house, where all her youthful -strength was languishing? At any rate, he obstinately refused, -quivering with emotion every time the doctor touched on the subject. -It seemed to be from affection, pride, and nervousness, as if he knew -what the right remedy was, and could not, would not, make use of it. -Full of doubt, the doctor got always nearer to something shady, but -he checked himself, fearing to wound certain susceptibilities. The -Marquis was poor: how could he change houses? It was natural for him -to redden with fright and melancholy when he was told his daughter -was fading away to a fatal ending, to frown with offended pride when -offers of service were made. Still, his pride had had to give way -that Saturday morning he asked Amati for a loan, saying he would give -it back during the day. His pride had had to go altogether several -other times, always on Saturday, with an urgent note in a large, -shaky hand asking for money--more money out of Amati's purse, always -promising to give it back the same day, always failing to do so. - -He blushed a little as he wrote, his old head bent to weep over his -lost dignity as an old man and a gentleman; but his passion was so -strong he would have made money out of anything. When the doctor -sent him the money in an envelope, and then another sheet of paper, -so that the servant should not notice what it was, the Marquis -felt mortified, and opened the envelope roughly with a sharp tear, -and the blood went to his head. Amati never wrote a reply, but he -never refused. In the evening, when father and daughter were in the -drawing-room, she working at her fine lace, he going up and down -the room to quiet his excited nerves, the doctor would come in. The -Marquis could hardly restrain his annoyance, but went forward to meet -his visitor with sham heartiness, his face pale. They greeted one -another in an embarrassed way, while Bianca Maria's face sparkled. -In spite of service rendered, no cordiality grew up between them. -They were cold, and took stock of each other, feeling they were -enemies. When the doctor, from his native audacity, and that which -love gave him, went to sit opposite Bianca Maria and asked her about -her health, when they gazed in each other's eyes, the Marquis was -troubled, an angry quiver came into his voice. He was the obstacle. -It was in vain every time his ruling passion obliged him to ask Amati -for money that Amati gave it without hesitation, more delicately each -time. It was lowering all the same. This queer intimacy could not -rid them of suspicion, want of confidence, antipathy. Perhaps these -loans, asked with a lying excuse, lying promises, only dug that gulf -of sorrow, shame, and humiliation that is between him who asks and -him who gives. Formosa's great dream now was to get money--a lot of -money, so as to lead a grand life, after throwing the doctor's sous -in his face and turning him out. He ended by hating him for these -benefits it was so hard to ask for, that his wretched passion drove -him to take. - -Antonio Amati understood; he knew Formosa stood in the way. -Naturally, he knew what was the greedy mouth that swallowed up all -the old man's money, and some that was not his; he knew the fever -that destroyed his gentlemanly feeling, that the wretchedness was -the result of sin; he knew an irresistible force obliged him to ask -for these loans. His only wish was that Bianca Maria should not -suffer, that she should get out of these sad, poverty-stricken, mad -surroundings, ever since the time she had, in a low state of health, -bodily and mentally, induced by fever, told him she loved him and -begged him to take her away. He renewed the offer of his country -house, where his mother was, more than once. She shook her head, -smiled sadly, and said nothing. One evening when she was suffering -very much, choking with heat in that flat, airless in summer, icy -in winter, he made the offer to Formosa, bringing it out naturally, -trying to be cordial. Formosa thought it over a moment. His daughter -looked anxiously at him, awaiting his answer. - -'It is impossible,' said the Marquis di Formosa concisely. - -'Why so?' the doctor asked boldly. - -'Just because I choose,' the old man retorted obstinately. - -'And you, my lady; what do you say?' - -The doctor looked earnestly at her, to give her the strength to -rebel. The poor girl's eyelids fluttered once or twice. She looked at -her father, then said: - -'As my father says, it is impossible.' - -He would have liked to remind her then of the sweet words she said -to him one day, to take her out of that pit, to carry her far off to -the sunny, green country; but he noticed a sudden coldness in her -cast down eyes and stern mouth; he felt her soul was escaping from -him. He understood he had come into conflict with filial obedience -of that deep, unshakable, almost hierarchical kind one meets with in -the upper classes, where paternal authority is blindly respected and -family reigns absolute. Rage rose in the doctor's heart. He fretted -against the obstacle, seeing the power of love crumble in a moment -before a simpler but older feeling or instinct, an affection which, -besides the ties of blood, had tradition and life in common for it -also. He did not say a word, nor cast a reproving glance, as he saw -it was a superior power rising against him that for twenty years had -held the girl's heart. Love seemed suddenly to have lost its power, -as at a word from her father she had been able to give up the idyll -she had dreamt over so long in her empty room. - -After a little the doctor went away, cold, frozen, like the father -and daughter, who looked like ghosts in that great deserted house. He -went off with his first love disappointment, which is the bitterest, -quivering with rage and grief. When he was alone in his handsome, -solitary house, he vainly tried to amuse himself by reading a -scientific review. He was wounded in his love and in his self-love. - -Like a love-lorn youth, to cheat that bitterness and give a vent -to his excitement, he sat down to write a long, incoherent letter -full of love and rage. But when he finished it he calmed down. It -seemed unjust to accuse Bianca Maria of indifference and cruelty. -On reading it over, he thought it ridiculous. He was a man, not a -boy; he had white hairs; he ought not to give himself over to boyish -outbursts. - -'I will tear up the letter,' he said. But he afterwards felt -discouraged. The first, purest flower of his poetic love was cut off; -the idyll had vanished; the whole future could only be a tragedy. - -Yes, the combat between Antonio Amati and Carlo Cavalcanti was secret -but obstinate, subtle but very acute. The old man had great power -over his daughter; one might say he bent her will to his with an -imperious, fascinating glance. He did not wish anyone else should -get power over her; he feared to lose his influence. From paternal -self-love, that exaggerated jealousy that hates from the beginning -those who love their children, or some other mysterious reason, -he set himself between his daughter and Antonio Amati when he saw -the latter's sway might increase. When they were alone they never -mentioned him--on her part out of obedience, for she always waited -for her father to speak first, and he never named the doctor. The -maiden was sensitive about this reserve, and got more and more -self-contained, already seeing the first sad symptoms of the struggle. - -Amati had written her just one letter; she treasured it and read it -over and over, because it breathed of honesty, peace, strength, which -were altogether wanting in her wretched, disturbed life, with its -saddening past, hurrying on to a dark future. She bent her head, even -now feeling that love could not save her, for she seemed tied by a -sad fatality, by a charm cast over her life. When Antonio Amati came -back in the evening, determined not to yield to this extraordinary -tyranny of the father's, she looked up timidly at them; the false -cordiality and vivacity with which the men greeted each other -encouraged her. A pink colour came to her pale cheeks; but if her -father frowned or the doctor's voice got hard she became pale and -alarmed again. Her father had carefully hidden that he got pecuniary -help from the doctor; he was ashamed to confess this loss of dignity -his ruling passion had dragged him into. The good, pale maiden took -courage when she saw the healthy, hearty hand held out to her to pull -her out of her unhealthy surroundings; but when her father abruptly, -roughly put away that hand, she trembled; she did not ask why. Her -mother had pined away too resignedly for her to dare to rebel. Only -she just lived from day to day without going into the disagreements -between her father and Amati, letting herself go to the sweetness -of the new feeling, trying to escape from her bitter presentiments. -But he, a man of science and much given to observation, finding -her father's conduct incomprehensible, tried to curb himself so as -to tear the secret out of Formosa's heart. He knew the gambling -fever devoured him. Sometimes, when he was with Bianca Maria in the -drawing-room, two or three of the Cabalist group would come in to ask -for the Marquis. He got rather embarrassed. Once he shut himself up -in his study with them; voices reached them from there, deadened and -indistinct. Twice he went out with them, the doctor's presence making -him impatient and nervous. - -'Who are those people?' the doctor asked. - -'They are friends,' she said, turning away her head. - -'Are they yours?' - -'No; my father's.' - -She let him see she did not wish to speak about them, so he held his -tongue. Another time, one Friday evening, Don Pasqualino De Feo came -in, with his sickly look and torn, dirty clothes. At once the doctor -remembered he had seen him. Yes, at the hospital, where he arrived -black and blue, knocked about as if he had got a severe licking; and -he remembered his fantastic talk. While the medium was whispering -with the Marquis in a window recess, the doctor asked Bianca quietly: - -'Is he a friend, too?' But he noticed she got so pale, her eyes so -frightened, crushed by fear of something he knew nothing about, -that he said no more. He remembered that, on recovering from her -long faint, she had tried to send the medium out of the house. 'You -dislike him, don't you?' - -'No, no,' said she. 'I am foolish.' - -She was afraid Amati would interrupt her father's conversation; but -finding their talk prevented, they got up to go away. The medium went -past with his eyes down, but Amati called out to him: - -'You have got over that licking, De Feo?' - -He started, rubbed his forehead, and answered, without looking at the -doctor: - -'I have had favour from him who sent me the misfortune.' - -'From whom?' asked the doctor, with a mocking laugh. - -The medium said nothing. Formosa got flushed. His eyes sparkled as he -answered, in a shaky voice: - -'From the spirit.' - -'What spirit?' said the doctor jokingly. - -'Caracò, the spirit that helps Don Pasqualino,' the Marquis said -emphatically. - -'Do you believe that, my lord?' Amati retorted, casting on him a -scrutinizing glance. - -'It is as clear as light,' answered the noble, raising his eyes to -heaven ecstatically. - -'And you, my lady, do you believe it?' the doctor asked Bianca, -examining her face. - -She was just going to answer she did not believe, that she was afraid -to believe, when a wild look from her father froze the words on her -lips. One saw the effort she made to send back a sorrowful cry. -Vaguely she waved her hand, and said: - -'I know nothing about it.' - -The medium cast an oblique glance at the doctor. For the first time -an enraged look came over his face and mingled with his mysterious -humility. He twisted his neck, as if a hard bone was choking him. -He pulled the Marquis's sleeve in an underhand way to get him to -go away; but by Amati's words and grin had he found out his utter -incredulity, and, like all deluded folk, he felt his faith in the -aiding spirit increased doubly, together with a great desire to -convince Amati. - -'You don't believe in the spirit, doctor?' - -'No,' said the latter dryly. - -'Neither in good nor bad spirits?' - -'In neither.' - -'Why?' - -'Because there are no such things.' - -'Who told you so?' - -'Science and facts are enough, it seems to me,' the doctor said -plainly. - -'Science is sacrilege,' shouted the Marquis, getting in a rage. 'It -has been proved spirits do exist; I can prove it to you.' - -'It is no use; I would not believe you'--with a slight smile. - -'There are spirits; the so-called incredulous deny their existence -in bad faith--yes, because they don't know the facts, and then say -they are false; because they see nothing, their eyes being blinded by -scepticism, they say there is nothing--insincerely altogether.' - -The doctor smiled at his excitement, but, glancing at Bianca Maria, -he saw she was in torment; he guessed that behind this discussion was -the secret of the hostility. Being accustomed to sick and excited -people's outbursts, he examined the Marquis with a doctor's eye, -following the violent stages of his excitement. - -'Quite insincere--quite!' the Marquis screamed out, going up and down -the room, speaking to himself. 'Hundreds of honest men, scientists, -gentlemen, ladies, have seen, touched, spoken with the spirits, -held important interviews with them; there are printed books, thick -volumes, about the very thing you deny totally. What do you think -this help from the spirits is?' - -He stopped in front of Amati to ask him the question. Although the -doctor did not want to make him angrier by contradiction, the demand -was too direct not to answer it. He glanced at the Lady Bianca, and -saw in her face such secret anxiety to know the truth, and such -agitation, he brought it out straight: - -'I believe it is an imposture.' - -The medium cast up his eyes, swimming in tears. Bianca Maria's face -got serene, but Formosa's voice hissed with rage: - -'Then, you think me a fool?' - -'No; but your soul is too loyal and generous not to be easily -cheated.' - -'Nonsense!' the Marquis called out, quivering--'nonsense! You can't -get out of it; Don Pasqualino is a cheat, and I am a donkey.' - -'I deny the second part,' said the doctor dryly. - -'But you agree to the first?' - -'Yes, I do,' said the doctor boldly. - -'How do you prove it?' - -'There is no need to prove it; I answer because you question me. -Besides, now I remember, Don Pasqualino was beaten by two gamblers, -enraged because they did not get the right lottery numbers. He told -you it was the spirit Caracò.' - -'It was all a pretence, the gamblers beating him, so as to keep the -spirit's secret.' - -'But the two that assaulted him were arrested and confronted with -him at the hospital; they had to spend a month in prison.' - -'Is that true, Don Pasqualino?' the Marquis asked severely. - -The medium looked distressed, as if it were impossible for him to -defend himself against an unjust accusation. But the doctor was -offended at that request for confirmation. - -'My lord,' he said solemnly, 'I am too serious a man and take too -little interest to care to go into the business with that fellow. If -you have any esteem for me, I beg you to spare me further discussion.' - -'All right--very good,' the Marquis said at once, his proud spirit -being open to any appeal to good feeling. 'Let us have no more of it; -discussions between sceptics and believers can only be unpleasant. -Let us go away, Don Pasqualino; perhaps the doctor will do you -justice some day. Let us go; I see Bianca Maria is pained also. -You must convince the doctor, my dear,' the father added rather -maliciously. - -'In what way is she to do that?' asked he, astonished. - -'She will tell you,' Formosa replied, grinning; and on getting a -dismayed look from his daughter, he added: 'Tell him--tell him what -you know; I allow you, Bianca. Perhaps he will believe you. You -are harmless; you have no interest in cheating; you are not a sham -apostle. Tell him all about it; perhaps you will convince him.' - -Resolutely he put on his hat and took the medium's arm, as if to -give him a proof of affectionate confidence after the way the doctor -had abused him. The old noble, Guido Cavalcanti's descendant, with -a lineage of six centuries, put his arm into that mean cheat's, who -had been shown up as a liar a few minutes before. But who noticed -that act that showed Formosa had again shipwrecked his dignity? The -two were out of the house already. Bianca Maria and the doctor stood -silently; the whole drama of their love seemed to ripen in that -silence. With unscrupulous cunning, telling his daughter to speak, -let the doctor know all, leaving them alone with that secret between -them, the Marquis took his revenge for Amati's scepticism and his -daughter's passiveness. He gaily and cruelly lighted the match of a -mine, and then went off just as it was catching fire, so that all -love's edifice should come down. - -'Well, what have you to tell me?' said the doctor at last, keen to -know the truth. - -'What is it?' she said faintly, coming out of her sad musing. - -'Have you not something to tell me? Did your father not -advise--almost order you to do so?' - -She started. Amati spoke sharply; she had never heard him speak so. -She was offended, and became reserved. - -'I know nothing,' she said very low. 'I have nothing to tell you.' - -He bit his lip angrily. What evil influence had induced him to come -between father and daughter in these queer, mad surroundings, all -sickness, wretchedness, and vice? What was he doing, with his rough -honesty, his vulgar integrity, in that half insane, poverty-struck -life? What bonds, what perplexities, was he not making for his own -heart, that up to then had kept pure and unmoved? The decisive hour -had come. He must break it off sharply if he wanted to escape the -fetters that smothered all his old instincts. He was going to make an -end of these romantic complications--that subtle, annoying tragedy; -his life was a plain one. He got up determinedly, saying: - -'Good-bye!' - -She rose too. She understood that her father first, then she, had -exhausted the lion's patience. Feebly she asked: - -'You will come to-morrow?' - -'No, I will not.' - -'Some other day, then?' - -'No.' - -'Some other day when you are not busy?' - -'No.' - -The three 'No's' were said very decidedly. Bianca Maria gave a -shiver. He was going away; he would never come back. He was right. -He was a strong, serious man, devoted to his work--a work of love -and saving others. He was getting involved in a falling away from -reason and dignity in the society of people he was helping and being -friendly to, and as a return he had been slighted and insulted; and -now a charlatan, a cheat, was preferred to him. He was right to go -away, never to come back. But she felt lost, a prey to insanity, if -she let him go. Looking beseechingly at him, she implored him: - -'Don't go away--stay.' - -'What is there for me to do here? Ought I to wait for your father to -turn me out to-morrow? Because I stood that scene a little ago, must -I stand another?' - -'I did not do anything to you,' said she, wringing her hands to keep -down her sorrow. - -'Good-bye!' he said, and nothing else. - -'Don't go away--don't go away!' - -Two big tears she could not keep back rolled down her cheeks. He had -refused to give in to her voice, beseeching pallor, and excitement, -but he gave in to her tears. He was a hard man in his success, but a -child's, a woman's tears made him forget everything. When she saw him -come back and sit down, his good nature making him yield, she did not -restrain her choking tears. She sank into her chair again, her face -hid in her handkerchief, sobbing. - -'Don't cry,' he muttered, feeling that it did her good, but that he -could not bear it. - -A good deal of time was needed before she could calm herself. She -had kept in her feelings too much for the outburst to be otherwise -than long and noisy. The June evening was very warm; the scirocco's -breath depressed sickly nerves. The only sound was a skilfully played -wailing mandoline in the distance up Pontecorvo Hill. - -'Listen,' the doctor began, not harshly, but coldly, when he saw -she had got quieter. 'I hope you will listen to me quietly. I am an -intruder in your family. Don't interrupt me; I know what you would -say. I cured you twice; but that is my work; you have no need to feel -obliged to me. Don't protest; I know the limits of human feeling. I -am an intruder, then. There is nothing in common between you and me; -we are different kinds. It does not matter. I, who am not dreamy, -seeing you are fading away, that you need the wide, healthy country -and solitude, tried to get you away from here. If my dream has not -come true, whose fault is it--yours or mine?' - -'It is mine,' she said humbly. - -'One day,' the doctor went on rather slowly, as if he was thinking -over what had happened--'one day you yourself told me to take you -away. Do you remember?...' - -'I remember....' - -'... I thought ... it is no use saying what I thought. I must have -been mistaken; but any man in my place would have been. Well, when -our dream might have come true, Bianca, tell me, who was it let it -fade away?' - -'I myself. It was I.' - -'You see, then, that I, a man of realities and action, dreamt too -much. To your father and you I am a sort of intruder, meddling in -your affairs without having any right to, and ineffectually. On the -other hand, Bianca, believe me, my whole life has been disturbed -through wishing to see you healthy and happy, and from the useless -struggle my efforts lead to, for you oppose me yourself. Would I not -do well, then, to go away and never come back?' - -'You are right,' she said, with a despairing gesture. - -'... Still,' Amati went on, striving to hide his agitation, 'I -believe--rather, I know--leaving you would cause me great pain. It -may be, you too would suffer?' questioning her face. - -'I should die of it,' she brought out, sincerely moved. - -'Don't say that. But if I am to stay near you, Bianca, to try, -against your will and your own weakness, to save your health and -fortune, I must be your friend--your greatest, only friend; do you -understand? I must have your whole confidence and faith; after God, -you must believe in me. I can see that here, in this house, there -is a sad secret which your father and you vainly try to hide; but -the Marquis di Formosa's feverishness lets it out darkly every -minute. Besides this fever, that is at the same time a disease, an -overmastering passion and vice, there is something that escapes me, -something crueller that tortures you, and you, out of filial piety, -respect to your father--fear, perhaps--hide it from me. Bianca, if I -am not to know everything, I must go away for ever, and let your life -and mine be ruined irretrievably.' - -'I love you so,' she said, abandoning her soul to him. - -'Darling!' he whispered, patting her brown hair as her head leant for -a moment on his strong, faithful heart. - -'Promise me one thing ...' she asked in a babyish way. - -'Say what it is....' - -'Promise me you won't think ill of my father--promise! He is the -best of fathers; any girl would be proud to have him. Nothing could -shake my respect and love for him. I want you not to blame him -for anything--promise me! His fatal tendency is only part of his -kindness. He is so unhappy at heart!' - -'I promise you, Bianca, to be as indulgent as you could be.' - -'That is enough. He is an unhappy man. For years and years our house -has been going down. Since when or why I don't remember. I was very -little. I don't even know whose fault it is. I don't wish to. I only -remember that my mother was pale and sickly; her hands were always -cold....' - -'Like yours, poor dear!' - -'Like mine?' she answered with a pale smile. - -'What did your mother die of?' - -'Bloodlessness and languor. She faded away ... at the last, she was -not in her senses all the time.' - -'Did she rave?' - -'Yes, slightly,' she answered, blushing to her forehead. - -'Don't think of that,' he said, guessing the reason of her blush. - -'My father felt mother's sufferings so much! For years a dream had -taken hold of him: it was to build up the Cavalcanti fortune, to let -mother and me live in style, keep open house, and in one day pour out -in charity what now serves to keep us for a year,' she added, with a -lump in her throat. - -'Keep calm, dear-don't get excited.' - -'No, no, let me speak; if I don't I'll choke. A great dream, as large -as his heart, noble and generous as his soul, so much so that my -mother and I felt gratitude that will not end with life, but must -go on beyond the tomb, where one still hears, loves, and prays. -But, with his excited fancy, he longed for quick, ample methods of -realizing this fortune: methods suited to the case, for a Cavalcanti -neither works nor speculates ...' - -'It was the lottery,' Amati finished up for her. - -'Yes, the lottery; how do you know?' - -'I do know.' - -'Our misfortune is known to everyone who comes near us,' she went on, -quivering with grief. 'Such a misfortune, to crown the others! Mother -died of it, from physical and moral weakness. Our whole means are -sacrificed to it; it has taken my father's heart from me; when it has -destroyed all that is dearest, it will hand me over to wretchedness -and death.' - -'Don't be afraid, don't fear; everything has a remedy,' he said -vaguely, trying to cut short that despairing outflow. - -'It can't be cured,' she said earnestly. 'My dying mother, in a lucid -interval, said as she kissed me: "Don't judge your father--never -be hard on him; obey, be obedient. The passion that eats him up, -and is killing me, can only increase with years. This fever will -get higher: I have not cured it, neither will you. Leave him to -this dream--don't annoy him; if you are unhappy, ask God's help; -but respect his years. He only desires our happiness--he is killing -me for it; he will make you suffer frightfully, though he is noble -and generous. Be merciful to him. It is only so that I can die, as -I do, with a quiet conscience." Mother was right. With years he -has got unhappier, more eccentric; he is incurable now; he forgets -everything, everything--you know what I mean. Some day or other I -fear my noble old father, whose gray hairs I ought to honour--that I -want everyone to respect--may forget the laws of honour in some dark -gambling combination.' - -'May God keep him from it!' said Amati, starting. - -'May God hear you!' she cried out; 'but I pray so much, and the -evil gets worse. If you knew! We are in want of everything: it is -the first time I have told anyone. I am quivering with shame, but I -can't hide anything from you. He has sold everything: first works of -art, then furniture, down to a few jewels mother kept for me--and he -adored her!--even the Cavalcanti portraits--though he is proud of his -race!--even the silver lamps in the chapel--and he is religious! I -live with these two old servants, so faithful neither sin nor poverty -has taken them from us! They are not paid: they serve us of the -House of Cavalcanti without pay. Do you know, it is by their clever -contrivances that the house goes on, that we have enough to eat, -and that there is oil in the lamps! I am raising for you the veil -of sacred family decency--don't betray us!' He bent and kissed the -hand Bianca held out to him, to seal his promise. 'All that money, -and more that he gets somewhere--I know not where and have no wish -to know--goes in gambling. Friday and Saturday he is wild. Other -wretches, like that medium, come for him: his very name makes me -shiver with fright and shame; they have queer alarming consultations; -they get excited, shout, and quarrel; they use a queer jargon. These -are his friends; men of his own rank, his relations, have left him. -It may be he asked money from them, got it, and did not give it back, -perhaps; it may be the whisper, even, of wickedness makes them -avoid us. These Cabalists, men who _see_'--she shivered and looked -round--'take his money from him and incite him to play. The day is at -hand when he will have nothing left, and he won't be able to gamble. -God, God open his eyes, if we are not to perish altogether, the name -and the family!' - -'Bianca, Bianca, I implore you to be calm,' he said, alarmed at her -excitement, following its phases with a doctor's mind and a man's -heart. - -'I can't,' she cried. 'I have not told you all. Listen: I am a -poor, weak creature; the blood runs poor and slow in my veins, you -know--you told me so. I have lived either in this sad house or my -aunt's convent--that is to say, with my father, always full of his -fancies, or with my aunt, whose faith gives her almost prophetic -visions. Mother died here; as the gambling passion filled my father's -mind, the delusion began to filter into mine against my will. -Father speaks to me of ghosts, phantoms, spirits, at all hours, -especially in the evening and at night, and I believe in them; you -see how frightful that is. The sunlight, seeing people, chases fears -away; but evening comes, the house gets full of shadows, my blood -freezes; when father speaks of the spirit my heart stops or goes at -a gallop; I feel as if I was dying of fear. I get queer singings in -my ears. I hear light steps, smothered voices. I see in my mind's eye -white-robed figures--they look at me and weep; shadowy hands smooth -my hair. I seem to feel icy breaths on my cheek; my nights now are -one long watch, or light sleep broken by dreams.' - -'There are no such spirits, Bianca,' said he, in a gentle, firm voice. - -'I am so weak, so unfit to get rid of delusions. When I have got -calmer, father, from his own fancies or the medium's infamous -suggestions, comes to torment me. He wishes me to _see_ without -caring about my feebleness, my fears, not knowing how he tortures me. -He speaks of the spirit, wants me to call it up, for I am young and -innocent. I try to go against him; vainly I struggle and ask him to -spare me, not to make me drink this bitter cup. But it is no use: he -is obstinate and blinded; he wants me to see the spirit, and ask what -numbers to play. Father has such influence over me, he makes me share -his madness to a frightful extent. I shall end by being like him, a -poor deluded thing, worn out by night watches and daily delusions.' - -She hid her face in her hands, quivering. The doctor looked at her -astounded, not daring to say anything. - -'And you don't know all yet,' she went on excitedly. 'One day you -wrote me a kind, comforting letter, suggesting I should go off to -your mother's. What comfort it was! I would have got out of this -house at last, where every black doorway frightens me in the evening, -and the furniture looks ghostly. I would have gone where there was -light, sun, heat, and joy. Well, that night father took an extra mad -fit: he came to my room. Wakened from sleep at so late an hour, in -the flickering lamp-light, his words put me into a panic; he wouldn't -listen to my entreaties, he didn't know he was torturing me, and for -two hours he spoke about the spirit that was to appear, that I must -evoke; he would teach me the sacred word. He held on to my hands, -breathed in my face, filling me with his enthusiasm and faith, and so -he gained his end.' - -'In what way?' - -'I saw the spirit, dear.' - -'How? You saw it?' - -'As I see you.' - -'It was fever; there is no such thing, Bianca,' he said harshly, to -bring back her wandering mind to peace. - -'You say so; I believe you. But when you are gone, when I have -finished my prayers and reading, when I am alone in my room with -the shadows the lamps throw, I shall see again that night's vision: -my head will swim, my brain whirl, my teeth chatter. Father is in -despair now because that night's numbers did not come right; he says -I don't know how to interpret; he wants me to call up the spirit -again. He thinks now I am a medium, and he gives me no peace. I am -not his daughter now; he only looks on me as a mediator between him -and Fortune. He watches every word I say, looks enviously at me or -haughtily, and goes about thinking of some queer discipline, some -privations or other to enable me to see the spirit again, to make my -soul pure like my body, and my sight clear. He leaves me alone at -the beginning of the week, but on Thursday night he comes and begs -me--fancy, he implores me--to call the spirit; that aged man, whose -hand I kiss respectfully, kneels before me, as at the altar, to -soften me. On Friday he gets wild; he never notices how frightened -I get; he thinks it is the coming of the spirits that excites me. -The other night, to get away from the torture I find unbearable, I -locked my door: I was so bold as to deny father access to my room. -Well, he came, knocked, softly at first, then loudly; he spoke to -me entreatingly, he ordered me to see the spirit--in a rage first, -and then abjectly. I stopped my ears not to hear him, put my head -down in the pillows; I bit the sheet to choke my sobs. Twenty times -I wanted to open the door, but terror nailed me to my bed. Father -wept. Mother, mother, I disobeyed you! You could die for father, but -I could not do that for him.' - -'Poor darling!' he murmured, trying to calm her down with gentle, -compassionate words, petting her hands, as if he wanted to set her to -sleep or magnetize her. - -'Yes, yes, pity me, for I am so wretched, so unhappy, I envy any -beggar on the street. Pity me, because the one person who should -love me, take care of my health and happiness, dreams instead about -getting money for me, a great lot, and makes me suffer in body, in -mind, for it; pity me, for I am an unhappy woman, doomed to a dark -ending. In all the wide world, I only have you to care for me!' - -They said no more. Bianca Maria's pallid cheeks had got some colour, -her eyes shone; her whole heart had been poured out as she spoke, -now she kept silence. She had said everything. The bitter secret -that implacably tortured her whole existence, on being evoked by -love, had come out and had given a shudder of alarmed astonishment -to the strong man listening. He said nothing, trying to keep down -his own amazement, to arrange his confused ideas. He was accustomed, -certainly, to hear lugubrious stories of all kinds of misery, both -of body and mind, from his patients; he had lifted the veil from all -kinds of shame and corruption; the sorrowful and contrite came to him -as to a confessor, and hearts that hid the most horrifying secrets -of humanity opened to him. But Bianca's sorrow was so profound, the -very source of life being attacked, that it frightened him to see -such unutterable wretchedness. Also this girl, wasted by an obscure, -unnatural malady, tortured by her own father, that lovely, dear -creature, was the woman he loved, that he could not live without, -whose happiness was dearer to him than his own. Disturbed, not -knowing yet how to set to work before that complicated problem of -sickness and delusion, that made the Marquis di Formosa the family -destroyer, he found nothing to say to comfort Bianca. - -She was worn out now; she felt a vague remorse at having accused her -father. But was not Amati to deliver her? Did she not feel quite -safe, strong, when he was there? Rousing herself from her exhaustion, -she raised her eyes to his timidly, humbly, saying: - -'You don't think me bad and ungrateful, do you?' - -'No, dear, I do not.' - -'Do not judge badly of him.' - -'I will cure him,' he said thoughtfully. - - - - - CHAPTER XII - - THE THREE SISTERS--CHIARASTELLA THE WITCH - - -The summer of that year was a bad one for the Neapolitans, morally -and materially. Above all, from the end of June the summer scirocco -had gone on dissolving into rain; storms covered the bay with black -clouds, lightning played behind Posillipo, thunder rumbled from -Capodimonte, sudden heavy summer showers raised a pungent smell of -dust, and went rushing down the city roads from the hill to the sea -like little waterspouts, making the passers-by start aside and run. -The poor cabmen, with no umbrellas, ragged, with shabby hats crushed -down on their heads, could do nothing but stick their hands in the -pockets of their worn-out jackets and keep their heads down. It was -a devilish summer, a real correction from God; that was why San -Gennaro had been so long in working the miracle that year. He makes -no mistakes. - -The rushing scirocco lashed up the waves in the bay furiously; they -got livid with rage, and foamed under the chill curtain of clouds, -and all the bathing-places from Marinella to Posillipo had to take up -the boards of their wooden huts to let the raging sea pass through, -or they would have been broken to pieces. There lay the great -irrecoverable loss, for the long files of provincial people that come -from Calabria, Basilicata, Abruzzi, and Molise, to take sea-baths, -and fill up the inns and second-class eating-houses, who sit four -in a carriage that barely holds two--these country people, who are -Naples' summer source of revenue, being afraid of the bad weather, -always went on intending to start for Naples the next week, and ended -by never leaving their villages at all. Those who had arrived the -first week in July, intending to stay till the end of August, on -finding they could only have a bathe on one day out of five, and then -have to face a stormy sea, got frightened and discouraged, and ended -by going back to Campobasso, to Avellino, Benevento, and Potenza, to -the great sorrow of the girls and young fellows. It was a lost season. - -At the _Fiori_ Inn, in Fiorentini Square, the _Campidoglio_, in -Municipio Square, and the _Centrale_, at Fontana Medina, there was a -void; as for the _Allegria_, in Carità Square, one of the greatest -resorts of country people, it was a desert. - -Very warm days came at times between the stormy ones, which were very -exhausting. It was a real African climate, and the bathing-places--De -Crescenzio, Cannavacciuolo, Sciattone, Manetta and Pappalordo--had -five days' emptiness to one day of too large a crowd of people. The -owners shook their heads despondingly, whilst the bronzed, thin, -black-toothed, hoarse-voiced bathing-women, shoeless, in shift, -petticoat and straw hats, ran after sheets of doubtful whiteness on -the dirty brown sands, where the wind caught them and threatened to -cast them into the sea. What rain! what rain! The eating-houses in -the centre of Naples had poor business, but those who put tables out -in the open air on Santa Lucia causeway, the eating-houses that go -from Mergellina to Posillipo, the _Bersaglio_, the _Schiava_, the -_Figlio di Pietro_, all those whose slender existence depends on fine -weather, summer and winter, these suffered most; no one had anything -to do, from the cook yawning in the kitchen to the few waiters left, -who sat sleepily in the steamy atmosphere that even the storms -did not freshen up. Only crawling flies buzzed on the uselessly -prepared tables. There was a general idleness; a chorus of oaths -and lamentations arose at every new outburst of showers. Even the -evenings at the Villa, round the bandstand, where the municipal band -plays its old polkas and variations on 'Forza del Destino' of ancient -date, where a penny for a seat is all that is needed to be able to -enjoy the pleasant sight of a middle-class crowd, seated or wandering -round the band, just a penny to sit in the open air and hear the -modest concert--even these simple, economical, popular evenings were -spoilt. Among the tradesmen's daughters, for whom the Villa means -an occasion to show their humble white frocks, sewn and starched at -home, to see their lovers, even at a distance, under the flickering -gas-lamps, to go a step further on the road, often a long one, that -leads to marriage--among these girls there was secret weeping. The -chair-hirer wandered through the deserted, damp avenues, full of -snails, to see if no one would come to brave the bad weather, or, -driven desperate, he settled himself in a corner of Vacca Café to -talk over his woes with one of the waiters. What a season! - -Don Domenico Mayer's son and daughter, who in other years went every -evening to the Villa, walking there and back, so as to spend only -fourpence, this year nearly expired with heat and boredom in their -Rossi Palazzo flat. Their father was so stern. Their mother was even -more sickly and doleful than usual. It was a bad season for the -three sisters scattered in different parts of Naples--Carmela, the -cigar-maker; Annarella, the servant; and Filomena, the young girl who -lived in sin. Above all, their mother was dead in the cellar where -she had lived with Carmela, and in spite of having got a pauper's -coffin for her from the Pendino district authorities, and her being -thrown into the common pit on the great heap of the wretched at -Poggio Reale, Carmela still had had to pay seventy or eighty francs -for burial expenses, without even having the consolation of knowing -that her mother had had a separate grave. For some time Carmela had -paid a small weekly sum to a pious _Congregazione_ so as to have at -her own death, or any of her family's, a separate carriage following -and a grave; but debts and wretchedness, gambling resorted to in -desperation, had prevented her from going on paying the fees, and she -had lost her claim. She was left alone, with no mother, in that damp, -dark cellar, in debt up to the eyes, not having twelve francs even to -get a black dress or any mourning; she wore a light-coloured cotton -with a black kerchief at her neck, and her neighbours criticised -her for her heartlessness. Her everlasting lover, Raffaele, had now -risen to the highest grades of the Camorrist hierarchy from having -taken part in two duels, or _dichiaramenti_, and from having a mark -against him with the police; he had got still more haughty to her, -especially after her mother's death; he fled from Carmela, and when -she went after him at inn doors and suburban taverns, he treated her -brutally, all the more that she had got into a wretched condition; -she could not give him five francs ever now, or even the two francs -he haughtily asked for and she humbly gave. - -A subtle suspicion was growing in the girl's mind, and from her -mother's death, her excessive poverty, and Raffaele's suspected -false-dealing, she lost her head. She often failed to go to -the tobacco factory, and lost her day's work, or worked so -absent-mindedly, so badly, she was fined and got very little on -Saturday. Often during the week she broke her fast with a penny-worth -of dry bread dipped in macaroni-water, that a neighbour, not so -poor as herself, treated her to. It was too hard, too hard, for one -who only wished for others' happiness, to see her mother die of -privation, and then thrown into a common paupers' ditch, to mingle -her bones with theirs; to see her lover going down gradually the -whole ladder of vice, even to prison, perhaps to capital crime; and -also to see her sisters fading away for want of moral and physical -comfort. Now, with her mother gone to her eternal rest--how Carmela -envied her sometimes!--and with Raffaele always going farther off -from her, she, feeling her heart as cold as her stomach, went oftener -to see her sisters. She thought of going to live with Annarella, for -economy's sake, and not to live in such a lonely way; but Annarella -lived in a cellar in Rosariella di Porta Medina--she, her husband, -and two children, already getting of a good size--in a cellar with -a beaten earth floor and walls not white-washed for years. The -husband and wife slept on a bed made of two iron trestles, with -three squeaking boards laid over them lengthwise, and a big mattress -stuffed with maize leaves--the _paglione_, which has an opening in -the middle to put in the hand when the bed is made. The girl slept by -the mother in the big conjugal bed, and they made up a little bed for -the boy every evening upon two broken chairs. - -Frightful, utter misery had gradually fallen on the glove-cutter's -family. He not only staked his whole week's pay on the lottery, but -on Friday evening and Saturday morning he beat his wife, enraged if -she had only one or two francs to give him. Now the children were -beginning to earn something. The girl worked at a dressmaker's, the -boy as a stable-hand; and when he could not get anything from his -wife, Gaetano went to the dressmaker's where his little girl worked -by the week, called her down, and, by dint of lies, wheedling, or -blows, one after the other, he managed always to draw some pence from -the child, who got the dressmaker to advance them on her week's pay. -With his son, now a boy of twelve, Gaetano behaved still worse. The -stable-boy often refused him money, taunting him with his vice and -the wretchedness he had reduced his mother to. The father rained -down blows on him. The boy, choking with tears, shouted, swore, and -struggled. People came up to hear a son call his father a scoundrel, -an assassin. Once, when his father gave him a blow on the nose, -making the blood flow, he got enraged and bit his hand. On Saturday -evening, when they came back to their home, the children carried -the marks of their father's blows. The mother, who had forgotten -the blows she got herself, found the marks, and wept over her poor -children, asking them: - -'How much has he taken away from you?' - -'Fourteen sous,' Teresina answered sadly. - -'He took half a franc from me,' said Carmine, raging. - -'Merciful God!' the mother cried out, weeping. - -But what she could not get out of her mind was her -two-and-a-half-year-old baby, which died from bad milk, bad -nourishment, from languishing in that black cellar, which dripped -from damp summer and winter. If Peppino was named by chance, she grew -pale, and nothing could get it out of her head that her husband's -vice had killed her little son. She had religiously kept the big -swinging basket that poor Naples children are cradled in (the -_sportone_); but she first sold the pillow, then the little maize -mattress, and one day of great hunger, not knowing where to get a -half-penny, she sold the cradle. Parting from it was so agonizing -that the mother sat on the doorstep, not caring who passed, and wept -for an hour, with her head in her apron. 'You know, Peppino--you -know!' she whispered, as if she was asking pardon of the tiny dead -for having sold his cradle. - -Now that summer had come in so unsettled and stormy, it had made -the family position worse than ever. Of the two half-days' service -she did, she had lost one, which meant ten francs. It was the -lodging-house keeper: as she had empty rooms, she dismissed her -servant. The girl Teresina had had her weekly pay reduced, as the -dressmaker had no work; but, not wishing to dismiss the girl straight -off, she let her do the house-work out of charity. The coachman that -Carmine was stable-boy to went off with his master's family to the -country for four months, and would have taken the boy with him; but -Gaetano, the lad's father, knowing he could always get some pence out -of the boy if he stayed in Naples, by threats, arguments, or blows, -prevented him from going to the country. He ordered him to look out -for another service in Naples. Carmine shrieked, wept, cursed, -threatening to go away secretly. - -'I am going away, mother; I am going off secretly, and father won't -see a farthing of my money, you know. I will send it to you in a -letter; father is not to have any of it.' - -'What can I say, darling? You are right to go,' his mother lamented. -And that going away of her son tore her heart also. - -But the debts they had with Donna Concetta, the usurer, were -Carmela's greatest agony, also Annarella's and Gaetano's. Even she -had suffered from the bad season, as the debtors almost all failed -to pay, and had not even money to pay the interest with by the week. -She did not lend a farthing more to anyone; she was embittered -and fierce, for even she was feeling the pinch of other people's -wretchedness. She shut herself up in the house at night behind iron -bars, for she had pension papers and savings-bank books in the house; -and that put her in a state of constant fury. She wandered about all -day from one street to another, from cellar to attic, from shop to -factory, running after her own money, till she was out of breath; -for she always went on foot. Devoured with rage from the constant -refusals, she began by asking for her interest at least, coldly -insistent, and ended up by making a scene, yelling, demanding her -'blood,' as she passionately called her money. But those who most -enraged her were Gaetano, Annarella and Carmela. Between them they -had got about two hundred francs from her, and she could not get even -a centime of the weekly ten francs' interest. Oh, these three! these -three! She went to the Bossi factory at Foria, where Gaetano cut out -gloves, and had the workman called down sometimes; but, warned by a -companion, he got them to say he was not at the factory that day. But -she persisted, being suspicious and unbelieving; she walked about in -front of the door, and he ended by going down to her, a black cigar -ever in his mouth. - -The scene began in a whisper, short, energetic, violent: sometimes -Gaetano, grinning--for the lottery made him lose all sense of -shame--repeated to her the motto of Naples' bad payers: 'If I had -it and could, I would pay; but not having it, I can't and won't -pay.' But she set to yelling, said she would go to Carlo Bossi to -complain, or to the judge; and Gaetano, in a rage, but controlling -himself, made answer. What would she gain by getting him turned out -of the factory? She would not get another farthing then. The judge? -What could he do? The prison for debtors no longer exists in Naples; -the Concordia prison has been abolished by gentlemen who could not -pay their big debts. Then she got in a rage like a witch; the whole -neighbourhood came out to the doors and balconies. He listened, very -pale, biting at his black cigar-stump. One day he threatened in a -whisper to cut her in pieces. Muttering vague, threatening words, -pulling her shawl round her angrily, Donna Concetta went off with -the swinging step of rich, lazy women of the lower class, her head a -little to one side, her face still discomposed after the scene. - -Since she happened to be at Foria, and the cigar-makers' work ended -at four o'clock, she went to stand at the door of the factory in -Santi Apostoli Square, waiting till Carmela came out, to ask her for -her money. She was not the only one that was waiting; other women -were at the door who had lent money or clothes to the workers at -high interest; and they knew and recognised each other, feeling they -had a strong, mutual interest in the laws of usury; they made a long -lament together over the tardiness in paying and inexactness of their -clients. They all said they were ruined by the bad season and the -ill-will of their debtors; the words '_my blood, our blood_' came -up always like a wail, as they spoke of the money lost. It was not -allowable to send up for any workgirl, but the money-lenders waited, -like the cake and fruit sellers, till the workpeople came out. The -poor women who were coming from the factory, with sickly faces from -the bad tobacco fumes, their hands stained up to the wrist, stopped -to buy something to carry home to feed their families on, after their -day's work. The money-lenders mingled with pot-herb-sellers, and -vendors of parsnips in vinegar and pancakes, and waited patiently, -pulling their shawls up on their shoulders--that common trick. At -last the women, after being searched, one by one, by an overseer to -find out if they had stolen any tobacco, came out. Some slipped away, -others stopped to buy broccoli, radishes, potatoes, or some pancake; -but the palest certainly were those who were caught outside by their -creditors. The palest of all, and not from tobacco fumes, but shame, -was Carmela. She tried to lead off Donna Concetta towards Vertecoeli -Street or Santi Apostoli steps, so as not to let her friends hear -what was said; but Donna Concetta went slowly and raised her voice. -She wanted her money, her blood; it was a shame not to give it to -her; she would have the interest, at any rate. If Carmela had any -shame, she must at least give her the interest. The cigar-girl's -eyes filled with tears at that abuse, and, having a few pence in -her purse, it was impossible to hold out. She handed them to Donna -Concetta; but it was so little always that, although she sacrificed -her day's meal, it only got her the more abuse. She listened, with -her head bent, to Donna Concetta's taunts up Arcivescovato Street and -Gerolomini Road; after a time Donna Concetta recognised that the girl -had no more money, and that it was useless to worry her. - -But Carmela, even when Donna Concetta had gone off, felt the shiver -of shame that bitter voice had sent through her, saying such -offensive words; and tired, crushed, without a farthing in her pocket -after working a whole day, she again felt envy of her dead mother. -Of course, she, too, had that vice of gambling, but it was for good -ends--to give money to everyone, to make all her friends happy, if -she won, to let Raffaele, or Farfariello, as he was called, draw -money from her; but to be so severely punished for this venial sin -cut her to the heart. Ah! on some days how willingly she would have -thrown herself into the well of the building where the factory was, -so as not to hear or feel anything more! But Donna Concetta's thirst -was not at all quenched by that drop of water, Carmela's pence, and -on her way home every evening, before going in at her door, she -hurried to the Rosariella Street cellar where Annarella lived. She -was generally seated near the bed, and often in the dark, for she had -nothing to buy oil with, saying the Rosary with her daughter. Donna -Concetta crossed herself and waited till the Rosary was ended, to -ask for her loan back, uselessly as it happened every day. Annarella -could do nothing now but answer with a sigh or lament, and when Donna -Concetta burst into eloquence she began to cry. Then Teresina broke -in, speaking to both women. - -'Don't cry, mother, to please me.' And to the money-lender: 'Do you -not see, Donna Concetta, that mother has not got any money?' - -'Dear girl, my darling!' sobbed her mother, choked by all the sorrows -of her life. - -The money-lender would not be appeased; she was so accustomed to the -sham tears of those who wished to cheat her of her money that she no -longer believed in any sorrow; it was only when she had exhausted her -whole vocabulary of abuse that she decided to go away, slowly, with -that sleek walk of hers, muttering that she would do justice with her -own hands, against robbers of her blood. The mother and daughter were -left alone in the damp, dark cellar's unhealthy heat, and the poor -charwoman, responding to an inward thought, exclaimed: - -'Soul of Peppinello, do me this grace!' - -When Carmela and Annarella afterwards met in the street or the -Rosariella cellar, there was a long outpouring of sorrows and -interchange of news, when the physical and moral bitterness of their -sad existences burst out. - -'That lottery! what bad luck, what infamous luck, it was, for it -never to give a farthing's winnings, and to take their all--even the -bit of bread that just kept them alive!' Sometimes, through speaking -about their wretchedness and solitariness, Filomena, the third -unfortunate sister, was referred to. 'What was she doing? How could -she bear that life of sin?' - -Carmela had twice gone to seek her in the alley behind Santa Barbara -Steps: once she was out; the other time she found her so cold, so -changed, as if struck by remorse, that Carmela, filled with emotion, -ran away at once. Another time Annarella had met Filomena in the -street, in blue and yellow, with the usual red ribbon at her neck; -she asked her why she wore no mourning for her mother. - -'I am not worthy,' Filomena had answered, casting down her eyes, -and going off with that sliding step on high-heeled, shiny shoes. -All through this Carmela felt, besides her open griefs, besides -the sequence of wretchedness and humiliation, something she could -not take hold of, as if a new misfortune was coming on her head, a -crowning fatality was hemming her in, with no way of escape. What -was it? She could not say what it was. Perhaps it was Raffaele's -increasing coldness, and the brutal way he treated her when they met; -it may have been her brother-in-law Gaetano's fierce expression, or -that queer look that Filomena gave her: she dared not go to ask for -her now. - -For some time Annarella and she had been making up a plan to put an -end to their difficulties. Among all Naples common folk there are -women famed as witches--_fattucchiare_, as they call them--whose -witchcraft, philtres and charms cannot be resisted. Some, indeed, -have a large practice, much larger than a doctor's would be in the -same neighbourhood; almost every quarter boasts of its witch, who can -do the most extraordinary miracles, always, however, by God's help -and the Virgin's. Well, Chiarastella, the great sorceress, who lived -up there at Centograde Lane, near the Corso Vittorio Emanuele, had a -tremendous reputation: there was not a shop, cellar, road, square, or -street corner where Chiarastella's marvellous deeds were not known -and spoken of. It was said everywhere that, to get Chiarastella's -spells, you must ask for things that were not against God's will; -but no one who attended to this rule had come home disappointed from -her little place in Centograde Lane. No one among the mass of Naples -common folk dared to throw a doubt on Chiarastella's magic powers. -If in the provision stores and macaroni shops, where young and old -women love to gossip, or in front of herb-sellers' baskets and -barrows, where small folk haggle for three-quarters of an hour over -a bundle of borage, and at basement doors, where such long, animated -talk goes on; any ignorant woman, on hearing of the Centograde -witch's miracles, raised her eyebrows in surprise and unbelief, -twenty anxious, excited voices told her of all the deeds done by -Chiarastella. In one place a traitor husband had been brought back to -his young wife; then a young fellow dying of consumption was cured -when the doctors had given him up. Another case was a dressmaker who -had lost her customers, and had got them all back gradually by the -witch's influence; then there was a heartless girl who drove her -lover to an evil life and crime by her coldness, and Chiarastella -had set things right. Above all there was the tying of the tongue: -that--that was Chiarastella's grand feat. Everyone who had a lawsuit -coming off, or a trial in which they might be overcome by their -adversary or by justice, where money, honour, liberty or life would -be at stake, rushed in desperation for Chiarastella's magic. After -hearing about the case, if she considered it moral and in accordance -with God's will, she promised to tie the tongue of the adversary's -lawyer. The spell consisted of a magic cord with three knots in it -to represent the number of persons in the Trinity. Means must be -found to put it on the advocate's person, either in his pocket or -in the lining of his clothes, on the decisive morning of the trial, -and by the help of prayer the rival's advocate would not be able to -say over any of his arguments, even if he had them in his mind--his -tongue was tied, the suit was lost to him, the spell had secured -its object. Examples were quoted where the innocent and oppressed, -suffering from man's injustice, had been thus saved by Chiarastella. -Carmela and Annarella had thought of applying to Chiarastella for -some time, Carmela to try and awaken in Raffaele's heart renewed love -for her, she never having had his love, and now it was less hers than -ever. Annarella required a spell to get her husband Gaetano to give -up gambling at the lottery. - -Carmela had been up already at Centograde Lane to make inquiries -about getting the magic; she found five francs were necessary; and, -besides, there were some small ingredients that had to be bought. -Afterwards, if it was successful, just as God willed it, the two -sisters would make the witch a good present. Chiarastella certainly -never promised anything; she spoke mysteriously, in a doubtful way, -and kept deep silence at certain questions. It seemed as if she did -not care about money; she contented herself with a small fee for her -support, counting on people's gratitude to get a better gift if it -was God's will that the thing turned out well later on. Meanwhile, -ten francs at least were needed; without them nothing whatever -could be done. Whatever privations the sisters might endure that -bad summer, they never would have been able to put aside ten francs -between them. - -But days went by, and moral wretchedness was as urgent of care as -their bodily wants required looking to: it was the only remedy left, -so, though much against the grain, Carmela made up her mind to sell -her old marble-topped chest of drawers, the chief bit of furniture in -her room, that had been bought by her mother as a bride. She barely -got twelve francs for it--everyone was selling furniture that hateful -summer; there was not a dog left that would buy a farthing's worth of -things. She put her few pieces of linen in a covered basket under her -bed, and hung her poor clothes on a bit of string from two nails in -the wall, where they got damp, but she had her twelve francs. - -It was one Sunday at the end of August, after hearing Mass in Sette -Dolori Church, that the sisters went towards Centograde Lane. -Carmela had shut up her home and carried the key in her pocket. -Annarella left her daughter Teresina at home mending a torn dress, -after working till mid-day at the dressmaker's. For eight days now -Carmela had not succeeded in finding Raffaele, though she wandered -through Naples in her free hours. Gaetano, Annarella's husband, had -not come home on Saturday night, nor that morning. In Sette Dolori -Church, kneeling at a dark wooden form that the poor must use, as -they cannot pay for seats, they prayed earnestly during Mass. Now -they were laboriously going up the steps of the steep incline that -leads from Sette Dolori Street to Vittorio Emanuele Corso, not -speaking, wrapt up in vague hopes and fears. Chiarastella, the witch, -lived appropriately in a dark alley. It was quiet, but well enough -lighted, and stood to the right of the steep steps that lead from -the principal street up the hill to the little outlets Pignasecca, -Carità, and Monte Santo. There was a great quietness in that blind -alley, but the damp summer scirocco had covered the flint pavement -with a thin coating of mud, so they had to walk carefully not to -fall, and they made no noise. - -'Does she expect us?' Annarella asked, hardly moving her lips. She -was panting after going up the steps. - -'Yes, she does,' said Carmela in a whisper, as she went in at the -door. - -They went up to the first-floor, on to the narrow landing. There -were two doors facing each other; one was shut fast; indeed, it was -fastened by a chain and a heavy iron padlock. It looked as if the -dwellers there had gone off after a misfortune, shutting up their -dull abode for ever. The door on the left was half open; but the -sisters, on hearing a muffled sob, dared not go in without knocking. -It was startling for Carmela to pull a brown monkey's paw joined -to a big-ringed iron chain the bell inside was hung to. The black, -mummified paw gave one a shudder; it was hairy above and pink -underneath. It seemed like finding a bit of a swarthy murdered child. -The bell tinkled long and shrilly, as if it would never give over. -A very old, decrepit, bent servant, with a pointed nose that seemed -to wish to go into her toothless mouth, appeared. She signed to the -two women to come into the bare, narrow lobby, which was rather damp -underfoot. The choked sobbing went on behind another closed door. -Soon after the door opened, and a girl of the people, a seamstress -(Antonietta the blonde it was), crossed the lobby, her shawl off her -shoulders, weeping, her handkerchief at her eyes. Nannina, her short -friend, kept one arm round her waist, as if she wanted to hold her -up, and went on repeating, to console her: - -'It does not matter; never mind about it.' - -But on the sobbing getting louder the old woman opened the outer door -and sent the girls off, almost pushing them out; then she disappeared -without saying a word to Annarella or Carmela. They, already moved -by the feelings that induced them to invoke the witch's power, were -very sympathetic with the two girls, one so inconsolable, the other -so vainly trying to soothe. Leaning at the lobby window, they waited, -their eyes cast down and hands crossed over their aprons, tightly -holding the ends of their shawls, not saying a word to each other. A -great silence was around, in the damp summer sultriness of that long -summer noon. Annarella, being gentler, more saddened, and at the same -time less infatuated than Carmela, bent her shoulders to her fatal -destiny, feeling an increasing want of confidence in any means of -salvation, being almost sure that Gaetano would never be brought back -to reason by any prayer nor charm. She felt nothing but a growing -fear all through her low spirits. Carmela, instead, having an ardent, -loving soul that nothing could subdue, felt the flame of passion -light up within her. She was not afraid; no, she would have dared -any sight or danger to get Raffaele's heart again. But the decrepit -servant, bent into a bow, as if she wanted to reach the earth again, -appeared in the lobby and made a sign to Carmela to come in. Without -making a sound, the sisters disappeared into the other room, and the -door shut behind them. - -'Here is my sister that I told you of,' whispered Carmela, standing -aside to present Annarella, who stood just behind her. - -Chiarastella nodded as a salutation. The witch was of middle height, -or a little below it, very thin, with long lean hands, the skin of -them shiny from sticking to the bones; her body moved automatically, -as if she could stiffen every muscle at will. She had a small -head, and short face covered with deep red blotches, the jaw very -prominent; her complexion was of a warm vivid pallor, and the nose -a short one. But her eyes were the interesting thing in the witch's -neurotic face; they had a very mobile glance, and the colour varied -from gray to green, with always a luminous point, a sparkle, in -them; the glance was sometimes shy, then frightened-looking, then -seemingly carried away in a spiritual ecstasy; her whole vitality -was summed up in them. Chiarastella looked as if she were more -than forty, but her hair remained very black, and her forehead was -marked by a single deep wrinkle; but when her eyes lighted up, an -irradiation of youthfulness spread over her face and person. She wore -a black woollen dress, simply made, the usual cut among the common -people, only it was ornamented with white silk buttons, and a white -silk ribbon hung at her waist, in a knot with two long ends, at the -side. White and black are the colours worn by the votaries of Our -Lady of Sorrows. A thick crooked red coral horn hung from her neck -on a thin black silk cord; in making some careless gesture, the -witch often touched this horn. She was seated at a big walnut table -that had a closed iron box on it, of deep-cut, artistic workmanship, -an antique, evidently. A big black cat slept beside her, its paws -gathered up under it. Set round the small room were a little sofa of -faded chintz and five or six chairs; that was all that was in it. On -the wall was a black wooden crucifix; the figure of Christ, carved in -ivory, was a work of art also. She kept silence, with her eyes down. -The sisters felt that a great mystery was coming near, and would -envelop them. - -'We have brought the ten francs,' Carmela said timidly, taking them -out of the corner of her handkerchief and putting them on a table by -Chiarastella's hand. - -The witch did not move an eyelash; only the black cat raised its -head, showing fine yellow eyes like amber. - -'Have you heard Mass this morning?' Chiarastella asked, without -turning her head. - -'Yes, we have,' the sisters muttered shyly. - -She had a low, hoarse voice--one of those women's voices that seem -always charged with intense feeling--and it caused deep emotion in -the heart and brain of the hearers. - -'Say three _Aves_, three _Pater Nosters_, three _Glorias_, out loud,' -commanded the witch. - -Standing in front of her, the sisters said the words of prayer; she -said them too, in her vibrating voice, her hands clasped in her lap -on her black apron. The cat rose on its long black legs, holding down -its head. Then, altogether, the three women, after bowing three times -at the _Gloria Patri_, said the _Salve Regina_. The prayers were -ended. The witch opened the wrought-iron casket, holding the lid so -as to hide what was in it, and groped with her fingers a long time. -Then, taking out some little things, still hiding them in her hands, -she got mortally pale, her eyes became wild, as if she saw a terrible -sight. - -'Holy Virgin, help us!' Annarella uttered in a low tone, shaking with -fear. - -Now Chiarastella, with a yellow lighted taper, burnt two queer -scented pastilles, which were pungent and heavy at the same time; -she gazed intently at the flying smoke-rings; her eyes dilated, -showing the whites streaked with blue, as if she was trying to read -a mysterious word. When the smoke had disappeared, only a heavy -smell was left; the sisters felt stupefied already, from that smell, -perhaps. Monotonously, not looking at them, Chiarastella asked: - -'Have you made up your mind to work a spell on your husband?' - -'Yes, provided that he does not suffer in health from it,' Annarella -replied feebly. - -'You want to tie his hands, two or three times, so that he never at -any time can stake at the lottery, do you not?' - -'Yes, that is it,' the other answered eagerly. - -'Are you in God's grace?' - -'I hope I am.' - -'Ask the Virgin's help, but under your breath.' - -Whilst Annarella raised her eyes as if to find heaven, the witch took -out of the iron casket a thin new cord, looked at it, muttered some -queer irregular verses in the Naples dialect, invoking the powers of -heaven, its saints, and some good spirits with queer names. The chant -went on; the witch, still holding the cord tight in her hand, looked -at it as if filling it with her spirit; she breathed on it and kissed -it devoutly three times. Whilst she was carrying out this deed of -magic, her thin brown hands shook, and the cat went up and down the -big table excitedly, spreading its whiskers. - -Annarella now repented more than ever of having come, of trying -to cast a spell on her husband. It would have been better, much -better, to resign herself to her fate, rather than call out all -these spirits, and put all that mystery into her humble life. She -deeply repented; her breathing was oppressed, her face saddened. She -wanted to fly at once far off to her dark cellar; she preferred to -endure cold and wretchedness there. It was her sister who had led -her into such an extreme measure; she had done it more out of pity -for her, seeing her so melancholy, desolate, and worn out by sorrow -from Raffaele's desertion. It was not right--no, it could not be--to -try and find out God's will by witchcraft and magic in any case. No -witchcraft, however powerful, would conquer her husband's passion. -She had read one Saturday in his eyes, grown suddenly ferocious, -how unconquerable the passion was. She had seen him ill-treat his -children with that repressed rage that is capable of even greater -cruelty. That witchcraft, you see, with its alarming prelude and -continuation, seemed to her another big step on the way to a dark, -fatal end. - -Now Chiarastella, with sharpened features, her skin more shiny and -eyes burning, made three fatal knots in the twine, stopping at each -to say something in a whisper. At the end she threw herself all at -once from the chair to kneel on the ground, her head down on her -breast. The black cat jumped down too, as if possessed, and went -round and round the witch in the convulsive style of cats when going -to die. - -'Mother of God, do not forsake me!' Annarella called out, shaking -with fear; but the witch, after crossing herself wildly several -times, got up and said in solemn tones to the gambler's wife: - -'Take--take this miraculous cord. It will tie your husband's hands -and mind when Beelzebub tells him to gamble. Believe in God; have -faith; hope in Him.' - -Trembling, feeling hot all over from excessive emotion, Annarella -took the witch's cord. She was to put it on her husband without his -noticing it. She would have liked to go away now, to fly, for she -felt the sultriness of the room, and the perfume was turning her -brain; but Carmela, pale, disturbed from what she had seen and the -commotion in her own mind, turned an appealing look on her to get her -to wait. - -Chiarastella had already begun the charm to make Raffaele love -Carmela again. She called Cleofa, her decrepit servant, and said -something in her ear. The woman went out, and came back carrying with -great care a deep white porcelain dish full of clear water, looking -at it as if hypnotized, not to spill a drop; then she disappeared. -Chiarastella, with her face close to the dish, muttered some of her -mysterious words over the water. She put in one finger, and let three -drops fall on Carmela's forehead, who at a sign had leant forward to -her. Then the witch lit a big wax candle Carmela had brought, and -went on muttering Latin and Italian words. The candle-wick spluttered -as if water had been thrown on the flame. - -'Did you bring the lock of hair cut from your forehead on Friday -evening when the moon was rising?' Chiarastella's hoarse voice -demanded in the middle of the prayer. - -'Yes, I have it,' said Carmela, with a deep sigh, handing a tress of -her black hair to the witch. - -From the iron casket Chiarastella had taken a platinum dish with -some hieroglyphics on it, as shiny as a mirror. On this she put the -hair, and raised it up three times, as if making a sacrifice to -heaven. Then she held the black tress a little above the crackling -flame, which stretched up to devour it; a second after there was a -disagreeable smell of burnt hair, and nothing was seen on the dish -but a morsel of stinking ashes. The incantation went on, Chiarastella -singing under her voice her great love-charm, which was a queer -mixture of sacred and profane names--from Belphegor's to Ariel's, -from San Raffaele's, the girl's protector, to San Pasquale's, patron -saint of women--partly in Naples dialect, partly in bad Italian. -She afterwards took a small phial from the wrought-iron box, which -held all the ingredients for her charms, and put three drops from it -into the plate of water, which at once became a fine opal colour, -with bluish reflections. The witch looked again to try and decipher -that whitish cloud which whirled round in spirals and volutes, and -dropped the ashes of the hair in. Gradually under her gaze the water -got clear and limpid again in the dish; then she told Carmela to hand -her a new crystal bottle, bought on Saturday morning after making her -Communion, and she filled it slowly with water from the dish. The -love-philtre was ready. - -'Take it,' the witch said in her solemn tones, ending the -incantation--'take and keep it jealously. Make Raffaele drink some -drops of it in wine or coffee. It will inflame his blood and burn in -his brain; it will make his heart melt for love of thee. Believe in -God, have faith, and hope in Him.' - -'It is not poison, is it?' Carmela ventured to ask. - -'It will do him good, and not harm. Have faith in God.' - -'And what if he goes on despising me?' - -'Then, that means that he is in love with someone else, and this -charm is not enough. You must find out who the woman is that he has -left you for, and bring me here a bit of her chemise, petticoat, or -dress, be it wool, linen, or cotton. I will make a charm against her. -We will drive in a bit of her chemise or dress with a nail and some -pins into a fresh lemon; then you must throw this bewitched lemon -into the well of the house where the woman lives. Every one of these -pins is a misfortune; the nail is a sorrow at the heart of which she -will never be cured. Do you see?' - -'Very well, I will try and find out,' said Carmela, in despair at the -very idea of Raffaele being unfaithful. - -'Let us go away,' said Annarella, who could bear no more. - -'Thank you for your kindness, ma'am,' said Carmela. - -'Thank you so much,' added Annarella. - -'Thank God! thank Him!' the witch cried out piously. - -She cast herself down again, kneeling, fervently praying, while the -big black cat gently mewed, rubbing its pink nose on the table. The -two women went out, thoughtful and preoccupied. - -'That witchcraft is not good,' said Annarella, in a melancholy way to -her sister. - -'Then, what should be done--what can be done?' the other asked, -wringing her hands, her eyes filled with tears. - -'Nothing can be done,' said Annarella, in a solemn voice. - -They went down slowly, tired, worn out by that long scene of -witchcraft, which was above their intellectual capacity, and -depressed by the tension on their nerves. A man went up the steps of -Centograde Lane quickly, turning towards the witch's house. It was -Don Pasqualino De Feo. The sisters did not see him; they went on, -feeling the weight of their unhappy life heavier, fearing to have -gone beyond the limits allowable to pious folk, and that they had -drawn God's mysterious vengeance on the heads of those they loved. - - - - - CHAPTER XIII - - THE CONFECTIONER'S SHOP BANKRUPT - - -Cesare and Luisella Fragalà had shut the shop that rainy summer -evening at nine o'clock, half an hour earlier than usual, because -with that bad weather, that boisterous, warm scirocco wind, which -made the hot rain whirl round, few people were in the streets, and -no one would come out to buy coffee, a bottle of brandy, or a fancy -chocolate-box, at that hour in the storm. Only some purchaser of a -penny-worth of cough-lozenges came in occasionally, bringing in a -puff of wind into the hot shop, dirtying the marble floor with his -wet shoes. The evening had been unsuccessful, like the rest of the -summer. - -Luisella, who was suffering from low spirits, had not had the courage -even to go to Santo Jorio for country quarters; it is one of the -villages round Naples favoured by the towns-folk. She saw too many -clouds coming down on her family peace, just as in the Naples skies, -to dare to go from home and leave the shop. The humble pride of a -rich tradesman's wife who stays at home with her children and does -not think about the shop was all over. She left Rossi Palazzo, that -had been the joy of her middle-class ambition, early, only to come -back at the dinner-hour, go out again at once, and just come back in -the evening to sleep. It was quite another affair from staying with -the children. - -Little Agnesina, who was three years old now, was a florid, quiet, -well-behaved little creature, and often came to see her mother in the -shop. She did not ask for sweets or tarts, but, hidden behind the -tall counter, she cut out silently those slips of paper that are put -like cotton-wool between one sweet and another in the boxes sent to -country places. Agnesina made herself useful without making any noise -or giving trouble, so that she should not be sent away nor be left -at home with the cook and housemaid, who were always bickering. The -mother, when she weaned her, would have liked to indulge in a nurse, -a Tuscan by preference, so that she should not learn the Naples -dialect; but just as she was going to get one, on thinking it over, -she felt the subtle bitterness of a presentiment, and gave up the -idea. The little girl would have grown up with no training; so, not -to be separated so long nor see her unhappy, Luisella allowed her to -be brought to the shop now and then. - -When Agnesina saw her mother go away in the morning, she ran after -her, not crying nor yelling, not saying anything, just looking up -in a questioning way. The compassionate mother understood, and to -console her, seeing her so quiet and obedient, she made her a promise -she might come to the shop later on. That made the tiny arms let go, -quite satisfied, as if she had made up her mind to wait. When she -opened the big glass door, coming in in her plain cotton frock and -big straw hat, she smiled at her mother as if she was a big child -already. She silently went to put down her hat in the back-shop -without any outburst of greed, very happy to stay beside her mother -behind the high counter. Only her mother, after the moment of the -little one's arrival was over, got sad. She had never thought of -this, of coming to the shop every day for twelve hours to sell -caramels and chocolate, to fill paper bags and wooden boxes, always -to have to be ready to serve the public, whilst her little one cut -paper strips, not saying a word, as neatly as a big girl. She had -never dreamt her baby would be a shop-girl, too. - -Luisella certainly did not despise a tradesman's life; but she would -have liked to be a house, and not a shop, keeper, a housewife, -and not a sweetmeat-seller. She had not dreamt of this. She would -have liked to sew white work, make her baby's clothes, teach her -something--carols at Easter and Christmas, the way to knit stockings, -sewing, embroidery, all that is the humble but glorious inheritance -of happy wives. But instead she spent her life in public with a -stereotyped smile on her lips, not able to say a word privately to -her husband and daughter, nor collect her thoughts a single moment. -She had taken up that duty of selling in the shop from feeling -the financial embarrassments her husband was in. It seemed to her -that the shop-lads robbed him, or that they had bad ways with the -customers--that, in short, there was need of a woman. For this she -gradually sacrificed her whole day. Now no source of commercial -aggrandisement was beyond her; while she was a zealous counter-up of -pence, she kept house on a still more economical footing always. That -was not enough, evidently, because her husband's low spirits began to -be still more frequent. It must have to do with large transactions, -buying sugar, flour, coffee, liqueurs--matters she could not go into. -Cesare kept them out of her reach purposely. Still, she knew the -price of goods, and it made her wonder the more at the discomfort -they were in. When Cesare, not able to hide the straits he was in, -ended by owning that he could not pay a bill, that he had not the -weekly money to pay the workmen in the bakeries, she raised her -eyebrows in sad surprise, saying: - -'I cannot make it out. I do not see why we are so short of money.' - -Cesare tried to humbug her, talking some nonsense about Customs and -colonial tariffs. He spoke vaguely about losses by some speculations -he was not responsible for, saying the whole trade was going to the -bad. So she, getting thoughtful, ended by saying: - -'Then it would be better to shut up shop.' - -'No, for goodness' sake, don't say that!' he cried out. - -Ah! she had found out what her misfortune was in the end. Three or -four times, without intending it, she had discovered that Cesare was -not so honest as he used to be, that he told lies. This made her -start with fright, dreading worse evils. When they made up accounts -together, he said he had paid so much, at such a price, and it was -not true, or he had paid a part of it only. He had got to be a -bad payer. The two landlords of the flat and the shop complained -several times; they had their burdens, too; they could not wait so -long for their money. She had discovered this with a sharp, secret -anguish. When she questioned her husband severely, he got pale and -red, stammered, letting out his hidden sin by his whole attitude. -For a moment Luisella thought she was deserted for another woman, -and the flames of jealousy scorched her blood; but Cesare was always -so tender and loving, so sincerely and thoroughly in love with -his wife, that she was reassured. No, it was not that. She could -hardly make out at first what subtle, dissolving element melted -away the money in the house. She discovered that the increasing -debts were always getting fatally larger, from her husband's growing -absent-mindedness, in spite of the sad lies he told her. She could -not make out by what tiny wound the blood of the Fragalà house was -going drop by drop. It was in vain that the shop was successful, that -she did wonders in economy: the money disappeared all the same. She -felt a hollowness under the seeming solidity of their commerce; she -felt the incurable languor of a body losing all its blood. But she -saw no reason for it. It was not a woman, in so far; then who and -what was it? Only by dint of searching minutely and lovingly into -her husband's daily life had she ended by understanding what it was. -First of all, Cesare Fragalà had fallen into the habits of all keen -Cabalists; instead of tearing up the lottery tickets he played each -week, he was so foolish as to keep them, to compare and study them. -One day, in a jacket-pocket, Luisa found a whole sheaf, a week's -collection of lottery tickets, four or five hundred francs thrown -thus to the greedy Government, given to an impersonal, hateful being, -to try for an elusive fortune. Perhaps, in spite of the fright she -got then, amid the blaze of light that blinded her, she thought it -was the aberration of one week only. But Cesare was too simple about -deceiving, for her to go on thinking so. Luisa's clever eyes now -saw that Friday was a day of the greatest excitement with him. She -saw his nervousness in the early hours of Saturday, and the evening -depression. Now, Luisa's heart was divided by two sharp sorrows that -opposed each other: first, seeing their prosperity always flying -away, then finding Cesare to be a victim to an incurable moral fever. -That fatal period began with her when one may suffer from seeing -a loved one given over to a tragic passion, and yet dare not even -oppose his self-indulgence, or show one is aware of it. She was still -patient, for she disliked the idea of having a grand explanation with -her husband, of confronting him with his vice; she still hoped it -would be a fleeting fancy. - -But, to dash her hopes, day after day she saw Don Pasqualino De Feo, -the medium, in the distance, circling round her husband continually, -trying not to let her see him; but she guessed he was there, as a -woman guesses her rival's presence. She felt the ill-omened, mean -beggar was in the back-lane, at the street corner, or under the -gateway waiting for Cesare, so as to draw more money out of him, -and incite him to gamble again by saying silly fantastic things for -Cesare to draw lottery numbers from, figures that would never come -out of the urn. Now and then, in spite of Don Pasqualino's prudence -that also seemed to be fear, Luisella found him at the doorway, or at -the street corner, and looked so coldly and disdainfully at him that -he cast down his eyes and went off in his awkward way like a man who -does not know what to do with his body. Once Cesare Fragalà named -Don Pasqualino De Feo before his wife, watching to see if her face -changed; her sweet, affable look went off: she got to have a cold -expression, and frowned. He dared not name the medium again. Indeed, -he had had to warn him of his wife's ill-will, so Don Pasqualino got -still more cautious; if he wanted to call Fragalà when he was at -business, he sent a newsboy from the Bianchi corner. But Luisella -found out whence these mysterious calls came also; she shook her head -as she saw her husband go out of the shop with an affectation of -carelessness. - -The more the medium circled around, always dressed like a pauper, -still torn and dirty, always a sucker-up of money, of everything, the -more she felt her husband's rage for the lottery was not a temporary -caprice, but incurable vice. Now, on Friday nights, he came in -very late; she, pretending to sleep, heard quite well that he was -awake, uneasy, turning in his bed, knocking his head on the pillows. -Besides, while Cesare's fever did not go down, the shop's prosperity -did visibly. The wholesale dealers, seeing that Fragalà was always -asking for renewals of bills, or that he barely paid a part of -them, got suspicious; they put off sending the goods, they even got -to sending them on consignment, which is a grave proof of want of -confidence commercially, a thing that ruins a trader; for he has to -keep the goods in the Custom-house, not having money to take them -out. He goes on paying storage, knowing all the time that the things -are deteriorating. - -The warning that Fragalà was not quite solvent must have run from -Napoli Square to other parts, for he began to find all doors shut if -he did not come money in hand; his having signed money-lenders' bills -spoilt his credit altogether. Still, his reputation and means stood -it so much the more that it was the reputation of all the Fragalàs -together. But that could not last. One final blow, and his commercial -standing would go also. - -Now the bad summer season had come, with a scarcity of country -visitors, which caused a languor of all Naples' forces, a crisis -that went on increasing among all classes; for everyone lives off -strangers in that town of no commerce. It was no use for Luisella -Fragalà to give up her change to the country that year for the first -time; nothing had come of it. Goods were short in the storehouses -from the suspiciousness of dealers, and customers were still scarcer -from the bad weather. - -Luisella could not manage to keep down her depression now; the pretty -young face had got to have a grave expression, her head was often -down on her breast. She thought and thought, as if her soul was -absorbed in a most difficult problem; for one thing, she saw that her -husband's mental malady was always getting worse. He was so sorrowful -at some moments, it wrung one's heart to look at him. Besides, the -bad weather affected her, too; all suffered from it, rich, well to -do, and poor, for in this great country everything radiates, joy as -well as grief, good fortune as well as bad. Now she had decided to -speak, to question her husband's heart, for the situation was getting -gradually worse, it was desperate; in a short time he would be ruined. - -Being quite decided now in her loving, strong, womanly heart, having -made up her mind to act, she kissed her dear little one, who was so -quiet and prettily behaved, saying to herself she would speak, she -would bring out everything. Her life was already grievous from her -responsibilities as wife and mother; the gay, idyllic time was past -for ever, the long sad hour was come when she needed all her courage -to influence and convince Cesare. It was really a battle she intended -to hold that evening in the steamy shop, whilst the summer rain -rattled sadly outside. - -It was Friday; still, for a wonder, Cesare Fragalà had not left the -shop that evening, as he had got into the habit of doing every week -at dusk, not to return till three in the morning, the time the last -lottery-shop shut. He went backwards and forwards nervously; twice -the usual newspaper boy had come to call him for Don Pasqualino: -he answered that the person must wait, because he was busy. Pale -and trembling, feeling she had got to an important crisis, his wife -followed, with a side-glance, her husband's wanderings. Outside, the -rain beat sadly on the windows, the gas-flame looked sickly. - -'Shall we shut up shop now?' Fragalà said impatiently. - -'It would be best, no doubt,' she said, with a slight sigh, -'especially as no one will be coming in.' - -The two shopmen, helped by the porter and message-boy, made haste to -put up the iron gates, put out the outside gas, and give a general -cleaning up before going away by the little back-shop door in Bianchi -Lane. Quickly they said good-night and set off, one by one. The white -shop, its shelves brilliant with colour from the chocolate-boxes, was -now lit by one gas-jet only. Luisella was seated behind the counter, -as usual, and little Agnesina had gone to sleep in her chair, her -knees covered with shreds of paper. Cesare often disappeared into the -back-shop, as if he could get no peace. Neither of them could make up -their mind to speak, feeling that it was a grave crisis that they had -come to. She, above all, felt herself choking. It was he who spoke -first. - -'Look here, Luisella,' he said, in a low voice: 'you know what a bad -season we have had.' - -'Yes, a wretched one,' she muttered. - -'It is a real disaster, I assure you, my dear--enough to make one -give up keeping shop. You carry out economies, I work hard ... and it -goes from bad to worse.' - -'I know that,' she muttered again, as if tired of those grumbles. - -'You cannot know the full extent of it ... you would have to deal -directly with the wholesale houses to know what ruin----' - -'Come to the point,' she said, rather bitterly. - -'Are you angry with me?' Cesare asked humbly. - -'No, it is not that,' she replied, in a curious tone. - -'Well, I want you to do me a favour--a great favour, so great I am -ashamed to ask it, even.' - -'Say what it is,' she just uttered, keeping down the pained feeling -her husband's words caused her. - -'I have a payment to make to-morrow morning....' - -'To-morrow, in the morning, do you say?' - -'Yes; it is a bill that falls due. I had forgotten it. It is a big -bill.' - -'Still, you had forgotten it?' - -'You know I have got rather confused lately ... in short, I must pay, -and I am not ready. I asked in vain for a renewal or if I might pay -part only. Everyone wants his money just now. I cannot pay, and there -is no money to be had.' - -'Then, what is it that you want of me?' she said, looking coldly at -him. - -'You could help me; you could get me out of this momentary -embarrassment. I will give you back the money at once.' - -'I have no money.' - -'You have some valuables. Those diamond earrings I gave you: they are -worth a great deal. One could get a lot for them.' - -'Would you like to sell them?' said she, shutting her eyes as if she -saw something horrible. - -'I would pledge them--just take them to the pawn-shop, only for a few -days. They will be redeemed at once.' - -'Do you intend to pawn the diamond earrings?' - -'And the star--the star Don Gennaro Parascandolo gave you,' he said -hurriedly, in an anxious tone. - -She said nothing, just kept her head down and looked at the baby -quietly sleeping. Then, in a whisper, with an irrepressible shudder, -she said to her husband: - -'You want to pawn my jewels so as to stake on the lottery.' - -'That is not true!' he cried out. - -'Do not tell lies. Can you say before me and your daughter that you -won't use the money for the lottery?' - -'Do not speak to me like that, Luisella!' he stammered out, with -tears in his eyes. - -'You want them to stake on the lottery with. Have the courage of your -vices; don't load your conscience with lies,' his wife answered with -the cruelty of desperation. - -'It is not a vice, Luisa; it is for good ends I gambled, for good -motives, for your sake and Agnesina's.' - -'A father of a family does not gamble.' - -'It was to open the new shop in San Ferdinando Square. Seventy -thousand francs were needed for it, and I had not got it. You know -all our money is in use.' - -'A family man ought not to play.' - -'It was for the happiness of us all, Luisella. I swear to you, -believe me, it was because of my love for Agnesina.' - -'You don't love her. If you cared for her, you would not gamble.' - -'Luisella, don't humiliate me--don't make me out mean. Be kind. You -know how much I loved you--how I do love you!' - -'It is not true. If you loved me, you would not gamble.' - -He threw himself on an iron seat, leant his arms and head on a marble -table, and hid his face, not able to bear his wife's anger and his -own remorse. He felt great grief and sorrow, only surmounted by that -sharp, piercing need of money. With that agony he raised his head -again, and said: - -'Luisella, if my honour is dear to you, don't force me to make a -poor figure to-morrow. Give me your jewels; I will give them back on -Monday.' - -'Take the jewels; they belong to you,' she said slowly, with her eyes -down; 'but do not say you will give them back on Monday, because it -is not true. All gamblers lie like that, but pledged goods never come -back to the house. Take all the jewellery. What can I say against -your taking it? I was a poor girl with no dowry, and you, a rich -merchant, condescended to marry me, and gave me a higher position. -Should I not thank you for that all my life? Take everything; be -master of the house, of me and my daughter. To-day you will take the -jewels and stake them; next time you will take the best furniture, -the kitchen coppers, the house linen; it always goes on like that. -The Marquis di Formosa, too, who lives above us--has he not done -that? His daughter has not a bit of bread to put in her mouth now: -and if Dr. Amati did not help them secretly, both would die of -hunger. Who will help us when, in a year or six months, we are like -them? Who knows? Perhaps I will go mad, too, as the poor young lady -up there threatens to do. Her father makes her see spirits. It is a -scandal amongst all those who know her. But what are we women to do? -Fathers, husbands, are the masters. Take the diamonds, pawn them, -sell them, throw them into the gulf where your money has fallen and -is lost; I do not care for them now. They were my pride as a happy -wife. When I put them in my ears and hair, when I opened the casket -to look at them, I blessed your name, because, among other pleasures, -you had given me this. It is ended; it is all over. We are done with -pleasures now; we are at the last gasp.' - -'Luisella, have some charity!' he screamed out, feeling his flesh and -soul burn from these red-hot words. - -'Charity! we will soon be asking for it. The diamonds go to-day, -the other valuables next; then all, everything we possess, will -disappear. It will all be a flying dream,' she replied, looking in -front of her as if she already saw the frightful vision of their ruin. - -'Still, I need them; it is necessary for me to take them!' he cried -out with the doleful persistence of a desperate man who only feels -his evil tendencies pushing him on. - -'Who is denying you anything? Even Agnesina has pearl earrings. Put -them in; it will make a larger sum. Her cradle has antique lace on -it; Signora Parascandolo presented it to her. It is valuable. Take -it; it will bring up the sum.' - -'Look here, Luisa,' her husband began saying pantingly, emotion -choking his utterance, 'I swear to you the money is not intended for -gambling; I would not have dared to ask it from you, a good woman, if -it was. You have such good reasons to despise me already. But it is a -debt for former stakes I made--a terrible debt to a money-lender. He -threatens to protest it to-morrow--to seize my goods. This cannot be -allowed to happen; a merchant whose bills are protested ought to die.' - -'That is true,' she said, hanging her head. - -'It may be,' he added after a short hesitation. 'Perhaps I would -have taken some of it to gamble with--just a little, only to try and -recoup myself--only for that, Luisella.' - -'In short, you cannot keep from gambling!' his wife cried out in a -rage. - -He trembled like a guilty boy, and did not answer. - -'Can you not keep from it?' she asked again, attacked by a most -terrible fear. - -'Look here, this is how it is: it is a perfidious passion. You do not -know what it is; you must have felt it to know; you must have panted -and dreamt, or you cannot think what it is like. One starts gambling -for a joke, out of curiosity, as a little challenge to fortune. -One goes on, pricked to the quick by delusions, excited by vague -desires that grow. Woe to you if you win anything--an _ambo_, a small -_terno_! It is all up with you, for your chance of winning seems -certain. Do you see? You feel certain of winning a large sum, as you -have managed to get a small amount, and you put back not only all -you have gained, but you double, treble the stake in the weeks that -follow your success. It is the devil's money going back to hell. What -a passion it is, Luisella! It is bad for one to win, and bad not -to win. Then the dream, that for seven days keeps you alive, on the -eighth day gives you a bitter disappointment; it ends by setting your -blood on fire, and to increase your chances of winning at any cost, -your stakes increase frightfully; the desire of winning gets to be a -madness. The soul gets sick; it neither sees nor hears anything. No -family ties, position, nor fortune, can stand against this passion.' - -'My God!' she said softly, just as if she were going to fall into a -chasm. - -'You are right, Luisella, to ill-use me, to strike at me with your -scorn; you have a right to do it. I am a bad husband, a worse father; -I have beggared my family. You are quite right,' Cesare said again -convulsively. 'I was a cheerful, industrious young fellow; all wished -me well; my business was going splendidly; you were a joy, and -Agnesina a pleasure to me. What fascination has overcome me? That -cursed idea I had of winning seventy thousand francs at the lottery -to open a shop at San Ferdinando with--a cursed idea that has put -the fire of hell into my blood. I wanted to enrich you by gambling, -whereas grandfather and father taught me by example that only by -being content with a little, by putting sou upon sou, one gets rich. -What folly was it seized me? What was the infection? Where did I -catch it? What a horrible passion gambling is!' - -The poor woman listened to that anguished confession, pale, her -lips shaking from the effort she made to restrain her sobs, leaning -against the elbows of the chair, feeling crushed by a nameless agony. - -'How much have I staked?' Cesare went on. He seemed to be speaking to -himself now, without seeing his wife or hearing his sleeping child's -breathing. 'I do not know, I do not remember now. The lottery is a -great melter-down of money; it is like a crucible the metal runs out -of. At first I played moderately; I tried to be moderate and wise -about it, as if the lottery was not the most laughable trick that -fortune plays on man. At that time I wrote down the money I staked -in a pocket-book where I note my ordinary expenses; but afterwards -the fever seized me, and has grown so, I remember no more. I do not -remember how many thousands of francs I threw away so madly in an -ugly dream, a delirium that came back again every Friday. Luisella, -you do not know it, but we are ruined.' - -'I do know it,' she said very softly, looking at the little one's -pink face sleeping in childish serenity. - -'You do not know, you cannot know, everything. I have given bills for -the money put aside for yearly payments; I have staked the thousand -francs we put in the savings bank for Agnesina; I have robbed her -of the money I gave her--her own money; I have failed to carry out -my bargains commercially. Our correspondents have no confidence in -my soundness; they will have no more to do with me; they send me no -goods. You see the shop is getting empty; I have no ready money to -fill it again. I have not even paid the insurance money; if the shop -was burnt down to-morrow, I would not get a farthing. I am a bad -payer. You do not know--you can't. I have tried for money everywhere -in desperation; put myself in a money-lender's hands, mostly in Don -Gennaro Parascandolo's, and they have eaten me up to the bone.' - -'Did you borrow money from Agnesina's godfather?' Luisella exclaimed -sadly, hiding her face in her hands. - -'In money matters no relationship counts; money hardens all hearts. -These debts are my shame and torment. A tradesman who takes money -at eight per cent. a month is thought to be ruined, and they are -right. Money-lending is dishonest both in the borrower and lender. -What shall I do? The season is a very bad one for poor and rich; -but even if it was a splendid one, the gains would not be enough -even to pay the interest on my debts. Just think; it is a miracle -that Cesare Fragalà, the head of the Fragalà house, has not yet been -declared bankrupt, and a discreditable bankrupt; for a merchant -cannot take creditors' money to stake on the lottery. It is theft, -you understand, theft, and thieves go to the gallows. After reducing -my family to wretchedness, I will take their honour from them by this -hellish madness.' - -Not able to bear his unhappiness any longer, he burst into sobs, -choking and crying like a child. She, shaking with emotion, feeling -in her heart a great pity for her husband and a great fear for the -future, raised her head resolutely. - -'There is no remedy, then?' she said, in her firm voice, like a good, -loving woman. - -'There is none,' he answered, opening his arms in a despairing way. - -'We are on a precipice. I understand--I see it. But there must be -some way of mending matters,' she reiterated obstinately, not willing -to give in without a struggle. - -'Pray to the Virgin for help--pray!' he whispered, like a child--more -lost than a child. - -'Let us try and find some cure,' she still answered softly. - -'You try; I can do no more. I have no will or strength left. You must -search for it. I am lost, and nothing will save me.' - -The despairing words seemed to echo in the gay, white shop, shining -with satin and porcelain. There was a deep silence between the -couple. She, wrapped in thought, with the firm, introspective glance -of a strong woman, counted over the extent of her misfortune. She -did not feel angry now. All rage had fallen at the young fellow's -agonized voice. He had been so easy and merry, and now he stammered -out piteously his irreparable mistake. What she had heard, the -anguish bursting forth from her husband's inward heart, what she had -guessed at, and that grievous, impressive spectacle, had done a work -of cleansing. All personal resentment had gone from her generous -mind. She only felt a strong desire for self-sacrifice, for saving -her husband and his home. The littleness that sometimes limited -her womanly mind had gone. Her soul rose to unselfish heights of -sacrifice. He kept to earth, tied down by his engrossing passion. -He did not show even the Marquis di Formosa's greatness under it. -His grief, his lamentation, were as monotonous and rhythmical as -a child's. She, on the other hand, on meeting misfortune became -spiritualized, and let the noblest part of her character rule her. -After that wild confession she felt more like a helpful sister, a -compassionate mother, than a young wife; more like a high magnanimous -protector. She forgot all her natural pretences and affectations as a -woman and wife. - -He was weeping, with his head down on his arm against the table, like -a wretched creature whose unhappiness is really infinite and not to -be cured, while she, deep in thought, pondered over means of setting -things right. But all at once, with a hush, she told him to say no -more. Agnesina had wakened, very gently, as usual, without weeping -or crying. Seated queerly on her tiny chair, she was looking at her -mother with wide-open, mildly-sparkling eyes. Luisella lifted her -out of the chair she was fastened into and bent over to kiss her -little one, as if she got strength from that kiss and her requited -love. - -The tiny one looked at her father without speaking, seeing his head -down on the table; then she said, 'Is father asleep?' - -'No, no, he is not sleeping,' said her mother under her breath, as -she went into the back-shop to take her mantle and hat. 'Go and give -him a kiss. Go and say this to him, "Father, it is nothing--it is -nothing."' - -The obedient infant went to her father, leant her tiny head against -his knee, and, in her pretty, singing voice said: - -'Father, give me a kiss; it is nothing, nothing.' - -Then the poor young fellow's swollen heart burst. The most scalding -tears rained on his little one's head. - -While tying her bonnet-strings, Luisella, as she heard these -desperate sobs, shivered to keep back her tears. But she did not -interfere. She let the desolate heart find a vent and take comfort in -kissing the little one. She, full of wonder, went on saying under the -tears and kisses, 'Father, father, it is nothing.' - -'Let us go home,' said Luisella, coming into the shop again, biting -her lips, trying to harden her heart. - -Still moved, Cesare Fragalà took his little girl in his arms, as he -did every evening when she went to sleep in the shop, and put on her -woollen hood, tying it under the chin. Luisella went on tidying up -the shop a little, taking the key out of the strong box, feeling if -all the drawers of the counter were properly shut, with that instinct -for working with their hands all healthy, good young women have. -They put out the gas, and Luisella lit a taper. Then they went away -through the back-shop and the small door that led into Bianchi Lane. -It was still raining. The warm scirocco wind beat the tepid summer -rain in their faces; but they were not far from home. Cesare put up -his umbrella, his wife took his arm to shelter from the rain, the -child was perched on his other arm and put her head on his shoulder. -All three went along, bowed under the summer storm, not speaking, -clinging one to the other as if only love could save them from -life's tempest that threatened to overwhelm them. At night, under -the rage of heaven, it seemed as if they were going on and on to a -sorrowful destiny. But the two innocent ones pressed close to the -unhappy, guilty man, seeming to pray for him. They would bring him -into safety. They said nothing till they got home, where the servant -was waiting for them at the open door. She held out her arms to take -Agnesina and carry her to her room to undress her and put her to bed. -But the little one, as if she had understood the importance of the -time, asked her father and mother to kiss her again, saying, in her -gentle, baby tongue, 'Bless me, mother; bless me, father.' - -At last they were alone again in their bedroom, where the silver lamp -burned before the Mother of Jesus, the holy grieving Mother. Cesare -was depressed. But Luisella opened the glass door of the wardrobe at -once, where she kept her most valuable things, and stood for a little -searching in that half-light. Then she pulled two or three dark -leather jewel-cases out. - -'Here they are,' she said, offering the jewels to her husband. - -'Oh, Luisella! Luisella!' he cried out, agonized. - -'I give them to you willingly, for the sake of your honour. I would -not dare to keep these stones when we are in danger of failing in -honesty. Take them. But by all that has been sweet in our past, by -all that may be frightful in our future, by the love you bore me, -that I bear you, for our dear child's sake, whose head you wept over -this evening, I implore you with my whole heart, as one prays to -Christ at the altar, give me a promise.' - -'Luisella, you want to kill me!' he cried out, putting his hands -through his hair. - -'Do you promise to leave all your trade affairs in my hands--debts -and dues, buying and selling?' - -'I do promise.' - -'Will you promise to give me all the money you have or may get, and -not try to get money without my knowledge?' - -'I will give it to you--all, Luisa.' - -'Promise to believe me, only to listen to my advice and what I say.' - -'I promise that.' - -'Promise that no one will have more influence than me; promise to -obey me as you did your mother when you were a child.' - -'I will obey you as I did her.' - -'Swear to all that.' - -'I swear it to the Madonna, who is listening to us.' - -'Let us pray now.' - -Both piously knelt before the holy images. They said the Lord's -Prayer in a whisper, louder at the end. She raised her eyes, and -said, 'Lead us not into temptation,' and he rejoined, very humbly and -disconsolately, 'Lead us not into temptation.' - - - - - CHAPTER XIV - - THE MEDIUM'S IMPRISONMENT - - -The summer rain beat sadly on the pavement; two broad yellow gutters -went down the sides of Nardones Road; the sickening sulphurous smell -of August storms was in the air. In San Ferdinando Square the cabs -had their hoods up, and were shiny all over with rain, dripping on -all sides. The long thin horses stood with their heads down, drenched -to the bones, and running down with water. The drivers sat huddled -up, their shapeless hats over their eyes, keeping their heads down -and hands spasmodically fixed in the pockets of their torn capes, -as they patiently bore the deluge from the sky. All around was -dreary-looking--the royal palace, the porch of San Francesco di Paolo -Church, the Prefecture, barracks, and large coffee-houses--all were -dreary, in spite of the grandeur of the buildings and the numbers -of lights behind the plate-glass windows. There was the majestic -edifice of San Carlo Theatre also; but the whole night landscape -was wrapped up in the noisy tempest that never rested, and seemed -to draw new force from its weariness to beat on houses, streets, -and men. There were few passers-by, and these looked like unhappy -folks' ghosts walking under dripping umbrellas, or, having no -umbrella, they scraped along the wall with coat-collar raised and -soft hat soaked with rain. Some few wanderers turned the corner from -Toledo Street into Nardones Road, which is a broad enough street in -the best quarter of the town; but it has an equivocal appearance, -all the same, as if it was uninhabited and unsafe. It had no -shady corners, but shutter-closed windows, ill-lit balconies, and -half-open doors, where the gaze was checked by a dark passage, had -a suspicious appearance. Some great door now and then broke through -this doubtful impression, from the brightness of the gas and width -of its courtyard, but a shop with far from clean windows, obscured -by reddish stuff curtains carefully drawn, a feeble light coming -through and small or large shadows showing behind, gave a new feeling -of suspicion and uneasiness to the minds of people going home that -way who might be bending under the weight of cares and long fatigue. - -At one point a woman with a black shawl barely covering her yellow -dress and white bodice turned the corner from Toledo Street and went -up Nardones Road slowly, holding the corners of the handkerchief on -her head tightly between her teeth, sheltering from the rain under a -very small umbrella. She went along very cautiously, lifting her feet -so as to wet her bright leather shoes as little as possible, lifting -her skirt to let red cotton stockings be seen. When she passed under -a lamp-post's reddish light she raised her head and showed the face, -now sad and tired, for all its commonplace beauty, of Filomena, -Annarella and Carmela's unfortunate sister. She got as far as the -suspicious-looking shop with the red curtains, and stopped before -the plate-glass door as if she was trying to see someone or find out -what was going on, and did not dare to open the door. She could make -out nothing but some dark shadows with hats on moving about. After -hesitating a little, she decided to put her hand on the knob of a -small window and open it. She put in her head timidly, and called: - -'Raffaele! Raffaele!' - -I am coming immediately,' the young Camorrist's voice answered from -inside in rather an impatient tone. - -She quickly shut the window again and set herself to wait in the -rain. A man passed, and cast a queer look at her, his curiosity -aroused by meeting anyone in that strange stormy weather at so late -an hour. But she cast down her eyes as if she was ashamed, and -watched the end of Nardones Road to see who came round the corner, -evidently being much afraid of being recognised. Suddenly she gave -a start. Two working men were coming along, going up Nardones Road, -not speaking to each other, getting all the rain on their shoulders. -The one man, old, hump-backed, dragging his leg, turned out to be -Michele, the shoeblack, not carrying his block for once; the other, -tall and thin, with burning eyes in hollow sockets, was Gaetano, the -glover. On recognising her sister Annarella's husband, Filomena gave -a frightened shiver and got closer to the wall, as if she wanted to -get to the other side of it. She lowered her umbrella, and prayed -silently, with lips that could hardly stammer out the words, that -Gaetano should not recognise her. She shivered and trembled, fearing -the shop door would open and that Gaetano would see the man who was -coming out. But Gaetano, as he was getting the full force of the rain -on his head, took no notice of the people on the road, luckily for -Filomena, nor did the shop door open as he passed. Instead of that, -the working men disappeared, one after the other, into a gateway, -forty paces off, where some other men had gone in before them. But -Filomena felt her cheeks icy under the rouge, from the fright she had -got, and she opened the door again to beg and beseech in a whisper: - -'Raffaele, do come!' - -'I am coming--I am coming,' the young fellow answered in a bored -tone, not even noticing that the poor woman was waiting all this time -in the rain, at night, in a wind-swept road. - -She sighed deeply. Her eyes had no need now of bistre, for a deep -line of fatigue went under them, and they were filled with tears. The -rain now had soaked through her green cotton umbrella and come down -on her head. It soaked her shiny black hair and ran down her face and -neck, a warm water, like tears. But she did not even feel the rain -trickling, for she felt nothing. She did not see three or four other -men come out of Toledo Street, go on to the top of Nardones Road, and -disappear into the gateway where Michele and Gaetano had rushed in. - -Inside the shop the shadows moved about, and a noise of voices in -discussion arose. She got up closer and strained her ears anxiously -as she heard Raffaele cursing and threatening. She could not stand -the noise of angry voices. Again she opened the door, crying out -beseechingly: - -'Raffaele, Raffaele, do come!' - -Still angrier words burst out on all sides from those drinking and -gambling in that wretched coffee-house; then Raffaele came out of the -shop, putting on his hat with a bang, as if he was being pushed from -inside. On finding himself confronted by Filomena's humble figure, -soaking, the rouge running down her cheeks, her face distorted by -fear, he cursed impiously, and gave her an ugly shove. - -'Come on home--do come!' said she, taking no notice of the push and -the curses. - -The Camorrist furiously told her to go and kill herself. But it was -raining, and he had no umbrella; his short jacket did not shelter him -well, so he got under her umbrella, still cursing. - -'Be patient with me, be kind,' she said, lengthening her steps on the -pavement to keep alongside of him, and lowering the umbrella to his -side, so that he should not get soaked. - -'But you know you should not come to the billiard-saloon,' said the -young fellow, with suppressed rage. 'It bores me to look like a -schoolboy being fetched home--it bores me.' - -'Be patient with me. I could not help it,' she whispered, drinking in -the tears that ran down her cheeks, not being able to wipe them. - -'I will leave you--as true as death, I'll leave you! You have -your sister's fault. She was so ragged she disgusted me. She came -everywhere to look for me, and made my friends laugh at me. I left -her for that. Do you understand?' - -'Poor sister!' she moaned out. - -'You are not ragged, but you get me laughed at just the same. Do you -hear?' - -'Yes, I know.' - -'If you don't give over, I will leave you, as I did Carmela. I am a -young fellow of honour, you know.' - -'Yes, I know that.' - -'Don't come here again.' - -'Very well, I never will.' - -They still went on with this talk, for he felt enraged at losing -his game and at being laughed at by his friends, also at not having -any money. She was penitent, feeling that ill-treatment was her -just punishment for playing her sister false; so, while he bit at -his spent cigar in a corner of his mouth and went on abusing her, -taunting her with her unhappy life, calling her every bad name, she -went alongside, silent and pale, for all the rouge had run down -with the rain. Her wet chemise stuck to her shoulders, and her hair -was glued to her forehead with damp. She went on, keeping down the -umbrella to his side, bearing his insults; for she was carried away -by sorrow and repentance, and said mechanically over and over again: -'It is little to what I deserve.' - -Up there all those who went in at the gateway on the right side of -Nardones Road had gone up a stair of one flight, opposite the chief -staircase, which was a little broader. They went into an apartment -of two rooms that was let for an office--so called by the owner -because it had no kitchen. But the two rooms were so low in the -ceiling, so badly lighted by two small windows, the red brick floors -were so cold, the wall-paper so dirty, and the paint of the doors -and windows so greasy, that no small notary, poor advocate, doctor -without practice, or dealer in doubtful business, stayed there more -than a month. The cobbler who served as a porter and the inmates -who went down the big stair were accustomed, therefore, to see new -faces for ever going up and down the small stair--young and old men, -ushers and commission agents, a string of white-faced people, often -very queer-looking. Who troubled themselves about the people living -there? No one--not even the porter. He got no pay from the occupiers -of the flat, and did not care therefore if the tenants were changed. -On the big stair busy people lived: house-agents, writing-masters, a -third-rate dentist, a midwife, and others of queer professions. They -went up and down, taken up about their own interests and business, -their decent poverty or unsuccessful ill-doing. They were people who -took little notice of their neighbours, so that one might call the -office, that always was having new tenants or being left vacant, -rather isolated. The ticket 'To Let' stood there on the door the -whole year round; every month it was the same. When the apartment was -let, then the tenant carried off the key at dusk; when it was vacant, -the cobbler kept it on his counter, or, if he was away, he handed it -over to the charcoal-dealer opposite. The stair of the apartment was -broken in places, slippery and dangerous for those who had not good -legs and sharp eyes. - -Now, that August the little place had been occupied for a couple of -months by a neatly-dressed young gentleman, affecting the style of -a provincial trying to be fashionable. He was fat and thick, with -a bull-like neck, and his red hair, joined to a florid complexion, -gave him an apoplectic look. So the office was opened several times a -week for a few hours, and two or three men, or sometimes more, came -in. They disappeared up the staircase, and nothing more was heard, -nothing showed behind the dirty window-panes; only after an hour or -so these men appeared again, one by one, some red in the face, as if -they had shouted for a long time, others pallid, as if gulping down -repressed rage. They vanished each one by his own road, without even -the porter seeing them sometimes. - -But one evening of the week, always the same one, seven or eight men -met in the office, and then a dirty petroleum lamp, covered by a -shade that might cost threepence, lighted up the dirty room. Its only -furniture was a rough table and eight or ten chairs, of odd patterns. -On that evening the confabulation lasted till past midnight; often -some gesticulating shadow showed queerly against the panes; sometimes -the men leant out of the window, and looked stolidly into the dull -black court, as if they saw the ghosts of their own excited minds. -The cobbler, tired with his hard day's work, casting an indifferent -glance at the windows of the office, saw it was still lighted up, -and, shrugging his shoulders, went off to sleep in his den, a hole -under the staircase. The courtyard was not lighted up; the street -door was left half open; some people still went out and came in -cautiously from the so-called great staircase. Some mysterious -night-patient of the dentist, some hurried client to call the -midwife, who opened the door mysteriously to go out. - -It was after midnight when Dr. Trifari's guests went away from the -meeting, all together, silently, hurrying down one after the other to -get away as quickly as possible. The last one pulled the office door -behind him, and it gave the creaking noise of old rotten wood. The -two small rooms that formed the office returned to their solitude, -and, with hearts beating high in the excitement of their dream, the -party melted away through the town. But this dreary evening the poor -cobbler had gone to bed at dusk, wrapping himself up in his ragged -bed-covering and torn cape he had worn all day, feeling the chill of -the tertian fever and the damp of the stormy weather in his bones. -So, in the confusion of the fever that had come on like a block of -ice on his chest, he heard the clatter of those going up and down -the big stair. Two or three times he seemed to hear voices raised -in the office, where there was a window open, and the scirocco wind -carried the rain rushing in, and made the oil-lamp flicker. The -rain went on falling in the badly-paved court, covering any other -noise; then the window was shut, and no more could be heard. Later -on the shutters were fastened too, and everything sank again into -deep shadow. Still, there was a meeting going on there. Trifari, the -master of the house, had been the first to arrive; he lighted the -lamp, and went through to the second room to arrange some things, -going and coming from it, with his hat a little on the back of his -head. In spite of the scirocco wind, it was the first time the colour -had gone out of his red face, and some drops of sweat came out on his -forehead. Sometimes he stood still, as if he repented of what he was -going to do or thought of doing; but he quickly recovered from that -momentary depression. When the shrill bell rang the first time, Dr. -Trifari gave a start and stood still uncertainly, as if he dared not -open it. Still, he went, but he only half opened the folding-door, -with great caution, to let Colaneri pass through. The ex-priest's -face was rather gloomy, and his shoulders were dripping wet; for -his small umbrella, a very shabby one, only protected his head. -They said good-evening to each other in a whisper; Colaneri, with -cautious glances from behind his spectacles, dried his wet hands with -a doubtfully white handkerchief--the fat, flabby, whitish hands that -are peculiar to priests. They said nothing to each other. The same -complicated anguish bore down on them, so that their Southerners' -loquacity was subdued; all the past excitement, beaten down by -disappointments following each other, had ended by sapping their -strength. - -Suddenly, raising his head, Colaneri asked: 'Is he to come?' - -'Yes, he is coming,' Trifari breathed between his lips. - -'Has he no suspicion of what we are going to do?' - -'None at all.' - -A gust of wind came into the room and nearly put out the light. It -was then Trifari went to shut the window. - -'We are only doing what is an absolute necessity,' Professor Colaneri -replied, repeating aloud the excuse with which he had been soothing -his conscience for some days. - -'It is impossible to go on any longer like this,' the doctor remarked -in a dull voice; then he lighted a cigar to try and look at his ease, -but he did not manage it: he let the match go out. - -'The report made against me to the governors is frightful,' said -Colaneri in a whisper, with his eyes down. 'I have a lot of -enemies--lads I ploughed in the examinations, you know. They reported -me to the President of the University as having sold the exercises -to some students. They put down the names, too....' - -'How could they know all that?' the doctor asked slowly. - -'Who can tell? I have so many enemies. The President made a dreadful -report; I am threatened....' - -'With being turned out?' - -'Not only that; there is to be a lawsuit....' - -'You don't say so?' - -'I have so many enemies, Trifari. It is a serious threat. How will I -be able to prove my innocence?' - -'You have sold these exercises, then?' the doctor muttered cynically, -throwing away his cigar. - -'The pay is so wretched, Trifari, and the examinations are all a -fraud, too.' - -'If they take you to law it will be bad for you.' - -'I am ruined if they do. I must have money in hand at any cost this -time, do you understand; if not, I am ruined. There is nothing left -but to shoot myself, if they take me to law. We must win, Trifari.' - -'We will win,' the other affirmed sternly. 'I have a lot of trouble, -here and at my home. My father has sold everything; my brother, -instead of coming home after his service as a soldier, out of poverty -has enlisted in the military police; my sister is not to be married, -she has not a farthing of dowry now; she is reduced to making dresses -for rich peasants. We had very little, and I have eaten all there -was, and there are a number of debts, of calls.... The father of -the student whom we forced to sign a promissory note at Don Gennaro -Parascandolo's wants to denounce me as a cheat.... We must win, -Colaneri; we cannot live another week without winning.... I am more -ruined than you are.' - -Here the bell rang very gently. - -'Perhaps it is him, do you think?' Colaneri asked with a little shake -in his voice. - -'No, no,' Trifari answered; 'he is to come later, when we are all -here....' - -'Who took the message to him?' - -'Formosa took it.' - -'He has no suspicion, then?' - -'No, none.' - -'Then, the spirit has not told him anything?' - -'It looks as if the spirit could not go against Fate, for it tells -him nothing about this.' - -'It is Fate, I suppose?' - -Another ring came. Trifari went to open the door. It was Marzano, -the lawyer, the sprightly, good-natured, smiling old man. But -sudden decrepitude seemed to have come over him; his pallor had got -yellowish, his pepper-and-salt moustache was quite white, and had got -thin over his mouth. His smile had gone for ever; evidently, as death -drew near, his good opinion of life had gone. He came in sighing. He -was soaking, his overcoat shone with drops of water all over, and -his lean hands trembled. He sat down saying nothing, and kept his -hat well down over his ears, only his mouth kept up the old habit -of moving, always chewing ciphers. Now he leant his pointed chin, -where a neglected beard was growing, on his stick, being so wrapt in -thought he did not even hear what Trifari and Colaneri were saying -to each other. Suddenly he, too, having the same engrossing thought, -asked: 'Will he come, do you think?' - -'Of course he will,' the other two answered together. - -'Has he not guessed?' - -'He knows nothing about it.' - -'These mediums either see a lot or they see nothing.' - -'Better so,' the other two muttered. - -Dr. Trifari, on hearing knocking at the door, went first into the -second room to fetch three or four other chairs, and arranged them -round the shabby table. Ninetto Costa and Don Crescenzio, the -lottery banker at Nunzio Lane, came in. The stock-broker had lost -all his smartness. He was dressed anyhow--in a morning coat; his -too light overcoat had big splashes of wet on it; not even a pebble -breast-pin shone on his black silk necktie. His fine lucky man's -bright smile that showed his teeth had gone too with the smartness. -The stock-broker was going on with difficulty from one settling-day -to another, taking no more risks, not daring to gamble; he had lost -all his audacity; he only managed to keep his creditors at bay: they -still had faith in him; because his name was known on the Exchange, -because his father had been a model of honesty and he himself had -been so lucky, all still believed in his fortune. But the unhappy man -knew that the hour of the crisis had come, that he would not even -be able to pay the interest on his debts soon, that Ninetto Costa's -name would be on the bankrupt list. He had put down everything--his -handsome house, carriages, luxurious appliances, journeys, dinners, -and English clothes from Poole. But this sacrifice was not enough, -for the cancer that gnawed his breast, that ate into everything, was -not rooted out. He still desperately played at the lottery, being -taken by it now soul and body, shutting his eyes to the storm so -as not to see the waves coming that would drown him. Alongside of -him Don Crescenzio, with his handsome, serene face and well-combed -chestnut beard, had the traces also of beginning to fall off in -prosperity. By dint of being in contact with feverish people, just -as if he had been touching too hot hands, something of the gambling -fever had been affecting him, and through the desperate insistence of -the gamblers he had got to giving them credit. How could he resist -the imploring demands of Ninetto Costa, Trifari and Colaneri's -pretexts, that had a vague threat under them, the Marquis di -Formosa's grand promises?--all used different forms of supplication. -To begin with, he let them have credit from Friday till Tuesday, the -day he got ready the State profits; they, doing a renewed miracle -every week, managed to give him what they owed, so that he might be -ready on Wednesday; but at last, their resources being exhausted, -some of them began to pay a part only, or not to pay anything, and he -began to put his own money into it, so that his caution money should -not be seized by the State. The gamblers dared not show again till -they had got money; then they paid off part of the debt and staked -what they had over. One client had disappeared altogether--Baron -Lamarra, son of the mason who had got to be a contractor and a rich -man. He owed Don Crescenzio more than two thousand francs, and when -Don Crescenzio had waited for him two or three weeks, he went to look -for him at his house. He found the wife in a furious state. Baron -Lamarra had forged her signature on a number of bills, and she had -to pay unless she wanted to be a forger's wife; but she was already -trying for a separation. Baron Lamarra had fled to Isernia, and from -there gave not a sign of life. Don Crescenzio was rudely turned away -from the door--that was two thousand francs and more lost! He swore -not to give more credit to anyone; but, in spite of the debtors -paying him a little now and then, seven or eight thousand francs were -still risked, with little hope of getting them back. Eight thousand -francs was the exact sum of his savings for several years. Besides, -he could not press his debtors much--they had nothing now but a few -desperate resources that only came to light from a wicked, burning -love of gambling. He now took a lively interest in their gambling, -and was anxious for them to win, so as to get his savings back, to -recover the money left so imprudently in the hands of these vicious -fellows. He watched the gamblers so that they should not go to play -elsewhere, now uneasy and sick himself from coming in contact with -so many infected people. It was for this reason that the evening's -mysterious design was made known to him; they all owed him money, and -could hide nothing from him. And in spite of a secret friendship, we -would almost say complicity, between Don Pasqualino, the medium, and -him, he told him nothing about the mysterious plan; by his silence he -seemed to approve of it. - -There were five of them already in the small room, seated round the -table in different thoughtful or rather absent-minded attitudes. They -were not speaking: some held their heads down, and scribbled with -their nails on the dusty table; others looked at the smoky ceiling, -where the petroleum lamp threw a small ring of light. - -'Seven hundred thousand francs have been paid out in Rome,' said Don -Crescenzio to break that weighty silence. - -'Lucky they! lucky they!' two or three cried out, with a stirring of -envy against the lucky Roman winners. - -'If what we are doing is successful,' Colaneri muttered darkly, and -his spectacles gave a sad twinkle, 'the Government will pay Naples -three or four millions of francs.' - -'We must succeed,' Ninetto Costa retorted. - -'The urn will be under command this time,' said Marzano mysteriously. - -Now came renewed knocking, very gently, as if timidity had enfeebled -the hand at the door. Trifari disappeared to open it, after asking -through the door who it was; he had suddenly grown suspicious. The -answer was 'Friends!' and he recognised the voice. The two common -folk, Gaetano the glover and Michele the shoeblack, came in; they -took off their caps, saying 'Good-evening!' and stood at the entrance -of the room, not daring to sit down in such good company. - -Outside the wind and rain grew furious, a gutter full of water -emptied into the court with a loud swish. Now, under the -window-frames, a stream of water came in at the cracks, wetting -the window-sills and trickling to the ground, the closed but -broken-ribbed umbrellas leaning against the walls in the corners -of the room dripped moisture on the dusty floor, and the wet shoes -made mud-pies. The men sitting down never moved: they kept up a -solemn stiffness and lugubrious silence, as if they were watching -a dead person and were overwhelmed with fatigue and the oppression -of their funereal thoughts. The two working men standing, one lean, -colourless, with a cutter-out's round shoulders, the hair thinned -already on the forehead and temples, the other man crooked and -hunchbacked, twisted like a corkscrew and old, though his rugged, -sharp face was lively still, kept silence too, waiting. Only -Ninetto Costa, to give himself a careless look, had taken out an -old pocket-book, the remnant of his old smartness, and was writing -ciphers in it with a small pencil, wetting the point in his mouth. -But they were fancy figures, and his hand trembled a little. His -friends said it was from his fast life that it shook. Thus they spent -about fifteen long slow minutes that lay heavily on the souls of all -those waiting there to carry out their mysterious plan. - -'What bad weather we are having,' said Ninetto Costa, passing his -hand over his forehead. - -'The sky has opened,' Don Crescenzio remarked, yawning nervously. - -'What o'clock is it, doctor,' asked old Marzano in a trembling, -decrepit little voice. - -'It is five minutes to ten,' said the doctor, taking out an ugly -nickel watch, the sort that cannot be pawned, attached to a sordid -black cord. - -'What hour is the appointment for?' asked Colaneri, trying to look as -if he was indifferent. - -'It was to have been ten o'clock, but who knows whether he will -come?' the doctor replied, lowering his voice, putting all his -uncertainty and doubt into what he said. - -'Who can tell?' said Ninetto Costa profoundly. A long sigh relieved -his breast, as if he could not bear the weight that bore him down. - -'Are you feeling ill?' Colaneri asked him. - -'I wish I was dead,' muttered the stock-broker desolately. Someone -shook his head, sighing; another one had the same feeling, evidently, -from the expression of his face, and the sad words spread through -the damp dirty room under the smoky lamp. Then for a little the -summer storm calmed down, fewer drops rattled on the window, and -again there came a great silence. Through the wall, no one knew from -where, like a slow warning voice, a solemn clock gave ten melancholy -strokes. There was a pause between each stroke, and it cast a breath -of fear among the men gathered there to plot some cruel device or -other. - -'That will be the Spirit,' said Don Crescenzio, trying to joke. - -'Don't let us jest,' Trifari said, in a severely reproving tone; 'we -are occupied about serious matters here.' - -'No one wants to make jokes!' Ninetto Costa said chidingly. 'We all -know what we are doing.' - -'There is no Judas here, is there?' said the doctor, looking round at -everyone. - -There was a protesting murmur, but it was feeble. No, none of them -was Judas, nor was there a Christ among them; but all felt vaguely -at the bottom of their hearts that they were going to carry out a -betrayal. - -'No one is Judas--no one,' cried out the doctor impetuously. 'Swear -before God that if there is he must make a bad end.' - -'Don't swear, don't swear,' said old Marzano, quite frightened. - -Again the bell rang; they all caught each other's eye suddenly, pale -and shivering; their fault rose before them. No one moved to open the -door, just as if there was a serious peril behind it. - -'It will be him,' Colaneri dared to say, not raising his eyes. - -'Perhaps it is,' Costa muttered, twisting his pocket-book absently in -his hand. - -At once all of them regretted that the medium was outside the door. -The same shadow of furious disappointment disfigured their faces, -hardening them, from the cruelty of a wicked man who sees his prey -escaping. The furious instinct that sleeps at the bottom of all -human hearts, urged by long unsatisfied passion, burst forth in -that delirious form that vice produces in young and old, gentleman -and working man. The faces were reserved and hard, strong in their -ferocity. Dr. Trifari went forward in an energetic way to open the -door. To let the company know for certain that the medium was there, -he greeted him and the Marquis di Formosa at once, aloud. - -'Good-evening, good evening, Don Pasqualino; we are all expecting -you.' - -He stood aside to let them go in; the men in the room took a long -breath with fierce joy; there was no danger now that the medium would -escape them. And he that spoke every night with spirits, who had -especial communication by favour with wandering souls, he that ought -to have known all the truth, went quietly into the little room where -the meeting was, without suspecting anything. He cast, as usual, an -oblique glance all round, but the Cabalists' faces said nothing new -to him. They had the pallor, contortions, and feverish excitement -usual on Friday evening, but he saw nothing else. Only the Marquis -di Formosa, who was coming in with him, shivered two or three times; -it almost looked as if he wanted to turn back. But the Marquis had -been very excitable for some time past. He stammered in speaking, his -noble countenance was now degraded by traces of his ignoble passion, -he was badly dressed and untidy, had dirty shoes and a frayed collar, -and his ill-shaved beard was disgusting and pitiable. He had got so -excitable since he no longer had any money, since his daughter's -engagement to Dr. Amati. The medium could get no more money out of -him, so avoided him, and only saw him at the Friday evening meetings -in Nardones Road. But that evening the intimacy had begun again, the -Marquis had looked everywhere for the medium, and during the day had -given him fifty francs, making an appointment for the evening at ten -o'clock; indeed, he had anxiously insisted on this appointment, and -the medium had put it down to a disappointed gambler's eagerness to -get lottery numbers. - -The Marquis's manner on the way to the office had been peculiar, -still, Don Pasqualino was accustomed to gamblers' eccentricities, and -took no notice of it. He went to sit at his usual place every week -near the table, putting one hand over his eyes to shelter them from -the glare of the lamp. Around the deep silence still held, broken -by a sigh now and then, and on looking at all their pallid, dumb, -excited faces the medium felt his first suspicion. He tried to do his -usual fantastic humbugging work. - -'It rains, but the sun will come out at midnight.' - -'That is idle chatter,' shouted Trifari, bursting into an ironical -laugh. - -The others around muttered sneeringly. Now there was no longer any -belief in Don Pasqualino's mysterious words. This want of faith stood -out so plainly that the medium drew back as if he wanted to parry an -attack. But he tried again, thinking he could profit as usual from -the feverish imaginations of the Cabalists by striking a sympathetic -chord. - -'It rains, the sun will come out at midnight, but he who wears the -Virgin's scapulary does not get wet.' - -'Don Pasqualino, you are joking,' the glove-cutter said ironically. -The medium darted a look of rage at him. 'You need not look at me -as if you wanted to eat me, Don Pasqualino. Asking the gentlemen's -pardon, you are trying to make fools of us, and we are not the people -to allow it.' - -'My lord, make that ass hold his tongue,' muttered the medium, making -a scornful gesture. - -'He is not such an ass after all, Don Pasqualino,' said Formosa, -keeping down his excitement with difficulty. - -'What do you mean, my lord?' asked Don Pasqualino sharply, getting -up to go away; but Trifari, who had never left the medium's -neighbourhood, put a hand on his shoulder without speaking, and -obliged him to sit down again. The medium sank his head on his breast -a minute to think it over, and gazed sideways at the door. - -'Sit still, Don Pasqualino,' said Formosa slowly, 'we have a lot to -talk about here.' - -A slightly agonized expression went over the caller-up of spirits' -face. Once more looking round the company, he only saw hard, anxious -faces, determined on success. He understood now confusedly. - -'Gaetano the glover is not an ass for saying you are making fools of -us. What you have been doing for three years past looks like a trick. -For three years, you see, you have gone on saying the most disjointed -things with the excuse that the spirits said these things to you. For -three years you have made us stake the very bones of our necks upon -this nonsense of yours; every one of us has not only gained nothing, -but thrown his whole means away, from following your rubbish, and we -are full of woes, some of them incurable. What sort of a conscience -have you? We are ruined!' - -'Yes, we are ruined--ruined!' shouted a chorus of agonized voices. - -The speaker with spirits had often heard these lamentations, -especially lately; but faith had come again into the souls of his -followers. Now, he understood they no longer believed in him. Still, -hiding his fear, he tried to brazen it out. - -'It is not my fault, it is your want of faith.' - -'Rubbish!' the old lord shouted in a rage, whilst the others stormed -against the medium for repeating to them his invariable reason to -account for disappointment. 'Rubbish! how can we have failed in -faith when we have believed in you as in Jesus Christ? How can you -say faith is wanting when, to reward your overflow of chatter, we -have paid through the nose? You have pocketed thousands of francs in -these three years. Don't deny it. Have we no faith? We, who have had -Masses, prayers, and rosaries said; we, who have knelt and beat our -breasts, asking the Lord's favour--have we no faith? Why, we must -have had it! How can you account otherwise for the squandering of -money, for the way we wasted our own means and our families', thus -causing such unhappiness that it would have been nothing but a crime -if we had not believed in you? You say we have no faith; you have -been our God for three years, you have deceived us, and we never said -anything, but went on believing in you after you had taken every -penny from us.' - -'Everything--you have taken everything!' shouted the company. - -'You insult me, that is enough,' said the medium, getting up -resolutely. 'I am going away. Good-evening.' - -'You do not leave this till we get satisfaction!' the Marquis di -Formosa cried out. 'Is it not the case that he will not get out of -this till he does?' he asked the assembled Cabalists. - -'No, no, no!' the company of these cruel madmen shouted ferociously. - -The medium understood, a deadly hue spread over his pallid cheeks, -his frightened glance wandered round in a desperate attempt to fly; -but the fierce gamblers had got up and made a circle round him. Some -of them were very pale, as if they were keeping down strong emotion, -the others were red with rage. In all their eyes the medium read the -same implacable cruelty. - -'I wish to go away,' he said in a whisper, with that hoarse tone -that gave such a mysterious attraction to his voice. - -'None of us would wish to detain you,' said the Marquis di Formosa -with ironical deference, 'if we had not need of you. If you do not -give us lottery numbers, you don't leave this!' he ended up by -shouting in a fit of fury. - -'Lottery numbers, lottery numbers!' hissed Colaneri's thin voice. - -'If not, you don't get out of this!' shrieked Ninetto Costa. - -'Either give numbers, or you stay here!' thundered Dr. Trifari. - -'An end to your fooling; give us the real tip for the lottery,' said -Gaetano, grinding his teeth. - -'Don Pasqualino, make up your mind that those gentlemen won't let you -go away till you have given them lottery numbers--make up your mind -to it,' Don Crescenzio remarked wisely. He wished to pretend he was -not interested in the question. - -'Next week. I promise them to you then; now I have not got them, I -swear it upon the Virgin!' stammered the medium, turning his eyes to -heaven despairingly. - -'What good is next week?' all yelled out. 'It must be to-night, for -to-morrow--quick!' - -'I have not got them, I have not got them,' he stammered again, -shaking his head. - -'You must give them. We will make you give them,' the Marquis roared. -'We can do no more. Either we win this week, or we are ruined. Don -Pasqualino, we have waited long enough; we have believed too much; -you have treated us unfairly. The spirit tells you the real figures, -you know them, you always have known them; but you went on mocking -at us, telling us silly things. We can't wait till next week; before -that we may die, or see someone else die, or go to the galleys. This -evening or to-morrow we must have the true numbers. You understand?' - -'The true--the true ones!' hissed Colaneri. - -'Do not go on talking nonsense; it is past the time for that now,' -shouted Ninetto Costa, with the greatest indignation. - -Still, in spite of feeling conquered and taken hostage to the -unreasonable fury that he had set on fire himself, the medium tried -to fight on. - -'The spirit does not give numbers by force,' he slowly announced. -'You have offended him. He will not speak to me again.' - -'Lies--you are telling lies! A hundred--a thousand times you have -told us that the spirit obeys you, that you do what you like with -him,' retorted the Marquis. 'A hundred thousand times you have told -us that the urn is under orders. Tell the truth; it will be best for -you, I assure you. You are at a bad pass, Don Pasqualino; the spirit -ought to help you. Our patience is exhausted, so is our money, and -other people's, too. The spirit must give you the right numbers.' - -Then the medium stood silent for a little, as if he was collecting -himself, his eyes turned up showing the whites. Everyone looked at -him, but coldly, being accustomed to these antics of his. - -'In a little the camellias will flower,' he said suddenly, trembling -all over. - -But not one of the company troubled himself about this mystic giving -out of lottery numbers. Dr. Trifari, who always carried a book of -dreams in his pocket, did not even take out the torn book to see what -figures corresponded to the camellias. - -'In a little the camellias will flower by the sea, on the mountain,' -repeated the medium, still trembling. - -No one stirred. - -'In a little the camellias will flower by the sea, on the mountain,' -he repeated the third time, trembling with anxiety, looking his -persecutors in the face. - -An incredulous snigger answered him. - -'But what do you want from me?' he cried out, with a gasp of fear. - -'The _real_ numbers,' said Formosa coldly. 'We don't believe these -that you are telling us can be the right ones; that is to say, just -on the chance we will play the numbers corresponding to the mountain, -the sea-coast, and flowering camellias. But the _real_ figures must -be different. While waiting for them, we will play these three, but -we will keep you shut up here in the meanwhile.' - -'Until when?' he asked hurriedly. - -'Until your numbers come out,' retorted the Marquis harshly. - -'Oh, God!' said the medium softly under his breath. - -'You understand, Don Pasqualino, these gentlemen wish to have a -guarantee, and they intend to keep you as a pawn,' the lottery-banker -explained, trying to make out that shutting him up was lawful. 'What -does it signify to you? What trouble is it to tell the truth? If you -have kept them in error up till now, it is time to speak seriously, -Don Pasqualino. These gentlemen have a right to be enraged, and I -know it. Speak, Don Pasqualino, send us off satisfied. You will stay -here till to-morrow at five. When the lottery drawing is over, we -will come and take you in a carriage for an airing. Come, come; do -what you ought to do.' - -'I can't do it,' said the medium, opening out his arms. - -'Don't tell lies. You can, but you won't. The spirits obey you,' said -Colaneri, letting himself go in a passion of rage. - -'Tell them this evening; it will be better for you,' Gaetano the -glover muttered in an ill-natured tone. - -'Get rid of this obstinacy,' Ninetto Costa advised in a brotherly way. - -'Give us the truth--the truth,' stammered the old lawyer, Marzano. - -'I can't tell you,' the medium still said, looking at the doors and -windows. - -Then the Cabalists, on a sign from the Marquis di Formosa, gathered -in the window recess. Only Trifari stayed beside the medium. With a -threatening, cruel face he put his fat, hairy hand on his shoulder. -They spoke to each other a long time, and disputed in a ring, all -heads close together; then, having decided, they turned round. - -'These gentlemen say they are firmly resolved--as they have a right -to be--to get the real lottery numbers, after having made so many -sacrifices,' the Marquis di Formosa said coldly, 'and that therefore -Don Pasqualino will remain shut up here until he makes up his mind -to satisfy our just demands. He cannot go away from here; besides, -Dr. Trifari, who is afraid of nothing, will stay with Don Pasqualino. -To make a noise would be useless, as the neighbours would not hear; -and if by chance Don Pasqualino wished to right himself by going to -law, we have an action ready for him as a cheat, with witnesses and -documents enough to send twenty mediums to prison. It is better, -therefore, to bow your head this time, and try to get off by giving -the right numbers. We are quite decided. Until Don Pasqualino allows -us to win, he will not get out; Dr. Trifari will sacrifice himself to -keep him company. In that other room there is sleeping accommodation -for two and food for several days. Between to-night and to-morrow one -of us by turns will come every four hours to see if he has made up -his mind. We hope he will do so soon.' - -'You are trying to kill me,' said the medium with angelic resignation. - -'You can free yourself when you choose. We wish you good-night,' the -Marquis ended up with, implacably. - -And the seven wicked Cabalists passed in front of the medium, wishing -him good-night ironically. The medium stood there near the table, his -hand lightly placed on the wooden surface, with a tired, suffering -expression on his face. He looked now at one, then at another of the -Cabalists, as if he were questioning their faces to see if any of -them were more civil, and would say a word of release to him. But sad -delusions had hardened these men's hearts; the excitement prevented -them from understanding they were committing a crime. They went in -front of the medium, greeting him, saying a cold phrase or word of -condolence without heeding his suffering expression, his entreating -eyes. - -'Good-night, Don Pasqualino. God enlighten you!' said old Marzano, -shaking his head. - -'We ask too much of God,' the medium answered in a very melancholy -voice. - -'Good-night; quiet sleep,' the glover ironically wished him. His -words, countenance, and voice had all become cutting. - -'So I wish you,' the medium answered darkly, lowering his eyelids to -deaden the cruel flash of revenge that shone in his eyes. - -'Good-night, good-night, Don Pasqualino,' Ninetto Costa muttered -rather regretfully; his frivolous nature was so opposed to tragedy. -'We will soon meet each other again.' - -'Of course,' the man of the spirits muttered with a slight grin. - -'Good-night,' Michele the shoeblack ventured to remark. He was a keen -accomplice in that gentlemanly plot, and thought it made a gentleman -of him to be mixed up in it. 'Good-night; keep in good health.' - -The medium did not answer him even. He scorned to cast a glance at -the deformity, who belonged to the common folk he came from himself, -out of whom he could never get any money. - -'Pasqualino, do you intend to give these _true_ numbers?' asked -Colaneri, passing in front of him, still wild with rage. - -'I cannot give them like this, being bullied into it.' - -'You are joking. We are all your friends here,' squeaked the -Professor. 'Do as you like. Good-night.' - -'Good-night; the Madonna go with you,' the medium muttered piously, -intensifying the mysticism of his voice. - -'Dear Don Pasqualino, come, be good-natured before we go,' said the -Marquis di Formosa with sudden affability. 'Give us real numbers, and -your prison will last only till to-morrow evening at five o'clock.' - -'I know nothing,' said the medium, darting a look of hatred at the -Marquis, since it was the noble lord who had brought him to this bad -pass. - -They joined each other at the door to go out, leaving him alone with -Dr. Trifari, who went backwards and forwards quietly and coldly from -the room alongside, with that icy determination born villains have in -carrying out a misdeed. Up till then the medium, except for a shadow -crossing his face, leaving its traces of boredom and sorrow, but for -a humble, beseeching glance, had given tokens of sufficient courage; -but when he saw the others were going away, when he felt he was to be -left alone with Dr. Trifari for long hours, days, and weeks, perhaps, -all his courage fell, the cowardice of an imprisoned man rose up, -and, stretching out his arms, he called out: - -'Don't go away! don't go away!' - -At that agonized cry the accomplices in that imprisonment stood -still; their faces, set like stern judges till then, got suddenly -pale. That was the only moment of the whole gloomy evening they -realized they were condemning a human creature, a fellow-Christian, -a man like themselves, to a frightful punishment. It was the only -moment they saw the whole extent of what they were doing in its -legal and moral bearings. But the demon of gain had taken possession -of them, soul and body, completely. Every one of them, turning -back, surrounded the medium, still asking him for lottery numbers, -certain real numbers, that he knew, and up till then would not give -them. Then, choking with emotion, understanding they were turning -the weapons against him that he had wounded them with, the man who -had gradually brought the waves of a slow shipwreck over them, who -had taken their money and their souls, when confronted with that -persistent, malignant cruelty that nothing could soften, that demon -his own voice had called up, that real evil spirit he had truly got -in communication with, the cowardly medium felt a tremendous fear, -and began to sob like a child. The others, alarmed and disturbed, -gazed at him; but the demon was stronger than all their wills -together. The supreme hour of their life had come for old and young, -gentlemen and working men--the tragic hour when nothing can prevent a -tragedy, when everything pushes men forward to a tragedy. - -Hearing the medium weep like a child, drying his tears with a -flaming, torn pocket-handkerchief, none of them felt pity. All felt -the warmer, keener desire for lottery numbers to save them from the -ruin that threatened them. They left him, to weep meanly, like a -frightened fool; one by one, making no noise, they went slowly from -that house that had become a prison. He, still going on sobbing, -stretched his ears, and heard the door shut dolefully, with that sort -of noise that gives echoes in the soul. Trifari, standing behind the -door, went putting up chains and bolts, shutting himself up with -the new prisoner, with no fear either of the man or of the spirits -he might evoke. The hairy red face, when it showed in the shining -circle of the lamp, had something animal in it; it showed cruelty -and obstinacy in cruelty. On coming in again, the doctor breathed -in a relieved way. He looked around, as if the departure of the -Cabalists, his friends who had deputed him to be gaoler, pleased him. -Now he still went and came from the next room, carrying backwards and -forwards all sorts of things. Then he came back from the bedroom, -having changed his clothes; he had put on an old jacket instead -of his frock-coat. The medium followed all his gaoler's movements -closely, for, like all prisoners, he studied his only companion with -profound observation. At one point they exchanged a cold, hard glare -as from prisoner to turnkey. - -'Do you want to smoke?' the doctor asked from a corner of the room. - -'I don't smoke,' the medium answered sulkily. - -'Won't you sit down?' Trifari asked the medium in a whisper. - -'Thank you, I will,' he replied, letting himself down on a chair. - -'Do you wish to sleep?' - -'No, thank you.' - -The doctor sat down, too, then, beside the table, putting one hand -over his eyes as if to shield them from the light. There was deep, -nocturnal silence. Outside the rain had ended; inside the long, -gloomy vigil began. - - - - - CHAPTER XV - - SACRILEGE--LOVE'S DREAM FLED - - -Bianca Maria Cavalcanti and Antonio Amati's love for each other -had got stronger and sadder. Indeed, the secret sorrow gave some -attractive flavour of tears to their passion; what had been an -idyll between the innocent pious girl of twenty and the man of -forty had acquired dramatic force and depth. Innocently, with the -trustingness of hearts that love for the first time, they had -dreamt of living, spending their life together, holding each other -by the hand as they went on the long road; but Formosa's hostile -face rose continually between them. In that troubled summer which -had unhinged the Marquis di Formosa's mind more, the position of -the lovers had gone on getting worse, together with the old lord's -increasing moroseness. People cannot live with impunity alongside -of physical or moral infirmities, even if they are heroic or -indifferent; and neither Bianca Maria nor Antonio Amati was selfish -or indifferent. They did not manage to shut themselves from moral -contact with Carlo Cavalcanti, nor to give themselves up entirely -to their deep love. Moral as well as physical fevers fill the air -with miasma; there is an infectious warmth that sets the atmospheric -elements out of balance and poisons the air subtly and heavily, so -that the healthiest have to bend their heads, feeling oppressed and -suffocated. They were good, honest, and pitiful, their souls were -purely filled with love, so that no acid, however powerful, could -corrode the noble metal; but the air around was poisoned by Carlo -Cavalcanti's moral disease, and they could hardly exist now in that -atmosphere. - -It was an unhealthy summer. Whatever means of persuasion Dr. Amati -used, he could not get Carlo Cavalcanti to send his sickly daughter -to the country. Stronger than any argument or anger was the obstinacy -of the hardened gambler; he looked on his daughter as a spiritual -source of lottery numbers, and put her to torture, so that she might -fall into visions again, and he with his disturbed brain, like an old -fool, tried to force her to _see_. When the doctor, in despair and -anger, insisted she must go to the country, the Marquis, who felt -no shame now in asking money from him, promising always to give it -back, took up a tone of offended pride, and the doctor, intimidated -at bottom by the old lord's grand airs, gave up insisting, and put -off the attack till another time. Once he very nearly got Carlo -Cavalcanti to go away too, with his daughter, by describing to him -the healthy freshness of this out-of-the-way country place, and -the old noble almost got ready to start. But he must have made -inquiries, and found out that in that small village there was no -lottery shop; it was necessary to write or telegraph to Campobasso. -Even the telegraph-office was in another village; there were endless -difficulties in playing a ticket, and he must have felt at that time -more than ever chained to Naples, to the company of gamblers, and -to Don Crescenzio's lottery shop. He bluntly refused to go, without -giving any reason. The girl bent her head before his decision; she -had always obeyed him, and she could not rebel. Amati trembled with -rage, angry with her as well; but at once a great pity subdued him. -The poor, innocent, suffering girl was wasting away; she could not -bear that her lover should refuse to submit. She gazed at him so -earnestly with astonished sad eyes that he forgave her for her filial -submission. - -It was an unhealthy summer. Each year the doctor had kept up the -attentive habit of spending a month with his mother, the good -old peasant woman in the country, doing the simplest kinds of -work--resting, not reading, neither calling nor seeing visitors, -keeping always with his mother, speaking the peasant's dialect again, -building up his physical and moral health by rustic habits. Well, -that year, tied by love's chain, he put off his start from day to day -to Molise, feeling all the loss of putting it off, growing pale every -time a letter came from his mother, dictated by her to the estate -agent--letters that were full of melancholy summonses to come to her. -The doctor stayed on in Naples, displeased with himself and others, -worshipping Bianca Maria, hating the Marquis. The poor thing's dreams -were always disturbed by her father's delusions; she fell off daily -in health, and the doctor could do nothing to cure her. All he could -manage was that, by offering his carriage, Bianca Maria should take -long drives by the sea on the gentle slopes that lovingly enclose -Naples. Old Margherita went with her, and sometimes the doctor also -dared to go out with the young girl. When he heard of such a thing, -the Marquis di Formosa frowned, the old family blood boiled; he -felt inclined to punish the bold plebeian, who behaved as if he was -affianced to the high-born maiden. But he held his tongue; he had -had so many money transactions with Amati, and went on having them -every day, keeping up still more pride, decorum, and honour with it. -Besides, everyone said, with a compassionate smile, that Dr. Amati -would soon marry the Marchesina Cavalcanti, as if the doctor would be -doing a kindly act to marry her. - -Up there, in green Capodimonte woods, with its hundred-year-old -trees, its fields carpeted with flowers, down there along the -charming Posillipo Road, that goes down to the vapoury Flegrei -fields, the lovers' idyll began again before Nature, ever lovely in -Naples, with its gentle lines and colouring. The maiden's delicate, -bloodless cheeks, with the sun and the open air going round her head, -got coloured by a thin pink flush, as if her impoverished blood was -moving quicker. She smiled sometimes, and threw back her head to -drink in the pure air; she managed to laugh, showing white teeth and -pinky gums that anæmia had made colourless. Then the doctor, become -a boy again, chattered and laughed with her, looking into her eyes, -taking her by the hand, sometimes loading her with field flowers. -They forgot old Margherita, who forgot them, as she sat on the grass -stupefied by the free summer air, as old people are apt to be; but -they were so loving and modest with it, that the forgetfulness was no -sin. The maiden went back to the house intoxicated with light, sun, -and love, her hands full of flowers, her pink nostrils dilated fully -to breathe in the pure air still; but as the carriage got into the -city streets her youthful smile died away, and when they went under -the Rossi Palace entrance she bent her diminished head. - -'What is the matter with you?' the doctor asked her anxiously. - -'It is nothing,' she replied, the great answer of timid, distracted -women who hide their fears. - -She went up to her bare, sad room very slowly, but still had a smile -for Antonio Amati on the threshold. She went into the house with a -resolute look, as if she were keeping down alarm or distaste. Often -Carlo Cavalcanti came to meet her, coldly angry, his face distorted -by his bad hours of passion. She shivered, while his very look made -the blood fly from her face, and chased away the whole idyll of love, -took away all the sweetness from the sun and from love. When she -got into the drawing-room, she put her big bundle of flowers down -on a corner of the table. The old lord questioned her anxiously and -greedily about what road she had gone and what she had seen. Bianca -answered feebly in short phrases, turning her head away; but he -persisted--he wanted to know all she had seen. Nowadays, everything -his daughter saw filled him with uncertainties, curiosity, and -sorrow; he tried continually to find out in whatever she saw a mystic -source of the cipher of lottery numbers. He now considered she was -a medium, a much better one than Don Pasqualino, because she was a -woman, an innocent maiden, and unconscious of her powers. She did -not know it, but she was a medium. Had she not seen the spirit that -fatal night weeping and hailing her? He went on wildly with his close -questioning, obliging his daughter to follow him in his freaks. - -'What have you seen? what have you seen?' the gambler, who forgot he -was a father, asked in anguish. - -How love's young dream flew away, with its light and happiness! how -all the oppressive ghosts of the bare old house gathered round her -from that old man raving alarmingly, and obliging her to go through -the same terror. Also, every time she mentioned the name of Antonio -Amati, her preserver, friend, and lover, the Marquis di Formosa -reddened with rage. She saw that her father had ended by hating -Amati thoroughly for the very services he had done him, for the -very gratitude he owed him. Formosa's face grew so hard and fierce -that Bianca Maria was frightened. Her heart was torn between her -unwavering daughterly respect and her love for Antonio Amati. Once -Margherita hinted before Formosa at rumours of a marriage between -her ladyship and the doctor. The Marquis got into a fury and said -'No!' with such a yell that Margherita put her hands to her ears in a -fright. - -'Still, her ladyship must marry some day,' she remarked timidly and -maternally, 'and the doctor might be better than another.' - -'I said no,' the Marquis retorted darkly. - -From that time forward he spoke in a still more wild and eccentric -way. Sometimes in the middle of the many mysterious ghostly -incoherencies his mind wandered amongst he came back in speaking to -his daughter to a ruling thought--to love looked on as a stain, a -sin, an ingrained want of purity in soul and body. The girl often -blushed in her simplicity on hearing the abuse heaped on love, and -then he praised the chastity that keeps the heart in a state of -grace--that allows human eyes to see supernatural visions, and go -through life in a sweet, dreamy state. He would get excited, and -curse love as the source of all defilement, all evils and sorrow. -Bianca Maria hid her face in her hands, as if all her father's -strictures fell on her head. - -'My mother was a saintly woman, and she loved you,' she remarked one -day, repenting at once of her audacity. - -'She died from that love,' he answered darkly, as if he was speaking -to himself. - -'I would like to die like her,' the maiden whispered. - -'You will die accursed--cursed by me, remember that!' he shouted, -like a demon. 'Woe to the daughter of Casa Cavalcanti who stifles -her heart in the shame of an earthly love! Woe to the maiden who -prefers the vulgar horrors of earthly passion to the purest heights -of spiritual life!' - -She bent her head without answering, feeling that iron hand ever -weighing more on her life to bend and break it. She dare not tell -her lover of such scenes; only sometimes, breaking momentarily the -bonds of respect her father held her in, she repeated to Amati her -despairing cry: - -'Take me away--take me away!' - -He, too, now had lost all his calm. He himself was taken by this -plan of carrying her off, of taking the maiden away as his comrade, -his adored companion--of freeing her from the dark nightmare of a -life that was a daily agony to her. Yes, he would carry off the poor -victim from the unconscious executioner; he would tear her from -that atmosphere of vice, mystery, and sadness; bring her into his -house, his heart; defend her against all this folly, these tempests. -The Marquis di Formosa would be left to struggle with his passion -alone. He would no longer drag to the abyss of desolation he was -plunging into this poor meek, innocent girl. Every day this longing -to save her grew in his heart, until it became all-powerful. He -longed to speak so that his grand dream should become a reality. -Gravely and solemnly he had promised Bianca Maria that sad evening -she had confided her sad family secret to him that he would save -her, and an honest man must keep his promise, even if it induce -in him the wildest ecstasies or bring on a sorrowful depression -at certain times. He longed to do it. In the meanwhile the days -ran on. Some uncertainty still withheld him, even when he was most -strongly resolved to ask Formosa for his daughter's hand. He vaguely -felt that the answer would be decisive--that after it was said his -life would be settled for him. But an important incident all of a -sudden made him come to a decision. The Marquis di Formosa, amidst -the fluctuations of his mind, kept up his mystical piety, and every -Friday he spent hours in prayer in the chapel before Our Lady of -Sorrows and the life-sized pierced Ecce Homo crowned with thorns. -With that faith of Southerners which has bursts of enthusiasm, but is -also bound in by a close net of the commonplace keeping it down to -the earth, he constantly mingled heavenly things with all the worldly -complications of his ruling passion, and sometimes in his despair he -made the responsibility of his ruin rest on his Creator. - -'You allowed this to happen; it is all Your fault, Jesus Christ!' -the Marquis called out in his prayer. But on terrible days his faith -became still more accusing and sacrilegious, unjust. 'It is all Your -fault; You allowed it to happen!' he cursed on, tears burning his -eyes, his voice choked. Indeed, one evening when Bianca Maria thought -her father had gone out, on passing the chapel door she heard angry, -sorrowful words coming from it. She put in her head, and saw her -father kneeling with his arms thrown round the Ecce Homo. First he -deplored his misfortunes; then he set to calling out blasphemies, -cursing all the names of the Godhead impiously; then he repented -quickly, asking pardon for his untrue and sacrilegious words, until -a new outburst of rage came on, and he unclasped the holy image with -scorn and threatening words. In his raving he threatened Jesus Christ -his Saviour, bound to the column, to punish Him--yes, punish Him--if -by next week He did not allow him to win a large sum at the lottery. -Bianca Maria, horrified, seeing no end now to his sacrilegious -madness, fled, hiding her face in her hand; and, shut up in her own -room, she prayed the Lord all night that her father's ignorant -heresy should not be punished. Now she always shut herself up at -night, to shield her slumbers from her father's influence, because -he always wanted her to call up the spirit, and spoke to her of -those ghosts as of living persons--in short, keeping her constantly -under that frightful nightmare. But she slept very little, in spite -of the solitude and silence of her room; for her strained nerves -shook at the slightest noise, because she was always afraid that -her father would knock at her door, and try to open it with another -key, to get her to ask the ministering spirit for lottery numbers. -While she was slumbering in a light sleep from which the slightest -noise wakened her, she started as if excited voices were calling -her, and gazed into the shadow with wide-open eyes, as if she saw a -spectre rising up by her bed. How often she got up, half dressed, -and ran bare-footed over the floor, because she thought a light -hand scratched on the pillow, touched her forehead, or patted her -hair! One night, a Saturday, she heard her father going up and down, -as she lay awake, all through the house, passing before her door -several times, in the wild cogitations of his storm-tossed soul. In a -whisper she called down on him Heaven's peace--the peace that seemed -to have deserted his mind altogether. But just as she was going to -sleep again, a queer, dull noise wakened her, quivering; it was as -if a very heavy body was being pulled along, making the doors and -windows shake with that dull rumble. Sometimes the mysterious noise -quieted down and was silent; after about a minute's pause it began -again, stronger, and at the same time more deadened. She remained -raised on her pillows, fastened there by an unknown iron hand: what -was happening there? She would have liked to cry out, ring the bell, -get hold of people, but that rumble deprived her of voice; she kept -silence in a cold sweat, the whole nerves of her body strained to -hear only. The noise, like an earthquake, was getting nearer and -nearer to her door; she clasped her hands in the dark, and shut her -eyes hard not to see, praying she might not see. Together with that -dragging of a heavy, unsteady object, she heard laboured breathing, -as if someone was attempting a task above his strength; then a hard -knock, as if her door had been hit by a catapult. She thought her -door had violently burst open, and fell back on her pillows, not -hearing or seeing anything else, losing her feeble senses. Later on, -a good time after, she recovered consciousness, frozen, motionless; -she stretched her ears, but she heard nothing else for a long time. -In the confusion there now was between her dreams and realities, she -believed that all she had heard was only a doleful nightmare that had -oppressed her with its terrors. Had she dreamt it, therefore--that -queer earthquake, that laboured breathing, that strong blow on her -door? - -In the morning, having rested a little, she got up easier, and, after -saying her prayers, went to her father's room, as she had to do -every day, to wish him good-morning. But she did not find him; the -bed was unused. Several times lately the Marquis di Formosa had not -come home at night. The first time it had caused Bianca Maria and -the servants great alarm, but when his lordship came in, he scolded -them for having sent to look for him, saying he would not stand being -spied upon, he would do what he liked. Still, every time Bianca Maria -knew that he had spent the night out of the house she got uneasy; -he was so old and eccentric; his madness led him into dangerous -company, and made him weak and credulous. She always feared some -danger would befall him one of these nights on the road, or in some -secret Cabalist meeting. She trembled that morning, too, and went on -into the other rooms, thinking over what had happened at night, again -asking herself if all that did not point to a dreadful mystery. She -found Giovanni sweeping carefully. - -'Did his lordship not come home last night?' she asked with pretended -carelessness. - -'He did come in, but he went out very soon again,' answered the -servant. - -'He did not go to bed, I think,' she said in a low voice, casting -down her eyes. - -'No, my lady, he did not,' said old Giovanni. - -Margherita came up just then; she said something hurriedly to her -husband, who agreed to it, and vanished into the kitchen. - -'I asked Giovanni to draw the bucket of water from the well this -morning,' the old waiting-woman said. 'I am not strong enough to-day.' - -'Poor thing! it tires you too much,' Bianca Maria remarked -compassionately, her eyes full of tears. - -'I am rather old, but I could do anything for you,' said the faithful -one in a motherly voice. 'But I don't know what has come to the -bucket this morning; it is so heavy I can't pull it up. I begged -Giovanni, who is stronger than I am, to take my place.' - -Both went away from there, because Margherita held to the honour of -combing out Bianca Maria's thick black tresses. But Giovanni came and -interrupted the combing. He called his wife out, not daring to come -in, and they chattered together some time, while Bianca Maria waited, -her black hair loose over her white wrapper. Margherita came back in -disorder; the comb shook in her hand. - -'What is the matter?' asked Bianca Maria. - -'Nothing, nothing,' the woman uttered hastily. - -'Tell me what it is,' the other persisted, looking at the old woman. - -'It is that Giovanni, even, cannot pull up the bucket.' - -'Well, but why are you alarmed?' - -'Giovanni says there is something in the way.' - -'Something in the way? What do you mean?' - -'He has called Francesco, the porter. They will pull together. -Perhaps they will get over the difficulty.' - -'What can it be?' the girl stammered, growing deadly pale. - -'I don't know, my lady--I don't know,' said the old woman, trying to -begin her combing again. - -'No,' said the other firmly, waving off the hand with the comb, and -gathering up her hair with a pin--'no; we had better go and see.' - -'My lady, my lady, what can we do? Giovanni and Francesco are there. -We had best stay here.' - -'I am going there,' the girl insisted, going towards the kitchen. - -Old Giovanni and Francesco in their shirt-sleeves were pulling at the -rope with all their strength, and it hardly moved, creaking as if it -was going to break. Both Giovanni's and Francesco's faces showed, -besides the great fatigue they were enduring, that they were in a -great fright. - -Occasionally, with heaving sides and cramped arms, they gave up -pulling, and cast a frightened look at each other. From the kitchen -doorway, in a white wrapper, with her hair down, Bianca Maria looked -on, while Margherita, standing behind her, begged her in a whisper to -go away for the love of the Virgin! to go away, in God's name! - -'But, in any case, what can it be?' asked Bianca Maria steadily, -turning to the two men, whose growing fears deprived them of strength. - -'Who can tell, my lady?' Giovanni stammered. 'This weight is not a -good thing.' - -But while all kept their eyes fixed on the well, waiting on in -anguish, all feeling a shudder from the delay and fear of the -unknown, the _thing_ the two men were pulling up hit twice against -the sides of the well, noisily from right to left. The dull, heavy -noise echoed in Bianca Maria's heart, for it was the same she had -heard at night. A little frightened cry came from her mouth; she -pressed her nails right into her flesh, wringing her hands to keep -down her alarm before the servants. But once more, with a stronger, -nearer sound, the _thing_ beat against the side of the well. - -'It is coming,' said the message-boy affrightedly. - -'It is coming,' Giovanni repeated in consternation. - -Margherita, standing behind Bianca Maria, could not command her -strained nerves; she prayed in a trembling whisper, 'Madonna, help -us! Madonna, deliver us!' But what came up to the well-brink, -bounding, quivering, with the bucket-rope wound three times round its -neck, the chain hanging on the breast, made her yell with fright. It -was a man's trunk, water and blood dripping from the forehead over -the sorrowful cheeks and bared breasts, water and blood flowing from -the wounded side; blood and tears were in his eyes, and over the face -and breast, which all had death's livid hue. - -Yelling from fright, Francesco and Giovanni ran off, calling -for 'Help! help!' The women, mistress and maid, rushed to the -drawing-room and fell in each other's arms, the one hiding her -face on the other's breast, not daring to raise it, haunted by the -frightful sight of the murdered body. It was quite livid, bloody -in the face, breast, and enfolded arms, with a despairing look in -the eyes and half-open mouth, which seemed to be sobbing. It stood -against the parapet dripping blood and water, bound by the cord and -chain. The message-boy and the butler had flung downstairs, calling -out there was a dead man, a murdered man. At once, on the stairs, the -gateway, the whole neighbourhood, the news spread that a murdered -man's body had been found in the Rossi Palace well. - -Everyone opened doors and rushed to windows; but Francesco and -Giovanni's confused, breathless story caused such fright no one -dared go in at the Marquis di Formosa's open door, or to the kitchen -where the corpse lay. The women were still clinging to each other in -the drawing-room; though Margherita tried to command herself for her -mistress' sake, she felt the girl's body grow flabby from want of -vital force--sometimes it stiffened as in a nervous convulsion. But -the great whispering in the palace had got even into the doctor's -flat, and his heart was always quivering, expecting a catastrophe. -He put his head out of the window and saw people everywhere; the -sound of voices came up even to him, saying that a murdered man had -been found in the Rossi Palace well, and that the body was in the -Cavalcantis' kitchen. Just then Giovanni, on thinking it over that -the two women had been left alone, felt sorry that he had made such -a fuss, for he knew the scandal would be reflected on the Cavalcanti -family, and he was going upstairs again. - -'Is there really a dead man?' Amati asked him, not managing to -conceal how disturbed he was, in spite of his strength of mind. - -'Yes, sir, there really is,' said the butler, with desperation in his -eyes and voice. - -'Who saw it?' - -'Everyone saw it.' - -'What! everyone? Did your mistress see it, too?' - -'Yes, sir, she did.' - -The doctor cast a furious look at him and went into the fatal house, -where a tragic breath had always blown from the first moment he put -his foot in it, where any queer, doleful tragedy was possible to -happen. He wandered about the rooms like a madman in search of Bianca -Maria, and found her sitting on a large drawing-room chair, so pale, -so terrified, so silent, that Margherita was kneeling before her in -alarm, holding her hands, begging her to say a word--only a word. - -Bianca Maria glanced at Amati, but seemed not to know him; she kept -cold and inert and stiff in her frightened attitude. - -'Bianca,' said the doctor gently. She still kept silence. 'Bianca,' -he said louder, and he took her hand. At the light touch she -quivered, gave a cry, and came back to consciousness. 'My love, my -love! speak to me--weep,' he suggested, looking at her magnetically, -trying to put his strong will and courage into her. All of a sudden, -as if that will and strength had unsealed her lips, she began to cry -out: - -'The dead man! take him away--take away the dead man!' - -'Now, now, don't be frightened; we are taking him away; keep calm,' -the doctor said to her. - -'The dead man--the dead man!' she cried out, covering her face with -her hands wildly. 'For goodness' sake take the dead man away, or -he will carry me off. Do not let him take me away, I entreat you, -darling, if you love me.' - -The doctor gave Margherita a look bidding her take care of Bianca, -and went into the kitchen, followed by Giovanni. In the lobby were -some people who were already speaking of calling the magistrate; -there were the porter, his wife, the Fragalà and the Parascandolos' -servants, and Francesco the errand boy, but not one of them dared -enter the kitchen, even after the doctor went in. They let him go -alone, waiting on silently in the pantry, still wild with fear. The -doctor, though accustomed to see dead bodies, being shaken by that -catastrophe that affected him so particularly, broken-spirited with -the thought of the consequences, went into the kitchen a victim to -the deepest melancholy, and the sight of the bleeding forehead, -weeping eyes, the tied, wounded hands, the livid trunk, wounded, -bleeding, and bound, increased the feeling. But the coolness of a man -of science, accustomed to see death, took the upper hand; going right -up to it, he saw the head had a crown of thorns, and with perfect -stupefaction he understood it all. - -It was the Ecce Homo. The wooden, life-sized half-figure of the -Redeemer tied to the column, powerfully carved and painted, had all -the disagreeable appearance of a bleeding corpse; the well water it -had fallen into had discoloured the flesh and the vermilion blood, -making it run, with the double magical effect of murder and drowning. -Still, Dr. Amati felt his heart tighten on finding out this doleful -farce--that mixture of cruelty and grotesqueness. Amazement was his -predominant feeling; the strong man only thought of Bianca Maria's -great suffering, of her sickness and sorrow, now mortally wounded, -perhaps, by this gloomy, mystical, childish madness that the Marquis -di Formosa was proud of. All that was urgent now was to save her. - -'It is the Ecce Homo,' he said shortly, as he went out to the people -assembled in the pantry. - -'What do you say, sir?' Giovanni cried out, feeling the same -astonishment, increased by horror, of the sacrilege. - -'It is the Ecce Homo,' he repeated, looking coldly at them all with -that imperious look of his that permitted of no reply. 'Go into the -kitchen, dry it, and take it back to the chapel.' - -They looked at each other, asking opinions; having got over the -horror of a dead man, the outrage on the Divinity shocked them. - -'You may send for the priest afterwards,' he said, 'to give a -blessing;' for he knew the heart of the Naples folk. - -The girl was still lying on the armchair, her eyes covered with her -hands, always muttering to herself: - -'The dead man--the dead man, dear love! Take him away. Get the dead -man carried away.' - -'There is no dead man, dear,' he said, with the gentleness that came -from his great pity. - -'Yes, yes there was,' she whispered, shaking her head in a melancholy -way, as if nothing would convince her to the contrary. - -'There was no dead man,' he answered gravely, feeling it was -necessary to bring her back to reason. - -He tried to take her hands from her eyes, but they stiffened, and an -agonized expression came over the girl's face. - -'Look at me for a moment,' he whispered in an insinuating tone. - -'I can't--I can't!' she said in a sad, mysterious voice. - -'Why not?' - -'Because I would see the dead man, love--my love!' she said, still -with that deep sadness that brought tears to the doctor's eyes. - -'Dear, I swear to you that there is no dead man,' he replied again -gently, as persistent as with a sick child. - -In the meanwhile he tried to feel her pulse, and the temperature of -her skin. Strange to say, while she seemed almost delirious, her hand -was icy and the pulse was slow and feeble. It gave him a pang at the -heart, for that want of life and strength showed him a continuous -incurable wasting away. He would have liked to find out about that -curious disease which made the blood so feeble and the nerves so -irritable, but his heart loved Bianca Maria too well for his science -to keep its clear-sightedness. He could not find out the secret of -the impoverished blood or the disordered nerves; he only understood -thus, darkly, that her constitution was wasting away from weakness -and sensitiveness. He did not think of medicine or rare remedies; -he just thought, in a confused way, he must save her--that was all. -Ah, yes, he must snatch her at once from that madman's claws--this -poor innocent girl that was subjected daily to being startled by this -hopeless folly; he must take her away from that growing wretchedness -of soul and body, from that fatal going downhill to sin and -death--his poor darling who only knew how to suffer without rebellion -or complaint. He must act at once; he was a man and a Christian. He -must save this unhappy girl, as he so often had saved people from -hydrophobia, or as, on one occasion, he had saved a wretched man who -had got tetanus. At once--at once--he must save her, or he would not -be in time. Where was the Marquis, then? Where was the cruel madman -that staked his name, his honour, his daughter? - -'Sir, it is done,' said Giovanni, putting in his head at the door. -The old servant was very pale. After being relieved from the -terrifying impression of what he thought was a murdered corpse, the -serious insult his master had done to the Godhead came to disturb -his humble religious conscience. That figure of the Redeemer, with -the cord round His neck, hung down in the well, as if it was the -mangled remains of a murdered man--to see that representation of the -meek Jesus so scorned made him think that his master's reason had -given way; such sacrilege must bring a curse on the house. He called -out Margherita, to tell her what had happened, while the neighbours -round about--on the stair, at the entrance, and in the shops--were -going about saying that the Ecce Homo of Cavalcanti House had done -a miracle, resuscitating a man that had been murdered, by putting -Himself in his place. Everywhere, in different ways, they got lottery -numbers out of the extraordinary event. - -'The dead man, poor fellow!' the girl went on, half unconscious, the -voice like a faint breath from her lips. - -'Do not say that again, Bianca Maria. Believe what I say,' the doctor -replied with gentle firmness. 'There was no dead man; it was the Ecce -Homo statue.' - -'Who was it?' she cried out, getting up and looking wildly at him. - -He gave a start. He thought it was the crisis, her mind having -wandered so long, so he repeated, trying to influence her by his -steady gaze: - -'It was the Ecce Homo figure. Your father flung it in the well, with -a rope round its neck.' - -'My God!' she shrieked in a loud voice, raising her arms to heaven. -'God forgive us!' - -She fell on her knees and bent forward, touching the ground with her -lips. Weeping, praying, sobbing, she went on imploring the Lord to -forgive her and her father. Nothing served to quiet her, to get her -up from the ground, where she often burst out in long crying-fits. -The doctor vainly tried gentleness, kindness, force, violence; he did -not succeed in quieting her. Bianca Maria's excitement increased, -though there were some stupefied intervals, after which it burst -out louder again. Sometimes, while she seemed to be keeping calm, a -quick thought crossed her brain, and she threw herself on the ground, -crying out: 'Ecce Homo! Ecce Homo, forgive us!' - -The doctor looked on, shuddering, his head down on his breast, -feeling his will powerless, his science useless. What was to be -done? He called in Giovanni and wrote two lines on a card--an order -for morphia, which he sent for to the druggist's. But he was afraid -to use it: Bianca Maria was not strong enough to bear it. She -despairingly, with strong, queer vitality, beat her breast, muttering -the Latin words of the _Miserere_, weeping always, as if she had an -inexhaustible fountain of tears. - -This had gone on for an hour, when quietly the Marquis came into the -room. He looked older, wearied, and broken with the weight of life. - -'What is the matter with Bianca Maria?' he asked timidly. 'What have -you done to her?' - -'It is you that are killing her,' the doctor said freezingly. - -'You are right--quite right. Darling, I am an assassin!' shrieked the -old man. - -That man of sixty cast himself at his daughter's feet, trembling with -shame and humiliation, shaken by dry sobs. Under the doctor's eyes -the scene went on, with filial and paternal positions reversed. That -bald, gray-haired father, with his tall, failing form, full of dread -and sorrow, shedding old folks' rare burning tears, feeling the whole -horror of his fault, bent before his young daughter, begging her to -forgive him, with a childish stammer in his voice, just like a boy -relieving his childish repentance by crying. The daughter was still -trembling from the great wound his inconsiderate cruelty had given -her soul; it was quivering with the gall his cruelty still poured -into it, while her father's humiliation made her groan still more -dolefully. To the strong man, whose life had always been an honest, -noble struggle, directed always towards the highest ideals, both of -them seemed so weak, so wretched, so utterly unhappy--the one as -torturer, the other as victim--that he once more regretted the time -when the tragic Cavalcanti family had not got hold of his heart, to -grind it to powder. But it was too late; that misery, unhappiness, -and weakness struck him so directly now that Amati, strong man as he -was, suffered in all these spasms, and could not control his instinct -to give help, the feeling that was the secret of his noble soul. - -'Forgive me, dear--forgive your old father; trample on me, I deserve -it--but forgive me,' the Marquis di Formosa went on saying, seized -with a wild, grovelling humility. - -'Do not say that--do not say it. I am a wretched sinner; ask -forgiveness of Ecce Homo, whom you have insulted, or our house is -accursed, and we will all die and be damned. For the sake of our -eternal salvation ask Ecce Homo to forgive you.' - -'Whatever you wish, whatever you order me, I will do,' he answered, -still grovelling, holding out his hands beseechingly; 'but Ecce Homo -deserted me, Bianca Maria--he betrayed me again, you see,' he ended -by saying, again seized with the rage that had led him to do the -sacrilegious, wicked, grotesque act. - -'You frighten me,' she cried out, stepping back and putting out her -arms to prevent him touching her: 'you--a man--wanted to punish the -Divine Jesus. Ask for forgiveness if you do not want us all to die -damned.' - -'You are right,' he muttered, frightened, humbled again. 'Do what you -like with me. I will do penance. I will obey you as if you were my -mother. I am a murderer, a scoundrel.' - -The Marquis threw himself into a chair, broken down, his breast -upheaving, his head bent, and keeping a glassy stare on the ground. -His daughter was standing in a white dressing-gown that modestly -covered her from head to foot, her black hair loose on her shoulders, -and she had the dreamy, sorrowful look of one walking in her sleep, -wakened from wandering, pleasant dreams. The doctor broke in: - -'Bianca Maria,' he said. - -'What is it you want?' she replied, feebly looking at her father, who -was still plunged in deep dejection. - -'Your father is much distressed; you are in pain--you must both -forget this sad scene. Will you listen to kindly good advice from me?' - -'You are goodness and kindness itself,' she whispered, raising her -eyes to heaven. 'Speak--I will obey you.' - -'This has been a very sad time, Bianca Maria, but it may bring good -fruit. Your father and you have wept together--tears cleanse. By your -common sufferings, by the love you bear him, you ought to ask your -father not to humiliate himself so far as to ask your pardon, but to -promise you, in the name of all you have suffered, to do what you -will request him later on, when you are calmer; tell him so, Bianca -Maria.' - -The girl's mobile face, which had been drawn and quivering, at the -doctor's commanding, quiet, amiable words, at that voice that had -the magic power of giving her ease and faith in life, was getting -tranquillized. Her soul, broken and tired, was resting. - -'So be it,' she whispered, as if she was finishing an inward prayer -aloud. Going up to the big chair, where her father lay looking quite -broken down, she bent towards him, and in a very gentle voice said: - -'Father, you love me, do you not?' - -'Yes, dear,' said he. - -'Will you do me a favour?' - -'I will do everything--all, Bianca Maria.' - -'I only want one favour for my good, for my future health and -happiness; promise to do it.' - -'Whatever you like, dear; I am your servant.' - -'It is a great favour. I will tell you later on, when we are in God's -grace again, when we are both quieter, what it is. I have your word, -father, your word--you have never failed.' - -'You have my word,' he said, panting as if he were not fit to go on -talking. - -She understood; she bent with her usual filial submission and -touched his hand with her lips; he lightly touched her forehead as -a blessing. She went to Amati, held out her hand, and looked at -him with such loving intensity that he grew pale, and, to hide his -emotion, bowed down to kiss her hand. Slowly dragging her slender -person, from failing strength, she went out of the room, leaving -the two alone. The old man seemed wrapped in deep and rather sad -reflections, for he raised his face to heaven and cast it down in an -anguished way, shaking his head as if discouraged. The doctor saw -that the right moment had come. - -'Can you listen to me?' he asked very coldly. - -'I would prefer ... I would like to wait for some other day, rather,' -the Marquis answered in a feeble voice. - -'It will be better to have the talk out to-day,' Amati said, with the -same commanding coldness. - -'I am much disturbed ... very.' - -'It may be that from what I tell you you will find something to -soothe you. You know that I am devoted to you.' - -'Yes, yes,' the other said vaguely. - -'I cannot say much to prove my devotion; I try when I can to act in -that spirit. I am sincerely attached to both of you.' - -'We know it; our debt of gratitude is great.' - -'Do not speak of that. For some time past I have wished to tell -you of a hope of mine, and I dared not. You know me better than to -suppose that any material interest would influence me. You see, my -lord, I do not want to recall the past to your memory, it is so -sorrowful, but it is necessary to do it. You and your daughter have -been in poor circumstances for some years, and it is certainly not -your daughter's fault. Your intentions are loving and holy; they -have a high motive all honest men must approve of--the setting up of -your house and fortune, to get happiness for your daughter; it is a -good intention, I do not deny it. I myself admire this noble wish of -yours.' - -The Marquis held up his head now and then, glanced at the doctor with -a flutter of his eyelids, showing approval of what he was saying, -with such care and delicacy not to offend, not to cast an old man -down more, for he suffered so much from his humiliation. - -'But the means,' the doctor went on to say--'the means were risky, -hazardous, very dangerous. Your passionate desire for fortune made -you go beyond bounds, made you forget all the sufferings you were -unconsciously spreading around you. Do you not see, my lord? You have -sickness, wretchedness, around you, and in you. Passion has carried -you away, and the loveliest, dearest of women, your daughter, must -fall into the abyss with you.' - -'Poor darling! poor darling!' the Marquis muttered pityingly. - -'You love your daughter, do you not?' Dr. Amati asked, wishing to -touch all the chords of feeling. - -'I love no one but her; I love her above everything,' Formosa said -quickly, with tears in his eyes again. - -'Well, there is a way of protecting that innocent young life from -all the physical and moral anguish that daily eats it up; there is a -means of taking her out of these unhealthy surroundings of decent but -stern poverty that she suffers from in every nerve; there is a means -of securing her a healthy, comfortable future, with the peace and -quietness her pure soul deserves; there is a way for her to recover, -and it is in your hands.' - -'I tried it, you know,' the Marquis di Formosa said despairingly; -'but I did not succeed.' - -'You do not take my meaning,' the doctor went on, barely keeping in -his impatience, as he saw that the Marquis was still blinded. 'I am -not speaking of the lottery, which has been so disastrous to your -family, a torment to your daughter, the despair of all who love -you and wish you well. How can you suppose I was referring to the -lottery?' - -'Still, it is the only way to make money--a lot of money. Only with -that can I save Bianca Maria.' - -'You are making a mistake,' the doctor answered still more coldly. -'I am speaking of something else; ease and fortune can be found -elsewhere.' - -'It is not possible. There is no limit to what one can win at the -lottery....' - -'My lord, I am speaking seriously. This madness of your Cabalist -friends does not influence me; indeed, it infuriates me when I think -of the sorrow it causes. I can recognise the good intentions, but -they stand for an unpardonable frenzy. Never refer to it with me -again--never!' - -Formosa looked up; his face, which till then was undecided and -disturbed, got icy and hard. That 'never,' said so firmly by Antonio -Amati, made him frown rather. - -'What methods are you referring to, then?' he asked in a queer voice, -in which Amati noted hostility again. - -'Perhaps to-day we are too excited; let us put off talking about it -till another occasion,' muttered Amati, who saw he was about to lose -an important advantage. 'To-morrow will do.' - -'There is no use in delaying,' the Marquis di Formosa insisted coldly -and politely. 'As it has to do with Bianca Maria's welfare, I am -ready.' - -'Give me your daughter for my wife,' said Dr. Amati quickly and -energetically. - -The Marquis di Formosa shut his eyes for a moment as if a bright -light dazzled them, as if he wanted to hide his flashing glance, and -did not answer. - -'I think I am offering your daughter a position worthy of the name -she bears,' the doctor went on again at once, determined to go to the -bottom of it, 'for my work has brought me money and credit; it is no -use being modest. I will work still harder, so that she may be rich, -very rich, happy, and in an assured position, protected by my love -and strength.' - -'You love Bianca Maria, do you?' Formosa said, without looking Amati -in the face. - -'I worship her,' he said simply. - -'Does she love you?' - -'Yes, she loves me.' - -'You are a liar, sir!' the Marquis di Formosa answered, in a deep -voice. - -'Why insult me?' asked the doctor, determined to stand everything. -'An insult is no answer.' - -'I tell you that you are lying, and that you have no ground for -saying you are loved.' - -'Your daughter told me that she loves me.' - -'That is all lies.' - -'She wrote it to me.' - -'Lies. Where are the letters?' - -'I will bring them.' - -'They are not genuine. All lies.' - -'Ask her.' - -'I will not ask her. My daughter cannot love without having told her -father.' - -'Ask her about it.' - -'No, she confides in me. You lie.' - -'Question her on the subject.' - -'She would have spoken to me before; my daughter is obedient; she -tells me everything.' - -'It does not look as if she did.' - -'I am her father, by Gad!' - -'You have often forgotten that you are; she may have forgotten it -this time.' - -'Dr. Amati, don't go on speaking on this subject,' the Marquis said, -with cold, ironical politeness. - -'I insist on it, it is my right; I have not lied. Besides, I spoke -distinctly; I offer myself to your daughter, who is sick, poor -and sad, as husband, friend, protector, to care for her, body and -soul, to love and serve her as she deserves. Will you give me your -daughter? You ought to answer this.' - -'I will not give her to you.' - -'Why will you not?' - -'There is no need for me to give my reasons.' - -'As the refusal is insulting, I have a right to ask them. Perhaps it -is because it is I am not of noble birth?' - -'It is not for that.' - -'Do you not think me young enough?' - -'It is not that, either.' - -'Have you a particular dislike to me?' - -'No, I have not.' - -'Why is it, then?' - -'I repeat that I do not choose to tell you the reason; I can only -answer "No."' - -'You will not agree even if I wait?' - -'No.' - -'You give me no hope for the future?' - -'None.' - -'Not in any circumstances?' - -'Never,' the Marquis said decisively. - -They said no more. Both were vexed in a different way. - -'Do you want your daughter to die?' said the doctor, after thinking a -minute. - -'Never fear, she won't die; there is something keeps her up.' - -'To-morrow she, a Cavalcanti, will be a beggar.' - -'I will make her a millionaire, sir; I alone have the right to enrich -her.' - -'I told you that I love her.' - -'Nothing can equal my affection.' - -'But woman's destiny is love in marriage, and to have children.' - -'Of common, vulgar women, but not of Bianca Maria Cavalcanti. She has -a very high mission, if she will carry it out.' - -'My lord, you will ruin her.' - -'I am saving her. I assure her immortal fame and immortal life.' - -'My lord, I beg, you see how I implore, I who have never prayed to -anyone. Don't say "No" so obstinately without even consulting Bianca -Maria. You are preparing a new, heavy sorrow for her. You give me no -chance of living for her, and insult me, an honest man, like this for -no reason. I beg you think over it; don't make up your mind at once.' - -'To-morrow or any other time would be the same. It is "No"--always -"No"; nothing else but "No." You will not get Donna Bianca Maria -Cavalcanti,' he said, grinning devilishly. - -'Think it over, my lord. If you still say "No" to me, I must go away -for ever. Do not sever our ties so roughly.' - -'You are free to go as far as you like. We will not see each other -again. Perhaps it would have been better had we never met.' - -'That is true. I am going.' - -'Go, certainly. Good-bye, sir.' - -'Before going away, however, I want to question your daughter here, -before you. We are not in the Middle Ages; a girl's will goes for -something, too.' - -'It does not.' - -'You are mistaken. I will ask her. I will go away when she tells me -to go. Call her, if you are loyal and a gentleman.' - -The old lord, challenged in the name of honour, got up, rang the -bell, telling Giovanni to send in his daughter. The two enemies stood -in silence until she came in. She had got back all her calm with the -facility of all very nervous temperaments, but a glance at the two -she loved disturbed her mind at once. - -'I leave the word to you,' said the doctor politely, bowing to the -Marquis. - -'Bianca Maria,' the other began, in a solemn voice, 'Dr. Amati says -he loves you. Did you know that?' - -'Yes, father.' - -'Did he tell you?' - -'Yes, he did.' - -'Did you allow him to tell you?' - -'Yes; I listened to him.' - -'You have committed a great fault, Bianca Maria.' - -'We are all apt to do that,' she said in a low tone, looking at Amati -to gain courage. - -'But there is something much worse. He says that you love him. I told -him that he lied--that you could not love him.' - -'Why did you call him a liar?' - -'Can you possibly ask me, Bianca Maria? Is it possible that you are -so lost to all sense of shame and modesty as to love him and tell him -so?' - -'My mother loved you also, and told you so: she was a modest woman.' - -'Keep to the point--do not call witnesses. Answer me, your father. Do -you love this doctor?' - -'Yes, I love him,' she said, opening out her arms. - -'I will never forgive you for saying so, Bianca Maria!' - -'May God be more merciful than you, father!' - -'God punishes disobedient children. Dr. Antonio Amati asked me for -your hand. I said "No": "No" now, to-morrow--for ever "No"!' - -'You do not wish me to marry Dr. Amati, then?' - -'No, I do not. In reality you do not wish it, either.' - -She did not answer; two big tears rolled down her cheeks. - -'Answer, my lady,' said Amati, in so anguished a tone that the poor -girl shivered with grief. - -'I have nothing to say.' - -'But did you not say that you loved me?' - -'Yes, I said so; I repeat it--I will always love you.' - -'Still, you refuse me?' - -'I do not refuse you. It is my father who rejects you.' - -'But you are free; you are not a slave. Girls have a right to choose. -I am an honest man.' - -'You are the best, truest man I have ever known,' said she, clasping -her fragile hands, as if in prayer. 'But my father will not allow me: -I must obey.' - -'You know you are causing me the greatest sorrow of my life?' - -'I know, but I must obey.' - -'Do you know you are breaking my life?' - -'I know, but ... I cannot do otherwise. Mother would curse me from -heaven, father would curse me on earth. I know it all: I must obey.' - -'Will you give up health, happiness, and love?' - -'I give it up out of obedience.' - -'So be it,' he cried out, with a quick gesture, as if he were -throwing off all his weakness. 'We will only say one word more. -Good-bye.' - -'Will you never come back? Are you going away?' said she, shaking -like a tree under a tempest. - -'I must go. Good-bye!' - -'Are you going?' - -'Yes; good-bye.' - -'Will you never return?' - -'Never.' - -She looked at her father. He made no sign. But she felt so desperate -for herself and for Antonio Amati that she made another trial. - -'A little while ago, father, you promised me, in a time of terror -and repentance, to do whatever I wanted. I ask you to do this one -thing. It is this: let me marry Antonio Amati. A gentleman's word, a -Cavalcanti's, is sacred. Will you break it?' - -'I have my reasons--God sees them,' the Marquis said mysteriously. - -'Do you refuse?' - -'For ever.' - -'Would nothing influence you--neither our prayers, nor your love for -me, nor my mother's name--would nothing induce you to consent?' - -'Nothing.' - -'He says "No," love,' she whispered, turning, looking around her with -a wandering eye. But Antonio Amati was too mortally wounded to feel -compassion for another's suffering. Now one single wish possessed -him, that of all strong minds, to lock up the great catastrophe of -his life, scorning barren sympathy, and fly to solitude. He needed -darkness, silence, a place to hide, to weep in, to cry out in his -sorrow. The girl before him was the image of desolation, but he saw -nothing, felt nothing: compassion had gone out of his heart; he felt -all the unforgiving selfishness of great suffering. 'My love, love!' -she still repeated, trying to give expression to the anguish of her -passion. - -Do not say that, Bianca Maria,' he said, with the bitter grin of the -disappointed man; 'it is no use--I do not ask you for it. We have -spoken too much. I must go.' - -'Stay another minute,' she said, as if it meant putting off death for -a little while. - -'No, no--at once. Good-bye, Bianca Maria.' He bowed low to the -Marquis. - -The cruel, impassible old man, whom nothing would move, for his eyes -saw nothing but his mad vision, returned his bow. When the doctor -passed in front of the girl to leave the room she held out her hand -humbly, but he did not take it. She made a resigned gesture, and -looked at him with as much passion as an exile for ever banished -from his country can express. It was no time for words or greeting; -divided by violence, they were leaving each other for ever; words -and greetings were of no use now. He went away, followed by Bianca -Maria's magnetic gaze, without turning back, going away alone to -his bitter destiny. She listened longingly for the last sound of -the beloved foot-step, that she would never hear again. She heard -the entrance door shut quietly, like a secret prison door. All was -ended, then! Her father sat down in a big chair, thoughtful but easy, -leaning his forehead on his hand. Quietly she came to kneel by him, -and, bending her head, said: - -'Bless me.' - -'God bless you--bless you, Bianca Maria!' said the Marquis de Formosa -piously. - -'Your daughter is dead,' she whispered; and, stretching out her arms, -she fell back, livid, cold, motionless. - - - - - CHAPTER XVI - - PASQUALINO DE FEO'S WILL - - -Don Gennaro Parascandolo, the money-lender, had for some time past -been coming very often to the big gateway in Nardones Road. He went -up the big stairs to the second floor, where he enjoyed real love -with a poor good girl, a flower of delicacy and innocence he had -found on a doorstep one evening. The wretched girl was just going -to ruin. He, with his usual money-lender's prudence, had made her -believe he was a poor clerk, a widower with no children, who would -certainly marry her if she proved good and faithful. - -The unlucky Felicetta, whose name was a mockery, lived like a -recluse, served by a rough girl, her only companion. She spent her -time longing for her lord and master's presence, though she did not -even know his real name; and, in spite of a physical distaste, she -was full of gratitude to this good Don Gennaro, who had freed her -from the danger of a dreadful fall by promising to marry her when, -later on, she had ended her probation of virtue and faithfulness. -She was a tiny, neat little woman, with rather fine features, and a -quantity of fair hair, too great a weight for her small head. Cast -out on the world by a curious fate, she would certainly have fallen -into an abyss if she had not met at a decisive moment Don Gennaro, -who spoke to her kindly, gave her something to eat, took her to an -inn, and finally hired a little flat for her in Nardones Road, where -she spent her time crocheting and getting her humble marriage outfit -ready, expecting Don Gennaro's visits daily, and smiling to him with -lips and eyes, like the good girl she was! Besides, the money-lender, -who took off his diamond rings and gold studs when he went to see -her, was quite paternal with her. Every little gift--for he kept her -in decent comfort only--was made so pleasantly that it brought tears -to Felicetta's eyes. Though he was her lover, Don Gennaro treated -her so respectfully that she went pondering in her innocent, grateful -heart how she could show her gratitude and affection. - -Don Gennaro, the hard money-lender, who had seen so much weeping -and despair without troubling himself, was very tender with her. He -often spoke sadly to her of his two handsome sons who had gone to the -dark world of spirits. He got sentimental, and brought flowers like -a timid young lover, asking her to pray for him; also for his dead -little ones, he added, wishing to join these two loves that were so -curiously different. - -'For them it is no use,' replied Felicetta humbly; 'they are angels.' - -Little by little Don Gennaro had gone deeper into this love-affair, -more than he would have desired, still using all precautions, so -that Felicetta should find out nothing about him, and no one should -know about his love-affair with the poor girl. He could not restrain -himself. His man's heart of ripe years, familiar with life, flamed -with youthful passion. He came every day now to Nardones Road, -changing the time, but spending long hours in Felicetta's simple, -loving company. At the end of that stormy summer he had given up his -usual autumn trip, and was forgetting his precautions, bringing gifts -to the girl, who took them rather astonished; but he explained he had -just succeeded to a little money. - -'Then, we will get married,' the young woman said timidly, for she -felt her bad position. - -'I am getting my papers sent from my village,' Don Gennaro answered, -sighing, regretting to the bottom of his heart he had a wife. - -But one holiday, after taking a few turns in Toledo Street, when he -had gone down by Sant' Anna di Palazzo to Nardones Road, carrying a -bag of sweets in his hand for his lady-love, as he was going up the -stairs, he heard a sort of call or whistle behind him, evidently -to make him turn his head. He did turn, though he could not quite -make out if it was a whistle or a loud signal that had called his -attention. It had been a mysterious call, that was all, one of those -voices that come from the soul. However much he looked round, above -and beneath, going close to the railing, he saw nothing, could find -out nothing. Annoyed at being detained on that stair, where he was -always afraid of being discovered, he hurried into Felicetta's rooms. -Still, all the time of the visit he was put out; he thought, secrecy -being the foundation of his happiness, it had crumbled away with that -voice calling to him. Indeed, next day, right under the entrance, he -met the Marquis di Formosa coming down the small stair, looking as -if he were in a dream. Really, they were not on speaking terms now, -though they knew each other; but that day, both feeling put out, they -stopped in front of each other, watching one another. - -'Busy as usual,' the Marquis di Formosa muttered, in a hoarse voice -that gave an idea of emotion, for it looked as if rage had made him -lose his voice. - -'Yes, like yourself,' Don Gennaro replied darkly. - -'I have no business to do,' Formosa replied, in a still more -undecided and shy manner. 'Is Signora Parascandolo well?' - -'She is quite well,' Parascandolo said, at once suspecting something -under the question. 'How is Lady Bianca Maria?' - -'She is rather in poor health,' the old man said, hanging his head. - -'Good-morning, my lord,' Parascandolo answered at once, taking the -opportunity to go off. - -'Good-morning, sir,' Formosa said, touching his hat, and looking -after the usurer mechanically. - -He went slowly up the big stair, frightfully bored by that meeting, -thinking at once he must change houses and carry Felicetta off to -a far-away part; and he slackened his steps to see if the Marquis -were asking the porter where Don Gennaro Parascandolo was going to. -But Formosa had gone off. When the usurer got to the second landing, -again he heard a whiff; a flash passed before his eyes, as if the -mystical warning was being repeated persistently because he had -taken no notice the first time. Again holding on to the railings, he -thought over where that call could come from, and told himself he -must be dreaming, as there was nothing about. That love, carefully -hidden, made him as superstitious as a woman. - -'There must be spirits in this house,' he said to Felicetta during -his call, as he could not get over his absent-mindedness. 'Twice in -coming upstairs I felt as if someone was calling me, and I could not -make out where the voice came from, or if it really was a voice.' - -'Do you believe in spirits, then?' - -'Well, who can tell?' - -'This house has certainly a queer lot of lodgers,' said the girl. -'Day and night a number of suspicious-looking people come and go. The -other evening, as I was watering my flowers on my balcony, I thought -I heard cries and complaints coming from the first-floor. Then all -was silent; I heard no more.' - -'They must have been spirits,' said Don Gennaro, laughing -unwillingly. 'Would you like to go to another house?' - -'Yes, very much--a small house, with more sun.' - -'On the Vittorio Emanuele Corso would you like?' - -'It would be too grand for me.' - -Don Gennaro was still thoughtful when he went away. As he was on the -first-floor landing, he thought he saw two people he knew go down the -small stair--the advocate Marzano and Ninetto Costa. They, heated -in argument, did not see or pretended not to see him, because they -owed him a lot of money, and he held a heap of stamped paper against -them. But the money-lender was put out; he felt a mystery growing -around him, while a burning curiosity took hold of him to know the -truth. So that the next day, after wandering about all morning to -find a new house for Felicetta, having found her a nook in that open -quarter between Vittorio Emanuele Corso and Piedi Grotta, as he -was coming back to tell her so, he stood on the stair on purpose, -waiting. And the call, the fluttering, the secret voice, was heard -like a suppressed summons. He peered about; this time he saw. He saw -two windows of the flat that looked on to the great door, one with -closed shutters, the other of obscured glass half open. There, just -for a second, through the glass, an emaciated, despairing face showed -that cast an imploring look at him, then disappeared, and a thin hand -and white handkerchief waved to call him. Then the hand went out of -sight. The darkened window was slammed violently, and the shutters -were closed as on the other window. Don Gennaro turned round to go -down at once to the isolated flat, but then he stood still, confused. -What did it matter to him what was going on there? Who was it who -showed himself imprisoned inside there? He remembered his features -vaguely, though he barely had seen them. He did not know him. It had -to do with a stranger; but whether he was a stranger or not, Don -Gennaro's mature prudence took the alarm. Perhaps it would be best -to go and give the alarm at the police court. He thought better of -that, too; for many reasons it was best to have nothing to do with -the police. But the idea that someone was shut up, calling for help, -for days past, who would perish perhaps without his help, put him -in a great state. A mysterious crime was going on; his Southerner's -curiosity burned within him, and his coolness as a man who had seen -many ugly scenes encouraged him to help the unlucky man. At last he -went downstairs, and, crossing the small yard, he went up the damp, -broken stairs. After thinking a minute, he knocked and rang. The -little bell tinkled mournfully, but no sound came from inside. He -knocked again; not a sound. Then time about with ringing the bell, -he knocked with his ebony stick. The silence was like that of an -empty house. Twice he stooped to the keyhole, and said: 'Open, by -Gad! or I will go and call the police.' The second time, when he had -shouted louder, he thought he heard a whisper, and he waited again. -No one came to open at the loud ring he gave. Then he began to go -downstairs, determined to call the police authorities. It was on the -last step that he again met the Marquis di Formosa. The latter raised -his head and grew pale as he recognised Don Gennaro. Still, he had -the courage to ask: - -'How come you here?' - -'There is something wrong going on up there, my lord,' said the -money-lender coldly, lighting a cigarette. 'I am going to a -magistrate.' - -'Why should you call in a magistrate?' the old man stammered, in a -nervous way. - -'I tell you that up there a disgraceful thing has happened, or will -happen, and, as I am an honest man, I cannot allow it. Will you come -with me to the magistrate?' and he looked him straight in the eyes. - -'Don Gennaro, don't let us exaggerate. Perhaps it is a joke among -friends, or a just punishment,' said Formosa, getting excited. - -'I do not wish to know anything about it. I only know that a man -asked my help. I know I knocked, and they would not open.' - -'What exaggerated talk are you going on with?' - -'Something bad is going on.' - -'We will go upstairs. I will induce them to open,' said the Marquis, -making up his mind to have as little of a catastrophe as possible, as -it had to be. - -Silently they went up together. Formosa gave two long rings, the -known signal. - -'Who is it?' asked a muffled voice, speaking through the keyhole. - -'It is I, doctor; open, please.' - -'But you are not alone.' - -'It doesn't matter--open.' - -'If you are not alone I will not open, as you know,' Trifari said -angrily from inside. - -'Open the door; it will be better for everyone, doctor,' the Marquis -di Formosa negotiated. 'If you do not open the ruin will be greater. -Don Gennaro Parascandolo here knows all; he wants to go to a -magistrate.' - -'At any rate, I am not going away,' Parascandolo said from outside. -'I will only go for the purpose of calling the police.' - -'Oh dear! oh dear!' Formosa muttered with a senile quiver. - -A step was heard going and coming, then a slow rattle of chain-links, -and Trifari's face, with long, red hair growing unevenly on it, -showed in a slit of the door. - -'Open, open!' said the money-lender, grinning, going on, without -seeing the bloodthirsty glance Trifari cast on him. - -On going in, a smell of smoky oil caught the nostrils, of cooking -done in an airless place, of not very clean people, who have lived -shut up for a long time. The front-room and the so-called dining-room -were dirtier than ever, with dust, lampblack, bread-crumbs, and -fruit-skins. The house was like an animals' lair, when they have been -shut up in their dens for days and weeks from fear of the huntsman. -On a chair, pale, with hollow cheeks, pinched nostrils, bloodless -ears, his blue lips half open, as if he could hardly breathe, the -medium lay stretched out, his limbs flaccid, his beard long and -dirty, his hair hanging in curls on his neck. - -Trifari, to make him stand up, gave him two blows, one on the arm, -the other on the shoulder. It brought quite a new sort of doleful -expression on the unlucky impostor's face. - -'What are you doing? Are you not ashamed?' shouted Don Gennaro, quite -scandalized. - -'He treats me so at all hours of the day,' the medium muttered in a -thread of a voice. - -'Keep up your courage; you will come away with me,' said the -money-lender, handing him a flask of brandy that he always carried. - -'I shall not have the strength, sir,' said the other feebly. 'They -have killed me, shut up here, with no air nor light, with this stink -that makes me sick. I have generally fasted or got poor food, and -been worried all the time to give lottery numbers. I was often beaten -by this hyena of a doctor, that the Lord has brought into existence, -for my sins. It is agonizing, sir; I am in agony.' - -'How could you do that to a man--a fellow-Christian?' Parascandolo -asked severely, looking at the other two. - -'See who is preaching!' shouted Trifari. His impudence was -indomitable. - -'You, my lord, a gentleman!' said Parascandolo, making out he would -not speak to Trifari. - -'What would you have? Passion carried me away,' said the old man, -quite humiliated, shivering from other remembrances also. - -Just then came in at the door, which had been left open, Colaneri, -the viperish professor, and Don Crescenzio the lottery-banker. On -seeing a stranger, recognising Don Gennaro, they understood all, and -looked at each other dismayed, especially Don Crescenzio, who was a -Government official, as he said. - -The money-lender went on smoking coolly, whilst the medium, getting -weaker, let his head fall back on the chair. The house, which had -been a prison for a month now, had an ugly, sordid look, and the -artificial light of the lamp in full day wrung the heart like the wax -tapers round a bier. Really, Don Pasqualino looked like a corpse. - -'Have so many of you set on one man?' the money-lender asked, without -directly addressing anyone. - -'Why did he not give the lottery numbers at once?' yelled Colaneri, -pulling at his collar with a priestly gesture. 'No one would have -done anything to him then.' - -'You could be sent to the galleys for this, you know,' said the -usurer rather icily. - -'Don't you speak of the galleys; you ought to have been there long -ago!' hissed the ex-priest. - -The other shrugged his shoulders, then said: - -'Don Pasqualino, have you the strength to get up? I want to take you -away.' - -The four looked at each other, grown pale suddenly. It was natural -that, the thing being discovered, the medium should go away; but the -idea that he would be taken away to the open air, free to come and -go, and to tell what had happened--this escape from persecution made -them very frightened. - -'I have no strength to move, sir,' said Don Pasqualino complainingly. -'If they wanted to kill me, they could not have found a better way. -God will punish them;' and he sighed deeply. - -There were two knocks at the door, and two other couples came -in--Ninetto Costa and Marzano, Gaetano the glover and Michele the -shoeblack. Not content with coming every day, every two hours, in -turn, to ask for lottery numbers, with the monotonous perseverance -of the Trappist monk who says to his fellow, 'We must all die,' on -Friday there was always a full meeting. Then it was a case of torture -in the mass; it was the reckless conduct of those fallen to the -bottom of the abyss, who still hope to get up out of it--of those -hardened by passion, who see light no longer. Indeed, their cruel -obstinacy had increased, because of the evil action they were doing -and the persecution they had carried out against Don Pasqualino. -Instead of feeling remorse, they were in a frightful rage, because -even their violence had had no effect, since not one of the lottery -numbers, whether given by symbol or straight out by the medium during -his imprisonment, had come from the urn. The first cold douche on -their wrongheadedness came when Don Gennaro Parascandolo arrived. It -was only then they noticed the wretchedness and dirt of the prison -where they had kept the man shut up, the cruelty of Trifari the -gaoler's face, and the suffering look on the prisoner's--then only -they understood that they might be prosecuted for such a crime, -and that they were at Don Pasqualino's and Don Gennaro's mercy. -Dumb, frozen, amazed, they did not even ask how the prison had been -discovered. They now felt the heavy weight on the heart that is the -first moral personal punishment of sin. The Marquis di Formosa was -the most humiliated of all; he remembered he had brought the medium -there, and he already saw his name dragged from the police-court to -prison, then to the assizes. Now the Cabalists turned imploring -looks on the two arbiters of their fate. Don Gennaro Parascandolo -methodically went on smoking. - -'Above all, doctor,' he said, throwing the smoke in the air, 'put out -the light and open the window.' - -'I won't take orders from you!' Trifari shouted. He was the only one -unsubdued; he was wild at his prey escaping. - -'Do you really want to go to San Francesco,' Parascandolo asked -quietly, meaning the largest prison in Naples. - -'They ought to put you there!' yelled the liverish Cabalist, who had -got half mad from having to watch Don Pasqualino. - -'I will wait till you pay me the lot of money you owe me,' remarked -Parascandolo. - -'Don't you wish you may get it!' said Trifari impudently. - -'Someone will pay--father or mother--to avoid a trial for cheatery,' -the money-lender added without putting himself about at all. - -All the men looked at each other, shivering. Each of them owed money -to the usurer, even Don Crescenzio. The only two who did not--Gaetano -and Michele--were worried as much by Donna Concetta. Even Trifari -held his tongue; the idea of being shamed in his village before those -old peasants, whose secret plague he was, made him groan already like -a wounded beast. Stolidly he went to open the windows and put out -the smoking lamp that gave out a horrid smell of blackened wick. The -bystanders' eyelids fluttered at that strong light of day; all faces -were white, and the medium's was like a dying man's. The usurer gave -him another sip of brandy, which he drank drop by drop, being hardly -able to get it down. - -'Now we will call up a cab,' said Don Gennaro. - -'What! are you going to take him away?' asked Ninetto Costa in -despair. - -'Do you want me to leave him here for you to carry off a corpse?' - -'What an exaggeration!' muttered the other vaguely. 'Don Pasqualino -is accustomed to living shut up.... You are ruining us, Don Gennaro.' - -'Think of your other woes,' said the money-lender gravely. - -The other, struck by his words, said no more. All of them trembled, -seeing the medium was trying to rise; slowly, leaning on the table, -and only by a great effort, taking breath every minute, opening his -livid mouth with its blackened teeth, did he succeed. The enchantment -was broken altogether; now the medium was escaping for good. He would -go to the police-court, and accuse them of keeping him in custody--of -cruelty and ill-treatment. But at heart they thought this of less -consequence than the medium's getting away, for, to revenge himself, -he would never give them lottery numbers again. Would they were sent -to gaol, if only they got right lottery numbers, for they would be -able to corrupt justice and escape. The dream had fled; the source of -riches was going, flying off. Nothing, nothing now would induce the -medium to give them lottery numbers--certain, infallible ones. Every -step he tried to take on his thin, shaky legs gave them a pang. - -'If you don't take heart, Don Pasqualino, we shall stay here till -evening,' Don Gennaro remarked. - -He was in a hurry to be off. Indeed, his position among them was not -very safe. All owed him money. If they had been bold enough to carry -out one imprisonment, they might well carry out another more useful -and profitable. Don Gennaro, indeed, took the command by his coolness -and strength, but were not these men desperate? Yet they were feeling -that break-up of moral and bodily strength, that weakness, that comes -to the most finished scoundrels when they have carried out some -wicked deed, having put all their real and fictitious strength into -the enterprise and obtained no result. At any rate, it was better to -go out. - -'Gentlemen, I wish you good-morning,' he said, taking his hat and -cane, seeing the medium was scratching at his coat with skinny hands -to clean it. - -'I would like to say a word to each of these gentlemen,' the medium -requested. - -There was a whispering. All crowded round him who spoke with the -spirits, while Parascandolo was already in the lobby and held the -door open as a precaution. - -'One at a time,' said the medium. 'It is a kind of will I am making. -I want to leave a remembrance to every one.' - -He took them aside one by one in the window recess. He looked them in -the face and touched their hands with his feeble, cold fingers. The -first was Ninetto Costa. - -'Look here, Ninetto: don't give up hope; remember, there is always a -revolver for a finish up.' - -'That is true,' he said, trying to find a number in the words. - -The second was Colaneri, the ex-priest. - -'There is the gospel for you; it opens its arms,' whispered the -medium. - -'Thank you for reminding me,' said the other, half cheerfully, half -sadly, taking the double meaning of the advice. - -The third was Gaetano, the glover. - -'Why are you a married man? I would have advised you to marry Donna -Concetta, who has so much money.' - -'Has she a lot?' - -'Yes, a great deal.' - -'You are right, it is hard luck.' - -The fourth was Michele, the shoeblack, the hunchbacked dwarf. - -'If you were not so crooked and old, I would advise you to marry -Donna Caterina, she that has the small lottery.' - -'But I am crooked,' said the shoeblack sadly. - -'Well, work hard.' - -The fifth was Marzano, the lawyer, his head shaking, but still -burning with the frenzy. - -'You know, thousands of sheets of stamped paper are sold in Naples: -why do you not try for a license?' - -He whispered rather than said it, and the old man looked wonderingly, -suspiciously at him, and went off hanging his head. - -The sixth that came up was Dr. Trifari. He hesitated, for he had -ill-treated the medium too much in the prison days. Still, he was -treated with great civility. - -'To get rid of your worries, why do you not sell all in your village -and bring your parents here?' - -'I never thought of it. I will consider it.' - -The seventh was Don Crescenzio, the lottery-banker at Nunzio Lane, -whom Don Pasqualino had had a long intimacy with. They spoke in a -whisper. No one could hear what was said. - -'How foolish Government is!' said the medium. - -'What is that you are saying?' cried out the other, alarmed. - -'I say, how stupid Government is.' - -'I don't know what you mean.' - -'You do perfectly.' - -The eighth to come up was the Marquis di Formosa. He was rather -timid, too, feeling that he had done most wrong to Don Pasqualino. - -'The spirit spoke to me again, my lord.' - -'What did he say?' - -'He told me that Donna Bianca Maria Cavalcanti was a perfectly lucid -soul, but that, as I said, man's touch would defile her; it would -make her obtuse and unlucky, unable to have further visions.' - -'Donna Bianca shall die a virgin. Tell the spirit so,' the old man -said proudly. - -'Well, Don Pasqualino, are we to stay here till evening?' said the -money-lender, coming in. 'Have you finished with these gentlemen?' - -'Yes, I have done,' said the other in a strange voice, as if he had -got back his strength in some queer way. - -While the medium looked in his pockets to see if he had a torn -handkerchief and a dirty pack of cards he always carried with him, -and then put on his shabby hat, the Cabalists had gathered in a -group, but they were not speaking. What he had said in its true and -symbolical sense as a hint, a suggestion, had deeply moved them. - -'Gentlemen, may God forgive you!' the medium cried out in a queer -way, with a slight smile, as he went off. - -They hardly greeted him, but glanced at him remorsefully. None of -them dared make an excuse for the ill they had done him; each of them -felt the nail riveted that the medium had driven in. The two went -down the small stair very slowly, for the medium often threatened -to fall. The usurer did not go so far as to offer him his arm; the -medium was much too dirty. When he came to the doorway and looked -around, drinking in the free air, tears came to his eyes. - -'I thought I would never get out alive,' he said as he got to the -carriage. - -'Where do you wish to go?' asked Parascandolo. - -'To the police-court,' said the other in a feeble voice again. - -He was spread out in the carriage like a serious invalid. Don Gennaro -frowned rather, and, not to make people stare, he had the carriage -hood put up. They went on to Concezione Street. - -'Do you intend to denounce them?' Parascandolo asked. - -'You do not know how they have tortured me,' muttered the other, -knocking his head against the carriage hood whenever there was a -jostle, as if he could not keep his head straight on his shoulders. - -'So you will take them up, will you?' - -'For thirty days I, an unhappy man, in bad health, was shut up with -no air nor light and a stinking oil-lamp, whilst they who behaved so -badly to me took their exercise.' - -'Why did you not give them the lottery numbers?' - -'Just because----' said the medium mysteriously. - -'Don Pasqualino, you don't know the lottery numbers,' said Don -Gennaro, laughing. - -'What does it matter to you?' - -'Nothing at all; but you must be frank with me.' - -'Yes, sir, yes, sir,' said the medium humbly; 'but why did they -endanger my life? What harm had I done them?' - -'Don Pasqualino, you ate up several thousand francs belonging to -these gentlemen, to my knowledge,' Parascandolo went on in the same -laughing tone. - -'It was all charity, sir--charity.' - -'Really, was it all charity?' Don Gennaro sneered wickedly. - -'There was some little thing for myself, sir,' Don Pasqualino sighed -out, with a flash of malicious amusement in his eyes. - -'Then, there is no use in going to the police-court?' - -'We had better go there, all the same; you will be satisfied with me.' - -They got down at the big gateway in Concezione Street, where the -guardians of the public safety were going and coming. It was a -tremendous effort to the medium to go up the stairs; he lost his -breath at every step. - -'Rather an effort, eh?' the usurer said more than once. - -'Don't leave me, don't desert me!' the medium sighed out. - -At last they got to the first-floor, where Don Gennaro, respectfully -saluted by the ushers, asked if there was a magistrate present. There -was not. The head-clerk was there; he had them shown in at once, and -was most ceremonious. - -'Here is Signor Pasqualino De Feo; he wants to make a statement,' -said the money-lender, setting to smoking a cigarette, after -offering the head-clerk one, looking the medium straight in the eyes. - -'I wished to know,' said he feebly, 'if anyone has come to say I had -disappeared.' - -The inspector took a thick ledger, and turned it over as he smoked. - -'Yes, sir,' he said. 'Chiarastella De Feo, living in Centograde Lane, -wife of Pasqualino De Feo, stated that her husband was unaccountably -absent. She feared imprisonment or misfortune.' - -'What misfortune, what imprisonment, could there be?' the medium -called out, smiling ironically. 'Women always talk nonsense.' - -'She said it had happened to you before, though she could not state -under what circumstances.' - -'Why should they have shut me up?' - -'To drag lottery numbers from you.' - -'Did my wife say that I knew lottery numbers?' said the medium with a -little laugh. - -'Do not believe it, inspector; it is nonsense,' Parascandolo added -laughingly. - -'I wish to state, to avoid mistakes, that, being at Palma Campania, -at Don Gennaro Parascandolo's villa there, I was so ill I had to stay -there a month without being able to write to my wife. Then I thought -every day I would soon be able to return.' - -'You witness that this is true, do you, sir?' said the inspector -carelessly, not giving it any importance. - -'Yes, I do, sir.' - -'Then it is all right. He would have given you lottery numbers during -this month's illness of his, I suppose?' asked the police official, -still grinning. - -'Of course he did,' said Parascandolo, in high good-humour. - -'But what use are they to you? With a poor employé like me it would -be different.' - -'Don Pasqualino, if you are strong enough, give the inspector lottery -numbers.' - -'You are making a fool of me,' muttered the medium. - -They said good-bye, and the inspector advised De Feo to go to his -wife's house at once, as she would be anxious. - -'Did you not see that I did as you wished, sir? I forgave those who -had offended me,' said Don Pasqualino as they went downstairs. - -'You are too good,' the other answered, rather ironically. - -'I do not intend to make a merit of it, for there is none. I would -never have accused these gentlemen.' - -'Ah!' said the other, standing still for a moment. 'Why is that?' - -'It would not suit me to do it.' - -'I see. But why did we come here, then?' - -'It was necessary to make a statement, for the police were looking -for me.' - -'Is your wife such a simpleton?' - -'What! my wife? She is very fond of me; she is nervous for me, and -says we must retire from the profession.' - -'What profession is it?' - -'Don't you know? She is the famous witch of Centograde, Chiarastella.' - -'Ah, I remember. Her witchcraft is like your knowing lottery numbers, -is it?' - -'Her magic is true,' said Don Pasqualino thoughtfully and sincerely. - -'And does she believe in your being a medium?' - -'Yes, she does,' said the other, hanging his head. 'My wife is in -love with me.' - -'In love with you?' - -'Yes, with me.' - -'You are a queer lot,' said the money-lender philosophically. 'And, -meanwhile, you have saved the eight scoundrels.' - -'How have I saved them? Did you understand the advice I gave them -all?' - -'No, I did not,' Don Gennaro answered, surprised at the malicious -tone of his voice. - -'I left them each a remembrance,' the medium replied, in a shrill -voice. - -'Will they obey you, do you think?' - -'As sure as death,' said the medium dolefully. - -He bowed to Don Gennaro, and, with renewed strength, went off quickly -towards Municipio Square. Parascandolo looked at him as he went off, -and felt for the first time a shudder at cold malignity. - - - - - CHAPTER XVII - - BARBASSONE'S INN--THE DUEL - - -In the little Barbassone inn, on the road that goes down from -Moiariella di Capodimonte to Ponte Rossi, there were no customers -that clear winter morning. It was really an outhouse on pillars, -roughly built, and on the ground-floor there was a big, smoky kitchen -with a wide, grimy fireplace and a large hall, where rustic tables -were set out for eating and drinking. On the upper floor, which was -reached by a queer outside staircase, the host and his wife slept in -the room over the kitchen. The other bare room, used as a storeroom, -was full of black sausages and stinking cheese, strings of garlic -hung on the walls, and bunches of onions and winter marrows strung on -osier withes. Below, in front of the inn, were two or three arbours, -that must have been covered thick with leaves in spring and summer, -but now they were bare, showing the wooden framework. Under the -arbours were dusty, broken tables covered with dry, rustling leaves; -and at the side of the inn was a bowling-green, surrounded by a low -myrtle hedge. The host had had a wooden stair made inside, leading -from the ground-floor to the upper rooms; and a door at the back -opened on to the fields. From the first-floor windows could be seen -the suburbs of Naples, Reclusorio Road, the railway-station, the -swamps outside the town, and the Campo Santo Hill. Two roads went up -to the inn; one came from Moiariella, the other from Ponte Rossi. -There was the way from the fields also, but it did not count. - -However, if the neighbourhood of the country inn was deserted, some -company were certainly expected, for the servant in the kitchen that -fine quiet morning was giving hard blows to some pork chops on a -big table. On the stove a kettle was boiling for a macaroni. Before -the inn door the host, a sagacious-looking peasant, was washing -fennel and salad in a bowl on the ground, throwing away the bad -leaves to the thin fowls that were clucking about. The hostess of -the Barbassone was away; her husband often sent her out when it -suited him, to buy fresh fish, tripe, or whatever could not be got -at Capodimonte market. He stayed at home with the old servant, who -was busy in the kitchen helping him; and there was a son of his, -about twelve years old, who waited on the customers. This boy was -now employed in the kitchen grating down some white nipping Cotrone -cheese, that looks like chalk and burns the throat, but Naples -throats do not object to it. - -It was a soft, quiet time near noon. The host often looked to -see if anyone was coming from the low road of Ponte Rossi, or if -anyone was coming down Moiariella road, but Barbassone's keen -face was as serene as the December morning. He bent down again to -soak the lettuce-leaves in the already earthy water of the basin, -when, without his having seen her, a black figure of a woman rose -before him. She was a girl a little over twenty, but so worn with -fatigue, want and sorrow she looked years older, and her great black -eyes burned in her lean face. She was Carmela, the cigar-girl, -Annarella and Filomena's unhappy sister, Raffaele or Farfariello's -despised love. She had come on foot, so naturally made no noise. A -thinly-veiled excitement was mingled in her face with the weariness -after her long walk. She was dressed like a vagrant in a cotton frock -quite washed out, with a rag of a red shawl round her neck and a -rumpled cotton apron at her waist. - -'Good-day, gossip,' she said, greeting the host with Naples common -folk's favourite title. - -'Good-morning, lass,' he answered, looking at her suspiciously. - -'Can I have a glass of wine?' she asked, keeping down a tremble in -her voice. - -'Are you alone?' - -'What about it? Am I not able to pay for a glass?' - -'You may drink the whole cellar,' the host said in a tone of affected -carelessness, and he stood aside to let her into the room, following -her to a table. - -She sat down on a rough chair, after glancing round quickly. There -were no customers. - -'Is it Gragnano wine you want?' - -'Yes, sir.' - -'Half a pint of Gragnano wine!' shouted the host towards the kitchen, -cleaning the table with his apron. - -'Do you wish anything to eat?' he then added, still staring at the -girl. - -'I am not hungry; I am thirsty,' said Carmela, casting down her eyes. -'Give me a penny-worth of dry chestnuts.' - -The host slowly went to get those white, shrivelled, hard chestnuts -that provoke thirst. In the meanwhile the boy brought a caraffe of -greenish glass full of dark wine, stoppered by the usual vine-leaf. -Carmela began to munch the chestnuts slowly, drinking a mouthful of -wine at times. - -'Will you do me the pleasure?' she said to the host, who was hovering -about rather uneasily. - -'Thank you, I will,' he said. - -He never refused, and, as there was only one glass, he took a long -pull at the bottle, making the wine gurgle, then drying his lips. - -'How quiet you are out here!' said the girl, trying to start a -conversation. 'Have you customers always?' - -'Not always. It is according to the weather.' - -'People from Naples come, do they not?' - -'Yes, I have them sometimes.' - -'Here are two francs. Buy a cap for your boy,' she said, seeing the -host was suspicious. - -He took the money unhesitatingly and pocketed it, then stood to be -questioned. - -'A set of young fellows are to come here at mid-day, are they not?' - -'Yes, I expect some.' - -'One Farfariello is to be with them, I believe?' - -'Yes, I heard that.' - -She gave a deep sigh. - -'Is he your brother?' the inn-keeper asked. - -'He is my lover.' - -'There are no women with them,' the host remarked carelessly. - -'I know that,' she said, shaking her head. 'But not only they are -coming. Don't you expect others?' - -'Another set of men may be coming.' - -'What to do?' she cried out, feeling her fears justified. - -'To get dinner, of course.' - -'Is there nothing else?' - -'Nothing. At Barbassone's it is the only thing to do.' - -'On your honour, is that all?' - -'I give you my word. While they are in my house nothing can happen.' - -'Yes, but what about afterwards?' - -'I have nothing to do with that. When they have gone three yards -away, I have no more to do with them, do you see.' - -She said no more, and got quite thoughtful. A wine-stain was on the -table, and she lengthened it with her finger, making a pattern with -the wine. - -'Gossip, will you do me a kindness?' - -'Don't speak like that.' - -'A real charity, gossip, that God will give you back on that -handsome son of yours. Let me be present at this dinner in some room -aloft--any hole where I can see without being seen.' - -'My dear, Barbassone never meddles with doubtful affairs.' - -'If you love your son, do not say no to me. It is not a plot, I swear -it by the Virgin! It is an idea, a fancy of mine. I want to see what -my lover is doing.' - -'Yes, to make a scene--a quarrel.' - -'I will not move, sir; I swear it by my eyes! I just want to look on -at this dinner--nothing more.' - -'Do you promise not to come out of the room?' - -'I swear I will not.' - -'Nor try to speak to anyone?' - -'No, no, I won't.' - -'If you are found out, do not say that I put you there.' - -'Of course not.' - -'Come with me,' he said sharply. - -She started after the host, who left the hall and went up the outside -stair to the second-floor. Carmela gave a glance from the parapet -up the two roads that lead from Naples to Barbassone's inn, but -they were quiet and deserted. Not the slightest noise of a carriage -or footsteps came up in that noontide silence. The inn-keeper took -Carmela across the room where he and his wife slept, and opened the -door of the smaller one alongside where the inn provisions were kept. -A whiff of rancid lard and ripe cheese caught Carmela by the throat -and made her cough. - -'You will be all right here, my dear,' Barbassone said to her, -leading her to a window that looked to the front of the inn. 'If -these honest fellows come, they will dine down there in the arbour. -You will see their every movement. Only you must promise you will -stay behind the window-glass.' - -'Yes, sir, I will,' Carmela promised. - -'You are not to go down, whatever happens. Do you understand? I don't -want to get into a scrape with my customers.' - -'Yes, sir; I will not go down, never fear,' she said in a low tone, -half shutting her eyes, as if she saw a frightful sight before her. - -'If not, I will shut you in.' - -'There is no need of that. As I love the blessed Virgin, I won't -move.' - -'Good-bye in the meanwhile,' said he, going away. - -'God will reward you,' the girl called out after him. - -The long waiting began, and to the love-lorn maiden these minutes -had the weight of lead. Still, she stood motionless behind the dull, -dirty window, and her warm breath dulled the panes more. There were a -couple of bottomless chairs and a wooden stool in the room, but she -did not think of sitting down. She was too anxious to mount guard at -the window, looking at the two sunny roads that mild winter's day, -examining the peaceful landscape, where city noises were silent. Only -twice she went backwards and forwards in that room full of black -sausages and brown cheese, choked by their bad smell, and she saw -there was another window that looked to the back of the inn, over the -fields going up to Capodimonte. It was perfectly silent on that side -too. - -As time passed, a sharp anguish caught her heart. Perhaps the man who -had told her of Farfariello's and his friend's trip to Barbassone's -inn had cheated her, or she might have misunderstood what he meant. -Farfariello, his friends, and the others, perhaps at that time were -already in some other place, and all might be happening far off, -without her being able to stop it. Perhaps it had happened already. -She often turned her eyes to heaven, praying that it should not be -so. At one time, not managing to keep down her uneasiness, she pulled -her rosary from her pocket and began to say _Ave Marias_ and _Pater -Nosters_ mechanically, thinking of something else. Seeing a dreadful -vision, that made her despairing heart go out to the Virgin, for her -to save Raffaele from misfortune '_and in the hour of our death_,' -she caught herself saying aloud once. It was just then a noise of -wheels and a cracking of whips came from Capodimonte Road, and -Raffaele and three other youths, almost the same age, appeared in a -cab. - -'Oh, Our Lady of Sorrows!' sobbed out Carmela from behind the window. - -Raffaele paid for the cab, and, contrary to the usual habit in -these country trips, that the driver always shares the pleasures of -the day, this time the horse turned round and went back the way it -came. The young fellows, with trousers tight at the knee and caps -hanging by one hair, were now making a great uproar in the lower -room, perhaps because dinner was not ready. The boy quickly spread -the cloth on one of the tables which ought to have been shaded -by the leaves of the arbour, but it was bare. In the meanwhile, -quite calmly, these youths set to playing bowls, waiting till the -macaroni was ready. Raffaele especially went about quietly, with that -low-class ease that charmed Carmela's heart. - -'May you be blessed!' she whispered, rather reassured by that -calmness. - -Now, seated at four sides of the table, pulling macaroni into their -plates from a big dish in the middle, Raffaele and his friends ate -straight on with youthful appetites, improved by the wintry country -air. They drank a lot, and often lifted their glasses of bluish dark -wine, and, looking fixedly at each other, said something and drank it -off at a gulp, without winking. Carmela, though she heard no voices, -understood that they were drinking healths, or to the success of -something. - -Up till then, everything had gone on like a commonplace joyous -winter trip, on a fine sunny day in a quiet country place: the inn, -the host in the doorway, the boy serving the table, and the four -fellow-guests, looked perfectly easy, in sympathy with the quietness -around. But again there was a noise of wheels from Ponte Rossi Road, -and an ostentatious whip-cracking. Raffaele and his friends looked -up, as if out of mere curiosity, while Carmela, cut to the heart -by that sound, felt her legs giving way, and she prayed the Lord -silently to give her the strength not to die just then. - -It was a party like the first one--of four young fellows with light -trousers, tight at the knees, and neat black jackets, wearing -their caps over one ear. Carmela recognised the one that led the -party--Ferdinando, called the l'Ammartenato Teaser. He said something -to the driver on paying him; the man listened, bending down, then -went off slowly the road he had come, without turning his head. The -two parties looked straight at each other solemnly, and bowed very -punctiliously. Raffaele and his friends went on eating quietly; the -other four took off their hats and hung them on the bare boughs. -Macaroni was much quicker served for them, perhaps because the host -had got ready enough for the two parties, so that at one time, as -Raffaele's friends were eating slower and Ferdinando's were hurrying -their mouthfuls, they got to the same stage, then went on together -to the next course, swallowing, in two gulps, pork chops and lettuce -salad, and drinking glasses of wine one after another as if they -were water. While they were drinking, the two tables glanced at each -other now and then quite indifferently. In spite of the quantity -of wine swallowed they seemed to keep very cool; some of them lay -back in their chairs occasionally in a calm way. Still, all that -calm and free-and-easiness was the same at each table, curiously -alike, as if the two sets had made a tacit agreement; but it fell -short of the gaiety natural to Neapolitans on an outing, when -laughter, shouts, and songs rise to heaven. Sometimes the youths -round Raffaele, nicknamed Farfariello, bent towards him, and he -smiled proudly; it was the only sign of cheerfulness in the company. -Ferdinando--Ammartenato as his nickname was--did not smile even; his -set tossed glasses of wine down their throats always, not moving a -muscle. Carmela looked on from above; her lover's smiles, the wine -drunk off by the two sets, and their peaceful free-and-easiness, -did not reassure her. Amongst other things, she saw the movement -of the lips, but did not hear the words. It seemed to her that a -deep silence was between these people, who understood each other -by signs; it was a doleful silence, in the midst of country peace. -A slow, ever-increasing anguish oppressed her breathing, as if her -heart had contracted and only beat at intervals; her whole will was -in abeyance. She stood, leaning with her forehead against the dusty -window, rigid, her sad eyes fixed on Raffaele's face, as if she -wanted to read what was passing through his mind. Now the inn-keeper -and his boy brought the fruit--that is to say, dried chestnuts and a -bundle of celery with white stalks and long, thin green leaves--and -with it more wine. Then, all of a sudden, after his father had -whispered something in his ear, the little boy took off his apron, -put on his cap, and started off running up the Ponte Rossi Road. -As it was getting near the end of the meal, Carmela felt her brain -giving way; she had one single desire growing in her mind to go down, -take Raffaele by the arm, and carry him off with her, afar, where -neither _cammorristi_ nor _guappi_ could reach. She dared not. For a -month before that Raffaele had been cold and hard to her, avoiding -her persistently, so that she got to places he had been at always ten -minutes after he had left. He had let her know, too, that it was no -use; in any case, he would have nothing to do with her. - -'He might at least tell me why, and I would go away satisfied,' she -cried out, weeping, to those who had repeated Raffaele's words. - -But she had not seen him for a month; in fact, if she knew that two -sets of Hooligans were going that day to a mysterious appointment at -the Barbassone inn at Ponte Rossi, it was from an indiscretion of a -chum of Raffaele's. He had said it, looking her straight in the eyes, -with a secret meaning she could not help guessing, so that she left -him at once, and on foot, from her low-lying quarter, she had dragged -herself up there, panting, sorrowful, biting her lips, not to cry out -nor weep. - -She dared not go down; she felt Raffaele would abuse her and chase -her away rudely, as he had always done lately. She shook at his -angry voice and contemptuous words. Now the dinner was coming to -an end very quietly; the two sets were smoking cigars, gazing into -vacancy with the solemn satisfaction of people who have dined well -and are getting ready to digest. For a time the peace that rose from -the surroundings was such, and the youths were all so quiet, that -for a moment Carmela felt her anguish soothed, and she hoped it -was a tragic dream. Only for a moment, to fall deeper again into a -sorrowful abyss, where the moments passed with dramatic slowness. - -Ferdinando's party rose. The four young fellows, with the usual cheap -swell gestures, pulled up their trousers, tightening the straps, -dragged down their jackets, and set their caps haughtily across their -heads. They went away, passing beside Raffaele's table solemnly; -then they all touched their hats, and the others answered, saying -the same word. Carmela could not bear what; it was 'Greeting.' They -went away; she gave a sigh of relief. But instead of returning by -Ponte Rossi, whence they came, and where perhaps the carriage was -waiting for them, Carmela saw them go round the house, and one by -one. She had run to the window that looked on to the inn-keeper's -garden and the fields, and saw them disappear behind a green screen -of trees. Panting, she ran again to the other window, that looked on -to the inn-yard, where Raffaele's party were getting ready to go off -also. All was safe if they took the Capodimonte Road, whence they had -come. It would only mean that there had been two dinners, with no -after-thought nor consequences. The preparations had been somewhat -slow, but at a signal from Raffaele all hurried, while he, with a -spent cigar in a corner of his mouth, paid the reckoning quietly. -He got up, stretching his arm for his cap, which was hanging from a -bough; in doing it his waistcoat pulled up, and Carmela saw something -shining at his trousers belt. It was a revolver. Yet for a last -moment she still hoped. Perhaps they were going away peacefully by -the quiet country roads to the noisy town; and, at any rate, Raffaele -always carried a revolver, a small-sized one. But in a moment the -horrid fact she dreaded looked to her like a certainty. Very quietly -Raffaele and the other three youths turned, not by Capodimonte Road, -but behind the inn, through the garden, following the same road as -the other set, and making up to them--that is to say, walking quietly -with their springy step one after the other. She could bear it no -longer; she felt something give way within. She ran to the storeroom -door; the man had locked her in, evidently, for it would not open. -She, wild, blind with grief and rage, began to shake the door, which -was old and worm-eaten, so that it offered little resistance. The -bolt the host had drawn broke with the rattling, and she very nearly -fell on the landing from the shock. She went down the outside stair -at a bound, but on the last steps she found the host, his shrivelled -peasant's face very pale, for he had heard all the noise. He stood in -her way. - -'Where are you going?' - -'Let me pass--let go!' - -'Where are you going? Are you mad?' - -'Let me go, I say!' - -He caught hold of her wrists and looked her in the eyes. - -'Are you the woman they are going to kill each other for?' - -'Holy Virgin, help me! Let me go!' - -'Do you want to get killed?' - -'Yes, yes! Let go of my wrists!' - -'Do you want them to kill you?' - -'It doesn't matter if they do,' she cried, slipping from his grasp -with a powerful wrench. - -Running, panting, sobbing, her hair loose, clapping on the nape of -her neck, her dress beating against her legs and throwing her down, -then getting up again, crying, filling that serene country silence -with her despair, she ran after the two sets of men by the same road, -turning behind the same hill with green trees. She found herself in -a narrow country road, and instinctively followed it, feeling it was -the right one. She went on and on very swiftly, bursting with sobs, -her ears alert, questioning the silence. But on the right a harsh, -sharp sound made her jump; just after it came another shot, then -another. She rushed into the field where the two files of low-class -duellists were going on firing at each other at a short range. -Throwing herself on Raffaele, she shrieked wildly. - -'Go away!' he said, trying to free himself. - -'No, I will not!' she shrieked. - -'Go away!' - -'I will not.' - -'It is not for you; go away!' - -'That doesn't matter.' - -All this took place in a minute; the shots went on echoing dolefully -in the country air. In an interval she slipped down on the ground, -her arms spread out, with a bullet in her temple. Carmela's fall -was the signal for flight, especially as, the virginal stillness -of the country air having been broken by the many revolver-shots, -people from Capodimonte village were heard arriving by Ponte Rossi -Road. Hurriedly the two sets went off across the fields by a marked -path, and quickly disappeared. On the duelling-ground only Carmela -was left lying on the grass, blood flowing from her temple. Beside -her, Raffaele, looking pale, tried to stanch the wound with a wet -handkerchief. But the blood went on spouting like a fountain, making -a red pool round the girl's head. She opened her eyes feebly. - -'Tell me who it was for.' - -'Don't think about that. Think of your own health,' he said in an -agitated way, looking around. - -'People are coming now; make your escape,' she said, thinking only of -his safety. - -'Can I leave you like this?' - -'It does not matter; someone will help me. Fly, or you will be -arrested.' - -'Adieu,' he said, feeling relieved. 'We will see each other again at -Pellegrini Hospital; I will come and ask for you.' - -'Yes, yes,' she whispered, shutting her eyes and opening them again. -'Fly! Adieu.' - -He rushed off, too, very quickly, without looking back; she followed -him with her glance, half sitting up, holding the handkerchief to her -forehead, while the blood flowed down her neck and shoulders into -her lap. She was alone. She was holding her head down in her great -weakness, when some peasants, a magistrate from Capodimonte with some -police, and a gardener from the Royal Palace grounds came up at the -same moment. They had to put her into a chair that the Barbassone -inn-keeper had brought out, and carry her. They went slowly, the same -road as she had come. She lay with her legs swinging against the -chair, her arms limp, her head going hither and thither, and at every -shake of the chair spilling big drops of blood on the ground. Before -the inn, where the two tables with wine-stained cloths still stood, -the chair was put down. - -'Would you like anything?' asked the magistrate, a swarthy man. - -'Only a little water to drink,' she said, opening her eyes slowly, as -if her eyelids were too heavy. - -Meanwhile they put a cold-water bandage on the wound till a cab could -be got to take her to Pellegrini Hospital. - -'How do you feel?' asked the magistrate. He wanted to go on with the -inquiry, as he saw that her strength was failing. - -'I feel better; it is nothing.' - -'Who was it did this to you?' - -'Nobody,' she said quietly. - -'Who did this to you? Tell me! I will find out, at any rate,' the -magistrate insisted. - -'No one touched me' Carmela muttered. - -'It was a duel, was it not? How many were there?' the magistrate -asked loudly, his heart hardened by now. - -'I don't know.' - -'How many were there?' - -'I know nothing about it.' - -'Take care, or afterwards I will have you put in prison.' - -'It doesn't matter,' she said, shutting her eyes. - -'It was for you, was it, that these shots were fired? Was it for your -sake?' - -'No, no, it was not,' she said, her face suddenly growing sorrowful. - -'Who was it for, then?' - -'I don't know; I know nothing,' she added decisively, as if she was -not going to answer any more. - -The magistrate shrugged his shoulders in a rage. But another inquirer -was coming along Ponte Rossi Road--a woman dressed in green cloth, -embroidered in pink, and a pomegranate bodice, her shiny black -hair dressed high, and cheeks covered with rouge. It was Filomena, -Carmela's unfortunate sister. - -She came up panting, her face discomposed, her hair not kept up by -the silver comb, the patent-leather shoes quite dusty, holding a -handkerchief at her mouth to keep back her sobs. When she saw the -crowd evidently round a wounded person, she rushed into the group; -crying out wildly, and pushing people aside, she fell on her knees by -her sister, showing the self-forgetfulness of a frightful sorrow, and -groaned out: - -'Carmela dear, how did this happen?' - -The other opened her eyes--her face showed a sorrowful amazement; she -tried to caress Filomena's black hair with her weak hands, but her -livid fingers trembled. - -'How did it happen?' Filomena exclaimed, sobbing noisily, while warm -tears ran down her cheeks and washed off the rouge. - -'It happened just like that,' said Carmela, and nothing more. - -'Carmela, who had the audacity to do this to you? Who was the -assassin? Bring him to me,' cried Filomena. - -'Try and find out the truth,' the magistrate whispered in the woman's -ear. He made a sign to the others to stand aside for a little and -leave the sisters alone. Now they had bound the girl's head up -roughly, and under the bandages her face seemed tinier, more worn, as -if rubbed down smaller by the hand. - -'My sweet sister, my sweet sister!' Filomena went on saying, still -kneeling before Carmela. - -'Don't cry--why do you cry?' said the wounded girl, in a curious, -solemn, deep voice. - -'Tell me who did it!' Filomena said her. 'It was for Raffaele, was it -not? Was there a fight? I knew it--I knew it; but I did not get here -in time. Holy Virgin, why did you not let me get here in time? I have -to see my sister like this because of not getting here in time.' - -A livid look had come over the wounded girl's face on hearing this; -her eyes had got wide open. With a violent effort she raised her head -a little, and said to Filomena, staring at her: - -'Tell me the truth.' - -'What do you wish, sweetheart?' - -'I want you to tell me--but think of the state I am in, think of that -first.... I want you to tell me all.' - -Then the other, fallen into deeper affliction, shook all over and -held her tongue. - -'They have had a duel,' Carmela brought out with difficulty, keeping -her eyes on her sister. 'There were eight of them; Raffaele was -there, and Ferdinando the Ammartenato--they were fighting for a -woman.' - -'Holy Virgin!' Filomena said, going on weeping with her face in her -hands. - -'Who was the woman?' asked the wounded girl, putting her hand on her -sister's head, and almost obliging her to raise it. Filomena only -looked at her, her eyes filled with tears. - -'It was you--it was you,' the wounded girl said in a cavernous voice. - -The bad woman threw herself back, raised her arms heavenward, and -cried: - -'I am a murderer--I am the cause of your death!' - -Carmela's face got clay colour; in a whisper, stammering, as if she -could not use her tongue, she too said: - -'Murderer! murderer!' - -'You are right--you are right, Carmela: I am a wretch!' Filomena -cried, stretching out her arms. A moment after, the blood soaked the -bandage round the wounded girl's head, and blood began to drop from -her nose. The magistrate, who had run up, frowned, and signed to the -cabman, who had come forward to take the girl to Pellegrini Hospital, -to stop. - -'Forgive me, dear,' Filomena wept out, cast down at the foot of the -chair. But Carmela no longer heard her. Blood flowed from her mouth -and trickled down from her nose, falling on her breast; the earthy -pallor of the face spread to the neck; her half-open eyes showed the -whites only; her hands, lying on her knees, pulled at her wretched, -dull dress, as if searching, with that motion that gives a frightful -impression of terror and sorrow. All of a sudden she opened her -mouth--her breath was failing her. - -'Carmela darling!' Filomena cried out, understanding, getting up on -her knees, panting. But from her mouth, black already, a loud, long -cry came out, as profound as if it came from her tortured vitals, -sorrowful as if all the complaints of a life-long agony were in it--a -cry so loud and doleful it seemed to shake everything around--men -and things--and make the neighbourhood lose colour. Carmela's light -hand was still vaguely searching for something, and ended by finding -Filomena's head, where it rested, grew cold and stiffened. The dead -woman's face was quite cold, but it was tranquil now. Silently bent -forward under the forgiving hand, the survivor sat there, and the -country around was silent also. - - - - - CHAPTER XVIII - - TO LET - - -The fourth of January, 188--, very early in the morning, the porter's -wife at Rossi Palazzo, formerly called Cavalcanti, put a step-ladder -against the architrave of the entrance door, to the right, and stuck -three bits of paper on the pipernina stone, with 'To Let' printed on -each piece. The three notices said that three large suites of rooms, -so many in each suite, were available, and could be seen at such an -hour. Coming down the ladder, the woman sighed dolefully. For years -none of the Rossi Palazzo suites had been to let; everyone was very -comfortable and stayed on. She had got to know them all well. In -the four months houses are looked for in Naples, from the fourth of -January to the fourth of May, she had peacocked about at her ease -always. She had not to go up and down stairs with house-hunters, as -the Rosa Mansion woman next door or the Latilla woman had to do; she -did not risk changing tenants that liked her for new ones that might -be unpleasant. Instead of which, this very year three large flats -were empty at the same time: one on the first floor--the Fragalàs'; -two suites on the second floor--Dr. Amati's and the Marquis di -Formosa's. It was a real catastrophe for the porter's wife, who never -would get any rest for four months, and get no pay for her trouble. -Altogether, three large suites to be empty was really a misfortune. -'Just like my luck,' said the porter's wife to those who condoled -with her and asked the reason of these changes. She told the reason -the tenants were going at once, so that people should not believe -Rossi Palazzo was damp, that it threatened to fall, or that the -owner had got an idea of raising the rents. Nothing of the sort. It -was misfortunes. All are liable to them. It was natural Don Cesare -Fragalà and that good soul Donna Luisa should leave the house where -they had been married. It was splendid, really--a gorgeous apartment, -but they could not pay the high rent any longer. The husband had -gambled everything away at the lottery; he was loaded with debts -and ruined. Also, his confectioner's shop in Santo Spirito Square -had gone out of his possession, for his wife, fearing bankruptcy -was at hand, had decided to sell everything: jewels, plate, and -furniture were all to be sold, everything luxurious got rid of, and -a composition be made with their creditors. They were to go into a -small house, and look out for a clerk's place for her husband, to -keep the family agoing. The porter's wife and her gossiping friend -remembered the two gorgeous parties for Cesare's marriage with -Luisella and at little Agnesina's birth--all the great style of these -receptions, the sweets, wine, and ices. It was an overthrow. - -'Good gracious!' muttered the inquirer, man or woman. 'Did he lose -all that at the lottery?' - -'He lost all. They are left without a farthing, if they pay their -debts; and Donna Luisa insists on paying. She may die from it, but -she will pay.' - -'What a scoundrel of a husband she has got!' - -'We are not masters of ourselves,' the porter's wife prosed solemnly; -'we are all flesh.' - -She was sorry, very, that the Fragalàs were going off to who knew -where. She would never see them again. Most of all, she was sorry for -little Agnesina; she was so good, placid, and obedient. She already -went to the infants' school, tiny little body! Her mother went with -her and brought her back carefully every day. They were a good sort, -and it had to be seen who would come in their place. - -The Cavalcantis' going away was a thing that had been foreseen for -some time. The Marquis had paid no rent for several months, and -Signor Rossi had stood it. He had allowed something to be paid on -account now and then, partly because the Marquis di Formosa had been -the old owner of the house and sold it to him, and he did not want to -turn him out forcibly. How patient he had been! Now he could stand -it no longer. In the Cavalcanti household they were often short of -five francs for food. The Marquis had carried off the most necessary -furniture piece by piece, selling it to a dealer in Baracchi Square. -Donna Bianca Maria, poor soul! often dined off a hot dish that her -aunt, Sister Maria degli Angioli, sent her from the Sacramentiste -convent. The two old servants, Giovanni and Margherita, tried for -outside work. The woman darned stockings and silk-knitted goods; -the man copied papers for a magistrate's clerk. They were in such -wretchedness that but for feeling shame the door-keeper would often -carry up a dish of her macaroni or hot vegetable soup; but she dared -not. They were gentlefolk, and bore their wretchedness silently. -Besides, for want of a dower, Donna Bianca Maria Cavalcanti had been -rejected as a sister of charity. By the new laws it was not allowable -to go into other monasteries or orders; the new Government would not -even let one be a nun. - -'Then are they going away in May?' asked the inquirer rather -pityingly. 'Where are they going?' - -'Who can say? But I can tell you that her ladyship will not see that -day. She is so ill; she wastes away like a taper; she says nothing, -but when she has the strength to show at the window, she looks like -a shadow. She does not go out now; indeed, she has no clothes to go -out with, and if she had them she would not have the strength to go a -step. Poor lady! to think her father could have got her married if he -had chosen.' - -'To whom? Why would he not allow it?' - -Here began the woman's third sorrowful recital, the departure of the -third tenant, Dr. Amati, that she earned such a lot of money by, from -his sudden summonses to sick people. Alas! he was going away; indeed, -he had gone, putting her on the street, poor woman, for she would -never earn another farthing. Just fancy that Dr. Amati, who was so -rich now, and earned as much as he liked, just out of charity, he was -such a good man, had wanted to marry the Marchesina, she was so sweet -and lovely; and she had been in love with the doctor, too, from her -soul, because he had helped her in her illness--because she had known -no other man--in short, because he only could get her out of that -beggary. Well, it was not to be believed, but the Marquis di Formosa -had said 'No,' and had persisted in saying 'No,' always making his -daughter lose that bit of good luck she would never have again. - -'What do you say?' her questioner cried out. 'It seems impossible.' - -'Indeed, yes, it looks like a lie, but the Marquis di Formosa said -"No." He felt quite honoured and pleased that Dr. Amati had asked -for his daughter's hand, but some forbears of his long ago had left -a written paper, in which it was said the last woman child of the -family was not to marry--she must die a maid; and if this command was -not carried out, a great punishment from God would come on her. No -one knew what tears the Marchesina had shed, but her father had been -firm. So that Dr. Amati--one evening they had had a great dispute--to -avoid further occasions for anger, and to get the idea out of his -head, had taken a month's leave from the hospital, left all his -patients, and gone off to his native village to see his mother. -Then he came back to Naples, but he would not even put his foot in -Rossi Palazzo; he had gone to live in a furnished house in Chiaia -Road. At Rossi Palazzo his flat was closed with all his furniture -and books which the doctor no longer read; sometimes the housekeeper -came to dust, and went away again. In a short time now the furniture -and books would be carried away, too, and in May the flat would be -empty. Poor Donna Bianca Maria, how often she had seen her come to -the window of the inner court and gaze on Dr. Amati's closely-shut -balcony! She made one's heart sore, that poor child of the Virgin, -wasting away with sickness, melancholy, and wretchedness. Really -it looked as if there was no more oil in the lamp. Margherita, her -maid, when she spoke about her, cast down her eyes not to show she -was weeping. But the Marquis was not wrong to obey his grandsire's -wishes; there is no trifling with God's vengeance.' - -'Ah! it was written,' remarked the gossip approvingly, quite -thoughtful. 'It was written, my dear. When it is God's will, what is -to be done?' - -House-hunters began to flock in to inspect the flats to let in Rossi -Palazzo, and the door-keeper's hard times began--it was never-ending, -from ten in the morning to four in the afternoon, up and down the -stairs. Every time a family arrived in front of the office and made -the usual inquiries, she shook her head and got up, sighing, to go -with them to the first or second floor. She went in front, going up -very slowly, turning round to chat with the usual familiarity of -small people in Naples, making her keys rattle, as they hung from her -waist; asking if they wanted to see the doctor's rooms, for he had -given her charge of them. Monotonously wandering through the huge -rooms, rather severely furnished, where the stern moral impression of -a great science--a great will--was still present, and all the human -misery that had come there to ask help, she praised up the house -and Dr. Amati, the famous doctor that all Naples admired, or, as she -said, the whole world. - -'Ah,' said the visitors, much impressed; 'and why did he leave this -house, then?' - -Very hastily she replied that the doctor was going to marry and -needed a larger house, or that his business had gone in another -direction, or that he was going to a smaller apartment, having taken -a consulting-room at the hospital; in short, any lie that came -into her head--such hurried, unlikely lies that the house-hunters, -endowed with natural suspiciousness, would not take it in at all, -and interrupted her with: 'All right; we will come back.' But they -did not come back at all; indeed, the solemn, solitary look of the -flat, with too many books, too many surgical appliances, and even -the chair-bed of black leather that the sick lay on to be examined, -that looked like the first step towards the tomb, left rather a sad -impression, so they went away hurriedly, speaking low, still more -alarmed by the doctor being away, the feared and respected god of -medicine. They fled, never to return, a cloud over their spirits, -not at all anxious to come back to be dispirited by these solemn, -thought-inspiring surroundings. - -The door-keeper, standing in the doorway, saw them go off quickly -towards Toledo Street, where there was movement, light, and gaiety, -and in spite of their vague promises, hesitatingly made, she knew -they would never come back. 'Nothing is arranged, dear,' she often -said, with a wearied air, to the neighbouring door-keeper at the Rosa -Mansion. Nothing was settled, even for the flats that the Fragalà and -Cavalcanti families were leaving. It looked as if the house-hunters -noticed the bad luck that came from these two flats, where so many -tears had been shed, where so many were still being shed. In the -Fragalàs' house, brave, melancholy Luisella had got rid of a great -part of the furniture; the fine red drawing-room was now bare of -its old brocade couches, and the child slept in its parents' room. -Their way of living was of a sudden meaner, smaller, being restricted -to the bedroom and dining-room. Sometimes the visitors found the -family at dinner at two o'clock. Cesare Fragalà kept his eyes on -his plate, eating stolidly. Luisella said nothing, but kept rolling -bread-pellets in her fingers. Little Agnesina, well-behaved and good -as usual, looked at her father and mother alternately, taking care -to make no noise with her spoon and fork, not to disturb them. When -the visitors came in, the father of the family got paler and the -mother cast down her eyes. Both of them at each visit felt having to -leave the house: their wounds smarted and bled afresh. The little one -looked at them, and said over in a whisper: - -'Mamma, mamma!' - -The visitors, led in by the door-keeper, felt they were in the -way, and excused themselves, going on into other rooms while the -woman spoke volubly to take off their attention. When they saw the -drawing-room, parlour, and lobby empty, they gave queer glances at -each other, so that the door-keeper shivered with impatience, cursing -in her heart all who go away from houses and those who go looking for -them, also those who go round to show them--that is to say, herself, -who had this hard fate. The visitors asked the stock questions rather -suspiciously: - -'Why are they going away?' - -Then she made up her mind and whispered: - -'They have failed in business.' - -'Ah, is that it?' exclaimed the visitors, much interested. - -On the stair she gave particulars--told the reason of the failure, -spoke of their former riches and the want of any comforts now; -told about Signora Luisella's courage and her husband's rage for -gambling on the lottery, and poor little Agnesina's good behaviour. -She seemed to understand having come into the world and grown up -at a bad season. The house-hunters listened full of interest, with -that skin-deep emotion peculiar to Southerners; but from what they -had seen, as well as from what they had heard from the door-keeper, -they got a singular impression of evil fate--a doom weighing down an -innocent, good family; a hard destiny, destroying all the sources of -happiness and energy. - -The house-hunters turned their backs on the Fragalà household -and Rossi Palazzo slowly; but they still felt sad, and spoke to -each other about there being implacable, unforeseen, overpowering -disasters, sometimes coming on humanity. Some attributed it to -perfidious fate, some to the evil eye; others were philosophical over -the passions of humanity, especially for gambling, still repeating -the phrase that includes all the indulgence and forgiveness of -Naples' folk: 'We are not our own masters.' - -It was difficult to get into the Marquis di Formosa's flat. Often -Margherita objected to anyone seeing the house, in spite of its being -the right hours for visits. The door-keeper talked her over, feeling -rather annoyed. She raised her voice and asked, 'How ever would -a house be let, if no one could get in to see it?' Sometimes she -managed to get in by slipping through the half-open door. All stopped -speaking at once, for from the freezing bare lobby to the bare frozen -drawing-room there was such cold, such a smell of old dust displaced, -that it gave one a shudder. Big dull stains on the walls marked -the outline of large pieces of furniture that had once been there, -which the Marquis had sold to use what they fetched for staking on -the lottery. One saw the big hooks and nails that the pictures had -been hung from, and a heap of old yellow paper lay on the ground in -a corner of one empty room. Where curtains had been fastened to the -doors and balcony windows, there were holes in the plaster, for they -seemed to have been violently torn away. - -The chapel, too, had not a saint left. Our Lady of Sorrows and the -Ecce Homo had been sold, also the vases and ornaments--even the fine -napkins with old lace, so that the despoiled altar had a doleful, -desecrated look. Sometimes the visitors, on going through the house, -met a slight girlish figure in black, her shoulders wrapped in a -shabby shawl, the lady's heavy black tresses seeming to make her face -still more bloodless. She gazed at the visitors with her sorrowful -eyes as if she did not know what was going on; a shade of grief -reanimated them for a moment when she remembered it meant they had -to leave that roof, their only refuge. The woman said in a whisper, -'It is the Marchesina!' nothing else, and that apparition was like -the outline of an irreparable disaster. Sometimes the house-hunters, -followed by Margherita and the door-keeper, came to a closed -door. The waiting-woman rather hesitated, but on a hint from the -door-keeper she made up her mind to knock. - -'My lady, may we come in?' - -'Yes, yes; come in,' a feeble voice answered. - -Then all saw a wretched maidenly room, freezing with cold, where a -pale creature in black, wrapped in a worn shawl, was seated by the -bedside, or getting up quickly from her kneeling-desk. Then, abashed, -they just gave a quick look round, muttered vaguely some excuse, and -went off, the maiden following them with her thoughtful, sorrowing -eyes. On the stair they dared to speak. They asked the woman, as if -speaking of dead people or things: - -'_What was their name?_' - -'The Cavalcantis; he is a Marquis,' said the door-keeper. - -Then the visitors would go off, taking with them a deep impression of -people and things that are extinct. - - - - - CHAPTER XIX - - DON CRESCENZIO'S TRIALS - - -Coming out of the Finance Department, from the Secretary's room, -having got to the lobby, Don Crescenzio staggered and had a singing -in his ears. - -'Do you feel ill?' asked the usher anxiously, for he knew him. - -'No, it is nothing; it is from this first heat of spring,' he -stammered. And he brought his hands across his forehead, which was -covered with cold drops of sweat. Still, to try to look at ease, he -pulled out a cigar and lit it. - -'Is business good?' the usher asked the lottery banker, while he was -carefully putting out the match. - -'Well, just so-so,' said the other, giving a sketchy sort of smile. - -'It would be grand to get the right figures,' the usher muttered; -'one would like to spit in this infamous Government's face,' he added -in a whisper. - -'But no one knows the right figures--no one does,' the other cried -out as he went away. But when he was under the portico and got out -to the open air, he felt dizzy again; he had a singing in his ears -and nearly fell. He had to stand a good minute, leaning on the stone -posts of San Giacomo Palazzo door, which opens on to Toledo Street, -seeing the usual crowd in that thoroughfare swim before his eyes. -It was larger than usual, from its being the first fine spring day, -which brought out more people than usual. He only saw a confused -crowd without distinct outlines. He heard a great noise without -distinguishing either words or voices. Only, while he went on smiling -instinctively, he saw sharply marked in his mind the corner of the -writing-room where the Finance Secretary had turned his cold, severe -glance on him. He heard the exact sound of the Secretary's words -ringing out as clear as if they had just struck the drum of his ear. -The Secretary had been very stern with him. He could no longer be -lenient to the lottery banker, for he had been too lenient already; -he did not want to seem an accomplice of his fraud. 'Fraud,' he -said and repeated, in spite of the deadly pallor that came over Don -Crescenzio's face on hearing the cruel word. - -One cannot play tricks with the State; it gives no credit. Every -week lately, when Don Crescenzio came to hand over the profits, he -was short of money, and had had to ask the Minister of Finance at -Rome to make allowances for him and give him time. This had happened -every week. But the State is not a bank which can grant delays. It -makes others wait, but it will not. Every time he mentioned the State -the word filled the Secretary's mouth severely and sonorously, and -he frowned a little. Don Crescenzio listened, with his head down, -starting when he heard named that mysterious being who gets all and -gives nothing; who has no heart or bowels, and holds out open hands -to take and carry off everything. Ah! the Secretary had been decisive -in his cruelty. By Wednesday he must pay up all in full--stakes and -the debt in arrears; if not, the downfall was unavoidable: the State -would seize the caution money and prosecute Don Crescenzio for his -indebtedness. He had just given one sob at the Secretary's last words. - -'You lose the caution money, and you go to prison if you don't pay -up,' the worthy official wound up his remarks with. - -Don Crescenzio had set to imploring then. He had a wife and children; -if he had been so foolish as to give the gamblers credit, was he to -be ruined for that? If they would give him time, he would force the -men to pay; he would give back the State the uttermost farthing. He -was an honest man; in short, he was cheated, slain. - -'You gamble too, and on credit,' the Secretary said haughtily. - -'I only did it to try and recoup myself.' - -'An honest lottery keeper never plays himself. It is immoral in a -citizen to play.' - -'Then the State is immoral also.' - -'The State cannot be immoral, remember that. Think of how you are to -pay; I can do no more for you.' - -Still, he had begged, sobbing, that they would not cast him into -prison; indeed, they could not require a man's death, being men and -Christians. But he had made that scene before twice, and had managed -to get a month's, a fortnight's grace. This time the Secretary -looked so freezingly at him that Don Crescenzio had understood. This -was the end, really. He must either pay or go to prison. He took -leave, always feeling that word _Wednesday_, _Wednesday_, cut into -his brain. It was true he had a young wife and two babies; a small -family, that with Neapolitan good-heartedness and good-nature he had -accustomed to living freely, going from a fine holiday dinner at home -to a grander country excursion, and to celebrate all the feast-days -with good eating. They gave each other presents of heavy gold -jewellery, and, though contenting themselves with hired carriages, -had always a secret wish to keep a carriage of their own; and he -bought earrings, rings, and brooches for his wife, and presented her -with shiny jet mantles such as our towns-folk love. And all this -came while living off the income from the lottery bank; indeed, he -speculated a little with Government money, but did not gamble on the -lottery ever. This was past, the time of purity and innocence. When -had he staked the first time--he, who ought to have kept himself from -that contagion, and only lived off the lottery, without letting it -fasten on him, live off it as one may drink poison without dying of -it, though the same poison laid on an open wound will kill? When had -he first staked? He did not remember now; he saw confusedly a great -_Wednesday_ stand out with such vivid heat that it seemed like a live -coal, as if it must burn him. It was all a confusion, in which the -mental disorder of the Cabalists who crowded into his shop, touching -him with their feverish hands and infecting him, and their money--got -God knows how or where--passing from their hands to his, all gave him -the impression of a tragedy. That mental malady that burned in their -blood, young and old, rich and poor, powerful and insignificant, had -passed on to him; from being with them, breathing their atmosphere, -it had soaked through everything, and come into his very life. First -of all, greed of gain had made him give credit to the Cabalists, -keeping back always so much per cent. off their stakes when they -played on credit, while he asked for delay from the Government; -then, as the deviations became continually larger, as the hole got -deeper till there was a precipice down to it, he began to gamble too, -unlucky wretch, tempting Fate, having the delusion he was in her -favour, and playing on credit, with the huge delusion that he might -win a large, an immense sum. - -Ah! the unlucky wretch, he knew quite well that hardly anyone ever -wins. He was well acquainted with the frightful law of averages, that -shows that winning is so rare it is difficult to find cases of it. -It is an infinitesimal chance, like one planet meeting another every -two or three hundred years by inflexible sidereal laws. He knew well -that Government always wins, always; that it takes sixteen million -francs from Naples alone every year--from all Italy, sixty million of -francs. But what did that signify? He went on giving credit to the -Cabalists; he showed at their meetings; he lent a hand to imprison -Don Pasqualino, being blinded himself. The vulgar luxury of his house -increased; his wife got fat, she was red and shiny from eating too -much, and now she was going to have another child. She wore a cream -silk dress covered with lace; her fat hands, laden with rings, lay on -her already rounded figure with that quietly satisfied air of women -easy in their feelings. What a disaster if on Wednesday he did not -bring the money to the Secretary! He, his wife and children, and the -one to be born, would be in wretchedness, and he himself in prison. - -Now, every time the word 'Wednesday' came to the mind of the handsome -lottery banker, with his well-kept chestnut beard and white hands, a -little warm blood flowed into his pale cheeks, and he felt them burn -like two flames of fire. He had dragged himself away from the San -Giacomo doorposts, and was going among the crowd, letting himself be -carried along, feeling a slight dizziness that came from his being -wrapt up always in the same maddening idea. He must do something, -gain money, try and get it from those who owed it to him and had it, -so that on Wednesday he and his family would not be ruined. Where -was he to go? He must look for money at any cost; he would drag it -from his debtors' vitals. He was not going to die for them; he would -not go to San Francesco for these four scoundrels, who had drawn him -into dishonest courses. Money, money was what he wanted; he thirsted, -hungered for it; it was his soul--his body asked for that only. -Money, or he would die; that was all. - -Now, having made up his mind, he set out on the search for some of -those indebted to him. They had gradually all deserted his shop, -not being able to stand his constant demands for money. They took to -some other lottery bank the few pence they managed to get hold of by -some dark miracle, God knows how or where. Out of fear for his just -anger, they had even taken away his profits, ungrateful now, as well -as dishonest. However, he knew where they all lived; he wished to -set on them; he would not let them go till they felt his despair as -if it was their own. He would wait at their homes, at their doors, -in the streets they went through; he would speak to them, shout at -them, and weep. He would give them such a fright that the State money -would be got out of them, dragged out by his rush of despair. It was -a question of life and death; his wife and children were not to be -sent to beggary because he had been too easy, too weak, too much of -a boy. He must get the money--he must. The crowd had now carried him -to the upper part of Toledo Street, while he was making up a good -plan in his head how to carry out best this burning desire to save -himself in a way likely to effect his purpose. Let us see: where -would he go first that springtide noon? Where would he say his first -word? He must make no mistake; he must try and strike a sure blow, or -otherwise.... He could not think of non-success; it was a notion he -could not bear. Now he had stopped in Carità Square, fixing his eyes, -which had a thick cloud before them, on Carlo Poerio's statue. The -people passing hustled him on all sides; the shouts of street-sellers -and voices of passers-by struck him as a vague, indistinct noise. He -thought a minute of going to the Marquis di Formosa's, the person -most largely indebted to him; but amongst them all the Marquis was -the one he was sorriest for, from his own misfortunes; also he was -the one least likely to have money. Now, Don Crescenzio did not want -to begin by being unkind to an unhappy man, nor did he want to make -a bad start; he was too much afraid of not succeeding--he was too -discouraged. He would go last to the Marquis di Formosa--afterwards, -as a last resource. The safest of those he had given credit to was -Ninetto Costa, the stock-broker--the safest because, in spite of -his falling behind with his payments, he always could get money to -borrow; some still believed in his star. Ninetto Costa had got into -debt several times with him, but had always paid until the last time, -when it was for rather a large sum; but for three weeks past he had -got so out of pocket he could not give a farthing to Don Crescenzio. -What did it matter? Costa was a moneyed man. - -The lottery banker went forward towards the Exchange, knowing this -was an hour that Ninetto Costa would be there for certain. But among -the band of bankers, stockbrokers, merchants, and outside brokers, -who were chattering, talking things over, and vociferating, he -looked vainly for him for a quarter of an hour. Then he asked two -or three men for him, and got a bad reception. Some shrugged their -shoulders, others gave an ironical smile, and all set at once to -speak of their own business, leaving Don Crescenzio alone. He, who -with the extraordinary trustingness of people in desperation had -gone in there quite quieted down, already sure of a good result, -felt a burning from his mouth to the pit of his stomach. But where -was Ninetto Costa, then? He remembered having gone to call on him -once at Carolina Road, where the smart stock-broker had a set of -rooms furnished with striking youthful luxury; but he had changed -his house some time before--it was at the beginning of his downfall. -Now Don Crescenzio remembered having gone with him one evening, on -leaving the meeting in Nardones Road, up Taverna Penta Road to a very -ordinary house there, which Costa was reduced to, just opposite San -Giacomo Road. He must find him, at any rate, whether alive or dead. -Ninetto Costa would give him the eleven hundred francs he owed him, -and at least a part of the debt to Government would be paid; a small -part, it is true, but something, at least. He went up again towards -Taverna Penta Road, and the sulky door-keeper looked at him, and said: - -'Fourth-floor.' - -'But is he at home?' - -'I don't know,' she grumbled. - -Patiently, determined not to be discouraged by anything, he went up -the narrow, steep stair, and from the landings and doors came out the -sound of children's whining and women's quarrelling voices and noisy -sewing-machines. On Ninetto Costa's door was a torn visiting-card -fastened up by four pins. He knocked twice. No one came; there was no -sound from inside. He knocked louder, the third time--nothing yet. -The fourth time he gave the bell a hard pull, and a very light step -could be heard; then no sound nor movement, as if the person who had -come to the door was listening intently. - -'Don Ninetto, it is I. Open--especially as I know that you are in the -house, and I won't go away,' the lottery banker said in a loud voice. - -There was a few minutes' pause again. Then the door opened softly, -and the stock-broker's face appeared, sadly altered. Now all his -youthfulness, prolonged by high living and cosmetics, had fled. -His hair was sparse on the temples and on the top of his head. Two -flabby, yellowish bags underlined his eyes, and thousands of small -wrinkles came down in all directions, marking the face indelibly. The -jacket that hardly covered him had the collar turned up, as if he -were cold or wished to hide his linen. - -'Is it you?' he asked, with a sickly smile. - -He brought Don Crescenzio into the parlour, a shabby lodging-house -sitting-room with red chair-covers and curtains dulled by smoke, and -sat down opposite to him, looking at him with dull eyes which had -lost all expression. - -'It is I. I went to look for you at the Exchange. Have you not been -there to-day?' Don Crescenzio asked, feeling a burning at his stomach -again. - -'No, I did not go to-day.' - -'Why not?' - -'No matter.' - -'Have you not been there for some time?' - -'Not for--yes ... for three or four days.' - -'What have you been doing?' Don Crescenzio asked anxiously. - -'Nothing,' said the other, with a gesture that was too clear. - -'Have you gone bankrupt?' - -Ninetto Costa shut his eyes, shivering, as if he did not want to see -something; then he said: - -'Yes, I have.' - -'This is ruin, ruin!' shouted Don Crescenzio, throwing up his arms -heavenwards. - -The other bit his moustache convulsively. - -'At least, you have kept something. That eleven hundred francs you -owe me--you must have kept it, have you not?' - -Ninetta Costa looked at him dreamily. - -'If I do not get this eleven hundred francs by Tuesday evening, I -must go prison!' the lottery banker shrieked out. - -Ninetto Costa hung his head. - -'I must go to prison, and my family will have no bread. You must give -me the eleven hundred francs, you know!' shrieked Don Crescenzio in a -great rage. - -'I have not got it.' - -'Look for it.' - -'I shall not find it. No one will give it to me.' - -'You must find it; I cannot go to prison for you. Find it.' - -'It is impossible, Don Crescenzio,' said the stock-broker, with tears -in his eyes. - -'Nothing is impossible when it has to do with a debt like this, when -it is a question of saving an honest man from ruin. For pity's sake, -Don Ninetto; you know how dear honour is.' - -'Yes, I do,' said the other, turning his face away. - -'For pity's sake don't forsake me. I have done you a favour; don't be -so ungrateful.' - -'I have not got a farthing, and I cannot find one.' - -'But have you no friends or relations left?' - -'None--not one. I have gone bankrupt; that is enough.' - -'What will you do?' - -'I am going--going to Rome,' the stock-broker brought out, after a -slight hesitation. - -'What to do?' - -'Who knows? Perhaps I shall make my fortune there.' - -'But you ought not to forsake me; you, a man, must give me the eleven -hundred francs before you leave.' - -'I have not got it. I can't get it. Don't torment me, Don Crescenzio; -I have not a farthing.' - -'Give me your signature to a bill; some banker that you are -acquainted with will cash it.' - -'All my bills are presented.' - -'Pawn your jewellery.' - -'I have sold it all.' - -'Then give me your watch.' - -'It is sold.' - -'Then ask your mother or your uncle.' - -'My uncle will perhaps do me the kindness to support my mother. The -mother of a bankrupt, you understand, is never very well received.' - -'For how much have you failed?' - -'For two hundred thousand francs.' - -'All through the lottery, was it?' - -'I lost all there,' Ninetto Costa said, with a decided gesture. - -'But how can you leave me to such ruin?' Don Crescenzio rejoined, -nearly crying; 'how have you the heart?' - -'How have I the heart?' the other said, in a shaky voice. 'I am -leaving my mother with nothing to support her, you know. I am going -to Rome. If I make any money I will send you some.' - -'When do you go?' - -'To-morrow.... Yes, to-morrow.' - -'Can you send me money by Tuesday?' - -'I don't think so, Don Crescenzio--I don't think so,' Ninetto Costa -said, with desperate calmness. - -'It must be by Wednesday, you know; if not, I am ruined.' - -'I was ruined three days ago.' - -'Holy Virgin! who has blinded me?' the lottery-keeper said, crying. - -'You want to kill me before the time,' Ninetto Costa muttered. - -'What are you saying?' - -'Nothing. But keep calm. Everything may come right gradually.' - -'Wednesday is the last day I have got--Wednesday.' - -'Perhaps Government will give you time. Find out some way; write to -the Minister, write to the King. I must start off.' - -He pointed to a small bag, not half full, with a feeble smile. - -'But, really, can you not give me anything?' - -'I would do it, Don Crescenzio, but I swear to you that I have not -got a farthing. I am off to Rome; then I will see....' - -Disappointed and excited, Don Crescenzio got up to go away, half -angry and half sorry for Costa. He wanted to rush off in search of -his other clients; he wanted to find money, to leave that sad house, -the sad company of a man more desperate than himself. He wanted to -go away. Ninetto Costa looked at him in a dull way, keeping up that -pallid smile on his white lips, the absent-minded smile of a man -quite indifferent to earthly affairs. Still, the other once more -insisted in a vague way, as if in justice to himself, thinking he had -not done enough to get his money. But the stock-broker gave him such -a suffering look he said no more. - -'Good-bye, Don Crescenzio; for--give me.' - -'Good-bye, Don Ninetto; don't forget me at Rome.' - -'Have no doubt of it,' said the other, in a weak, queer voice. - -They took each other's hands without pressing them--cold, feeble -hands, both. As in a dream, Ninetto Costa went to the door with the -lottery banker; silently they looked at each other, but did not -speak. Then the door shut again with such a queer _decisive_ sound -that the lottery banker, going slowly downstairs, gave a start. He -felt almost inclined to turn back; it came to his mind that Costa had -told him he had not a farthing, and, then, that flabby travelling bag -with nothing in it. But the thought of his own sorrows distracted -him from his pity and from any suspicion of greater misfortune. Now, -still on foot, to spare the money for a cab even, he began to run up -Toledo Street, as if prodded by a goad, to go to San Sebastiano Road, -where Marzano, the old lawyer, lived, another indebted to him. He, -too, because of his professional position, even if he had no money -to pay up at once, would be able to get a loan; at any rate, he owed -eight hundred francs to Don Crescenzio, and he would give them to -him; indeed, Don Crescenzio would sit there till he got them, even if -he had to wait till night. He knew his house very well, a poor house -indeed: for Marzano staked everything--all he earned--and he even -supported a cobbler at sixty francs a month, a Cabalist, who wrote -lottery numbers with charcoal on dirty pieces of paper. - -Don Crescenzio went up the steps four at a time, running, because -a voice in his heart told him he would find the money at Signor -Marzano's; he felt a good presentiment. Still, when he put his hand -to the iron ring that hung from a greasy cord, a sudden alarm took -him, the fear of not succeeding, a horrible fear that paralyzed his -strength, the nervousness of the unfortunate when life and death are -at stake. A dragging step was heard, and a shrill voice asked: - -'Who is it?' - -'Friends--a friend,' the lottery banker stammered hastily. - -The door opened suspiciously, and the cobbler's mean face showed, -all marked with pimples. His blear, red, stupid eyes stared at Don -Crescenzio. - -'Do you want to see the lawyer?' he asked, drying his hands on a -dirty apron. - -'Yes, sir.' - -'He cannot attend to you.' - -'Is he busy?' - -'He is ill.' - -'Ill, is he? Not much the matter, I hope?' - -'He has had a stroke. Wishing you better health----' - -'Good God!' shouted Don Crescenzio, throwing his hat down on the -ground in despair. - -'It was the lottery did it.... Indeed, he always starved himself; he -did not live well. He ate very little and drank water, you see.' - -'Oh, God! God!' Don Crescenzio whispered in lamentation. - -'It is God's will,' the cobbler said softly, pulling out a little bit -of dirty paper and taking a pinch of yellowish snuff. 'When it is -God's will, what can one do?... Don't despair. Till the last there is -hope.' - -'I know that; it is why I am so despairing!' shrieked Don Crescenzio. - -'I have a right to complain,' the silly fellow rejoined. 'I would -have got him a fortune. I expected peace in my old days from him, and -in the meanwhile, by his own folly, he is at death's door, and leaves -me to wretchedness. Do you see?' - -'But how was it? how did it happen?' - -'Wait a minute. I am just coming.' And he went out of the room. - -Don Crescenzio looked round him, stupefied with sorrow. The wretched -room had no other furniture but some old lawyer's bookcases, -choke-full of dusty papers, a small table, and two soiled straw -chairs. There was a glass on the table, with two fingers of bluish -wine in it--the thick, heavy Sicilian wine. The floor had not been -swept for a long time, the wall was full of spiders' webs, the -window-panes were covered with dust, and a smell of dirty staleness -and mustiness caught the throat. And this was the lawyer's house--of -him that had been one of the best advocates of his day, and had -earned thousands of pounds in his profession! Don Crescenzio felt his -heart bleed; his hands were like ice. Had he come here, to this abode -of poverty, shame, and death, to look for his eight hundred francs to -save himself? What madness, what madness his had been! Would it not -be better to run away, as he was finding everywhere the same traces -of dishonour and wretchedness--everywhere? But the cobbler came back. - -'What is he doing?' Don Crescenzio asked in a whisper. - -'He is in a stupor.' - -'Is he asleep?' - -'No; it is from the disease.' - -'What has been done for him?' - -'He has been bled; then, he has an ice blister on his head, and -another on his chest.' - -'Does he speak at all?' - -'He does not understand what is said.' - -'Has he become powerless?' - -'Only on his right side.' - -'What does the doctor say?' - -'What can he say? It is a case of death.' - -'Is the doctor coming back?' - -'Who can say? There is nothing to pay him with. I found seven francs -and a nickel watch that won't pawn. I have spent three francs already -on ice. When the seven francs are done, we are at an end of our -resources.' - -'But how did it happen? how did it happen?' Don Crescenzio asked -again desperately. - -'Humph! there has been such a lot of things. He has had some -unpleasantnesses, you see. A man is always a man.... He needed -money ... he tried to get it in all sorts of ways.' - -'What did he do?' asked the other, alarmed. - -'Evil-minded people say he forged stamped paper--washing, you know, -what was written on it already, and putting it to use again. But it -can't be true. He leaves me to beggary; he has been ungrateful to -me; but it can't be true. I will never believe it. It seems that -the ill-natured people got at the President of the Consiglio dell' -Ordine, who called him rather ugly things. It seems, in short, there -were unpleasantnesses.' - -'Poor man! poor man!' Don Crescenzio called out in a low voice. - -'This summons to the President was a fatal thing for him. You may -think for an honest man to feel himself insulted is unbearable. -Signor Marzano wished to go away to some village where there is -better breeding.' - -'To go away at his age with seven francs in his pocket!' - -'I would have gone with him,' the silly cobbler muttered modestly. -'I was getting ready to go with him, out of love to him; and as to -the money--that is the real reason of the stroke.' - -'How could it be?' - -'You know, sir, that my mathematical labours, with God's help, have -always brought in some money to the advocate.' - -'Yes, some small sum every three or four months,' Don Crescenzio -remarked sceptically. - -'You are mistaken; one may say that I benefited him, and these -wretched sixty francs he gave me every month, for me not to clap on -soles any longer, but work at necromancy, were not even the hundredth -part of what he won each month. Now he is leaving me, ungrateful -fellow! like this ... enough: I may tell you I had given certain -numbers to him symbolically, numbers that must necessarily come out; -and they did come, you know.' - -'Then, he won?' - -'No, nothing; he did not understand--he staked on others' -figures--his mind is not trustworthy now. When he knew it he got the -stroke.... To your health, sir.' - -'But had you really told him what were good numbers?' - -'I swear it before God; but he did not understand.' - -'Why did you not play them?' - -'You know quite well that _we_ cannot play.' - -'Ah, yes, that is true.' - -They stopped speaking; the cobbler put the glass to his lips and took -a sip of wine. - -'I would like to see him,' Don Crescenzio said suddenly. - -They went into the small bedroom; it was poor and dirty like the -study. Marzano, the advocate, lay on a wretched iron bed, raised on -pillows, whose covers were of doubtful whiteness; a lump of ice was -on his bald head, another on the bare, skeleton-like breast, and his -thin, small body was covered by a brown horse-blanket. On the night -table was a tumbler of water with a bit of ice in it; the dying man's -right hand was wrapped in the blood-letting bandages. All his right -side, from the face to the foot, was struck rigid, numb already, -while his left hand went on trembling, trembling, and all the left -side of his face often twitched convulsively. A confused stammering -came from his lips; all his gentle, good-natured expression was gone, -leaving on that old face, half belonging to death already, the marks -of a passion that had got to be shameful. - -'Signor Marzano! Signor Marzano!' Don Crescenzio called out, leaning -over his bed. - -The sick man set his eyes, veiled by a curious cloud, on the -lottery-keeper's face, but the expression did not change nor the -stammering stop. - -'He doesn't recognise you,' said the cobbler, taking snuff. - -Don Crescenzio left the room at once, feeling the nightmare of it -weighing on his mind. - -'You are his friend: will you leave him something?' the cobbler -asked. 'I have only four francs; he will die like a dog.' - -Then all Don Crescenzio's suppressed sorrow burst out. - -'He owes me eight hundred francs, and I am ruined if I do not get it -by Wednesday. He is dying; but I am left, and I am tortured. He will -die; but my children will sleep on church steps in a month. He at -least is dying, but we shall all come to desperate straits, you see.' - -'Excuse me, I did not know,' the cobbler said, alarmed. - -'I have been assassinated,' sobbed out the other. - -'Be quiet, he may hear you; what can you expect from him?' And he -took the last sip of the bluish wine left in the bottom of the -tumbler. - -Don Crescenzio fled. Now at intervals he felt his head going, and -he needed to say the word '_Wednesday_' to gather himself together. -Still, instinctively, with that automatic style of moving of unhappy -people who go to meet their destiny, he went up by Porto Alba again -towards Bagnara Lane, where Professor Colaneri lived. He, too, owed -him money, and promised to give it week by week, but had always -sent him away with empty hands or put him off with small sums. The -ex-priest lived on the fourth-floor of a house in Bagnara Lane, with -an unlucky clear-starcher who had given heed to his blandishments and -passed for his wife. They had four unhealthy children with big heads -and crooked legs, and all lived in two rooms--quarrelling, crying, -beating each other, and weeping all day. He had hidden from the -clear-starcher that he had been a priest; the unlucky woman, thinking -to become a lady, gave in to him, and for six years had lived in a -state of servitude, between holding children and doing servant's work -of the roughest kind amid indecent wretchedness, among that brood -of ugly, howling, for ever hungry children, whom she avenged herself -on by slaps for the blows her husband was liberal with towards her. -It was a hellish house, where the father was always sulkily thinking -over mean, sometimes guilty, methods of getting money for gambling. -Twice Don Crescenzio had gone there, but he had been present at such -disgusting scenes that he had rushed away, hunted out almost by the -laundress's bad words and the four demons' howls. But now what did -that matter? Colaneri owed him seven hundred francs and more; of a -debt of nine hundred francs he had only paid two hundred in three or -four months, or rather less. Colaneri, by Gad! was not ruined like -Ninetto Costa, or apoplectic like Marzano--Colaneri must pay. - -'Is Professor Colaneri at home?' - -'Yes, sir,' an old woman who acted as door-keeper said. - -Then he went up quickly; the laundress came to the door to open, -unkempt, a greasy kitchen apron over a shabby dress. Her cheeks were -fallen in, her breasts emaciated, and a tooth was wanting in front, -through which she whistled a little. - -'I would like to see Professor Colaneri.' - -'He is not here,' she said quickly, leaving the other still outside. - -'He is in--I know he is,' said Don Crescenzio in a rage. 'At any -rate, it is no use denying it. I will wait for him on the stairs: he -must come out some time.' - -'Then come in,' she said unwillingly. As the lottery-keeper was -coming in, a dirty boy with water on the head got a slap. Whilst he -waited in the room that served as a parlour, study and dining-room, -from beyond--that is to say, the kitchen, in the bedroom, and even -the landing-place--cries burst out from the quarrelsome family. But -in a silent interval the Professor came in, putting on an old jacket -all spotted with grease, and setting his spectacles on his nose with -an ecclesiastical gesture. - -'I have come for my money,' Don Crescenzio said brutally. - -'I have got none,' the debtor answered sulkily. - -'That does not matter to me. You must give it to me.' - -'I have no money.' - -'Find some. I must have my seven hundred francs, you know.' - -'I have not got it.' - -'Give a lien on your salary: get a loan that way.' - -'I have not got a salary now.' - -'What! are you not a professor now?' - -'No; I have been dismissed from my post.' - -'What! are you dismissed?' - -'Yes--turned out by force. I was accused of selling the examination -papers to the students.' - -'It was not true, of course?' - -'Of course not. But the plot to ruin me was well arranged. The Senate -advised me to resign.' - -'So you are on the pavement?' - -'Yes; I am destitute.' - -Then only Don Crescenzio noticed that Professor Colaneri's face was -pallid and distorted. But this third disappointment enraged him. - -'I don't know what to do to you; you must give me the seven hundred -francs, at any rate.' - -'Have you got five francs to lend me?' - -'Don't talk nonsense! I want my money--for to-morrow at latest, mind.' - -'Crescenzio, you are putting a man already on the rack to torture.' - -'That is fine chatter. I can't go to San Francesco on your account. -You are so many murderers. I go to Costa for money, and find that he -has failed--that he is going off to Rome, to do he knows not what. -If it is true, he is going to Rome ... and I get no money. I go to -Marzano, and find him half dead. Here you tell me you are on the -pavement and have no money.' - -'We are all ruined--all of us,' muttered the ex-priest. - -'Well, you all want to kill me, do you? But when you needed credit -I gave it to you ... and now you want to kill me and my family! But -you have got sons also; you must think about feeding them--to-morrow -and every other day; you ought to do something. You will think of -me--think of my babies--think that we are Christians, too!' - -'Do you know what I must do to-morrow to give my little ones bread?' - -'What do I care? I know you will give it to them. I know that my -children are not to go fasting while yours get their food.' - -'Well, listen: I am not a priest now; I have been excommunicated, -I am outside the pale of the Church; therefore I will get no help -there. I had a professor's post, a good safe thing, but I have lost -it; I needed money too much. Don't ask me for sad confessions. I will -not get my post again, nor any other; I am a marked man.' - -'But what is the use of telling me about these sorrows? I know about -them. I know they will do my affairs no good.' - -'Look here, then: I have no outlook; now, as I have put unlucky -beings into the world, I feel that it is my duty to give them -bread--at least that. I have gambled away on the lottery what they -had as a certainty, an unfailing resource; but it is folly to think -of that. Therefore I have taken the great decision, once for all.' - -'What are you referring to?' asked Don Crescenzio, much astonished. - -'To-morrow I am going to accept the offer the Evangelical Society has -made me. I will become a Protestant pastor.' - -'Oh, God!' said the lottery-keeper, astonished above measure. - -'As you say,' said the other, gulping as if he could hardly swallow. - -'And you will give up our religion?' - -'I am leaving it through hunger.' - -'And that other ... do you believe in it?' - -'No, I do not.' - -'And how will you set about preaching?' - -'I will do it; I will get accustomed to it.' - -'You will have to abjure, will you?' - -'Yes, I have to do that.' - -'Will it be a grand ceremony?' - -'A very grand one.' - -They spoke in a whisper, and Colaneri's cynical face was distorted, -as if he could not stand the idea of abjuring. Don Crescenzio, too, -in his astonishment, had forgotten his sorrow. - -'You have got to apostatize?' - -'Yes, I must apostatize.' - -'Well, your priest's orders have been taken from you.' - -'Still, to deny the faith is a different thing,' said Colaneri darkly. - -'Then, it distresses you very much to do it?' - -'I hate to do it.' - -'How much will you gain by it?' - -'Two hundred francs a month in some village they will send me to.' - -'It is hardly enough for bread.' - -'To each of my boys that turn Protestant they will give a small sum. -I will be able to marry their mother.' - -'But to have to leave Christ's religion!' exclaimed Don Crescenzio, -with that horror of Protestantism that is in all humble Neapolitan -consciences. - -'What would you have? It is hunger drives me to it,' Colaneri -muttered desperately. - -He seemed now altogether changed, even in his character; it was -clear to him now how fatal his rage for gambling had been; he saw -what he had done against himself and his own gifts, and he felt -an unconquerable distaste for that apostasy. He had done wicked -things; he had descended to crime, even, of a coarse kind, having -got corrupted in that unhealthy atmosphere; but now he found the -punishment in front of him, he trembled and lost all his bravery; he -trembled at having to deny his faith, his God, for a loaf of bread. - -Don Crescenzio looked at him and said nothing, amazed. He had always -thought Colaneri a scoundrel, and, if he had given him credit, it -was only because he thought he could seize his salary. But now, on -this decisive day, he saw him cast down, moved to his inmost soul by -an awful fear of the Divinity he had already betrayed and insulted, -whom he was again outraging by his apostasy. Don Crescenzio, although -small-minded, felt the agony of that conscience that was now fighting -in its last outpost, having got to the stage where human endurance -ends, the hardest, most wearing hours in life. So he dared not say -anything more to him about the money. He stammered: - -'Your wife--what does she say?' - -'She would like to prevent me doing it, except for the children's -sake.' - -'The poor children, must they lose their souls also?' - -'They are innocent. The Lord sees; He will be just. Besides, why has -He set me with my back to the wall? For each child that enters the -Protestant Church they give me a small sum.' - -'When will this come off?' Don Crescenzio asked, after hesitating. - -'In a month. A month of instruction is needed for the poor -innocents.' - -'It will be too late for me,' the other said in a low tone, still -thinking of his money. - -'I will give you a receipt if you like, then.' - -'It is too late. I am ruined.' - -'What a punishment--what a punishment!' the apostate said, hiding his -face in his hands. - -'I am going away,' Don Crescenzio said, prostrate now, in a state of -utter depression. - -'Be patient.' - -'What is the use of patience? it is a punishment! You spoke the truth -just now: it is a chastisement! I am going away; good-bye.' - -They did not look at each other nor say another word; both of them -felt seized and cowed by the frightfulness of the punishment, not -feeling any more rage or rancour in that breaking-down of all pride -and vanity that the Divine chastisement brings. When he was on the -stairs, Don Crescenzio was seized with such faintness that he had -to sit down on a step, and stay there confused, neither seeing nor -hearing in that moral numbness that comes on after great excitement. -How long did he stay there? In the end, it was the step of someone -going up and brushing past him that roused him, and with that start -all his frightful pain came back unbearably. He rushed downstairs -helter-skelter, and ran through the streets like one in a dream, -urged on as if someone with a straight, unbending weapon were pushing -him with the point. He got to Guantai Street, to the little inn, -Villa Borghese, a resort of country people, where for four months -past Trifari had lived with his father and mother, who had left -their village at his bidding. The two humble peasants had managed, -from youth to old age, to put some pence together and buy some bits -of land by working eighteen hours a day and eating stale black -bread, being content with beet soup cooked in water, with no salt, -and sleeping all in one large room, with only a bed and a chest in -it, upon a straw pallet; and this they bore for the sake of making -their son a doctor, handing on to him all their peasant's vanity, -making him have an unbounded longing to be a gentleman, a great man, -superior to everyone in the country-side, so giving him, unknowingly, -that rage for gambling that, according to him, was to make him grow -rich suddenly, very rich, so as to crush everyone with his power and -luxury. - -But in a few years his whole professional career was ended, for he -scorned it and gave it up; he had begun to lead a life of shameless -indebtedness, expedients, and dodges. He had begun by deceiving his -parents, and had ended by weaving for himself nets of intrigues and -embarrassments. His father and mother gloomily, in the silence of -their peasant souls that know of no outlet, had sold off everything -gradually, going on sacrificing themselves for this son that was -their idol, whom they adored because he was made of better clay than -themselves. They were at last so reduced, so chastened in their -pride, they waited in their old house for their son to send them -ten of twenty francs now and then for food. And he did it; bound -to his old folk by a fierce love made up of filial instinct and -gratitude, he shivered with shame and grief every time they told -him, resignedly, that in spite of being well on in years they would -have to go back to work in the fields to earn their daily bread, so -as not to be a burden upon him. But these helps had got to be less -frequent; the rage for gambling blinded him so he could not even -take ten francs off his stakes to send to the unlucky peasants. The -finishing stroke was when he wrote imperiously, ordering them to sell -the last house they had left, the old home with its sparse furniture -and kitchen utensils, to bring the money and come and live in Naples -with him; they would spend less there, and be more comfortable. - -It was a dreadful blow, for these unhappy folk held so to the habit, -now become a passion, of living in their own house and village, and -the very word Naples frightened them. Still, saying not a word of -their sufferings, they kept up their pride, told the villagers they -were going to live as gentlefolk with their gentleman son at Naples, -and had obeyed. They had haggled for a long time over the price of -the old house and those few bits of old furniture they got at the -time of their marriage; but at last, hoarding up the few hundred -francs they had got for them carefully in a linen bag, and travelling -third class, they got to Naples, frightened, not sad, but buried in -that dumbness that is the only sign of a peasant's ill-humour. - -They had lived four months at that inn, in two dark rooms; for they -were on the first-floor with their son, who always came in at a -very late hour, sometimes when they were getting up. They had no -occupation, and never spoke to each other; staying up in their -own room, they looked with melancholy, surprised eyes on all the -extraordinary Naples people that moved about in that narrow, populous -road, Guantai Nuova. They stayed hours and hours, wrapt up in gazing -on a sight that stupefied them; but they were incapable, however, -of making any complaint, though they were suspicious of everything, -of the spring bed, of the bad, greenish glass of the mirror, of the -miserable dinners served in their own rooms. As it was a thing they -were not accustomed to, they thought they were living in unheard-of -luxury. They disliked the servants, who scoffed at the two peasants, -and the washerwoman, who brought back their coarse shifts all in -holes, and loaded them with abuse in the true Naples style if they -made any remarks. - -Sometimes, getting over their instinctive shyness about speaking, -they told their son to take them away from the inn and hire a small -house, where his mother would cook and do the house-work; but he -pointed out to them that would require too much money, and they would -do it later, when he had got the fine fortune he was expecting from -day to day. - -In the meanwhile, their fortune grew smaller, and every time they -loosened the linen purse at the end of the week, their hearts gave a -twinge. Often, when they pulled out the money, they saw their son's -eyes brighten up, as if an irresistible love-longing filled them; but -he never asked them for it--one could see he put a check on himself -not to ask. But each day he became gloomier, wilder; he no longer ate -with his parents, and spent his nights outside, not coming back to -the inn, so that even into these peasants' dull minds had come the -idea of some danger threatening. - -The mother told her beads for hours, that the Lord would have -pity on their old age; whilst the father, being sharper, and more -experienced, thought that perhaps some bad woman was making his son -unhappy. But they said nothing to him; even the luxury they lived in, -as they thought, although they paid for it themselves, seemed to them -a condescension on their son's part, a favour he did his parents. -Like him, without understanding or knowing why, they began to hope -for this fortune that was to turn up, some day or another, to make -them gentlefolk. The old peasant-woman's purple lips were constantly -moving, saying prayers, in the small, mean, dark room of the Guantai -Street hotel, whilst the old man went out every day, going always -the same road, that is to say, into Municipio Square, and from there -to the Molo, to gaze at the blackish sea, the ships in the mercantile -port, and the men-of-war in the military one; he was fascinated and -struck only with that in all the great town, going nowhere else, -knowing nothing of the rest of Naples, being afraid of the noise -of carriages, and dreading thieves perhaps. He retraced his steps -slowly, looking round him suspiciously. - -They never went out with their son--never, as they were just peasants -and so dressed. They always refused when he feebly invited them to -go out with him, guessing, in spite of their dulness, that it would -not please him to show himself with them. He was so handsome, such a -gentleman, in his great-coat and tall hat. But one evening he came -in more excited than usual. Quickly, in rather a hard voice, such -as he had never used to them, Dr. Trifari told his parents that -his business, his big affair, his plan for getting rich, in short, -required money to be laid out, so they should hand him over these -last few hundred francs they were keeping in reserve; do him this -last great sacrifice, and he would give it all back a hundredfold. He -spoke quickly, with his eyes down, as if he did not wish to intercept -the dreadful, chilled, despairing look the two peasants exchanged, -feeling struck to the heart, frozen. The father and mother held -their tongues, looking on the ground; then he, speaking quicker, -in an anxious tone, trying to soften his harsh voice, implored and -implored, begging them, if they loved him, to give him the money if -they did not want to see his death. They, without making any remark, -glanced assent at each other, and with senile, quivering hands the -father undid the linen bag and took out the money, counting it slowly -and carefully, starting again at each hundred francs, following the -money with a troubled eye and a convulsive movement of the lower lip. - -There were four hundred and twenty francs, the whole fortune of the -three. Pale at first, the doctor got very red, his eyes filled with -tears, and before either of them could stop him, he bent down and -kissed his father's and mother's old brown, rugged, horny hands that -had worked so hard. Not another word had been said between them, and -he was gone. He did not come back to the hotel in the evening; but -now they did not take any notice of his being absent. Still, the -next day he did not come back to dinner; it was the first time it had -happened. They waited till evening, but he did not come. The peasant -woman told her beads, always beginning again; they ended by dining -off a bit of bread and two oranges they had in their room. - -Dr. Trifari did not come back the second night either, and it was -about noon of the second day that a letter, with a half-penny stamp, -by the local post, came, addressed to Signor Giovanni Trifari, Villa -Borghese. Ah! they were peasants, with dull intellects and simple -hearts; they never imagined things, or even thought much; they were -curt, silent people. But when that letter was brought to them, and -they recognised their son's well-known and loved writing, they both -began to tremble, as if a sudden, overpowering palsy had come on. -Twice or thrice, his rough spectacles shaking on his nose, with the -slowness of a man not knowing how to read well, and having to keep -back his tears, the old peasant read over his son's letter, in which, -just before starting for America, he said good-bye to them filially -and tenderly; and, feeling the gentle, terrible letter getting well -printed on her mind, the old woman kissed her beads and gave a low -groan. Twice an inn servant came in, with the sceptical look of one -accustomed to all the chances and changes of life. He asked them if -they wanted anything to eat; but they, blind, deaf, and forgetful, -did not even answer. When, towards six o'clock, Don Crescenzio came -in, after knocking fruitlessly, he found them, almost in the dark, -seated near the balcony in perfect silence. - -'Is the doctor here?' - -Neither of the two answered, as if death's stupor had overcome them. - -'I wished to know if Dr. Trifari was here.' - -'No, sir, he is not,' the old father said. - -'Has he gone out?' - -'Yes, he is out.' - -'How long has he been absent?' - -'He has been away a long time,' the old peasant muttered, and a groan -from his wife echoed him. - -'When is he coming back?' shouted Don Crescenzio, very agitated, -taking an angry fit. - -'I can't tell you; we don't know,' the old man said, shaking his head. - -'You are his father; you must know.' - -'He did not tell me.' - -'But where is he gone? Where is that scoundrel gone?' - -'To America--to Buenos Ayres.' - -'Good Lord!' Don Crescenzio just managed to bring out, falling full -weight on a chair. - -They said no more. The mother devoutly clutched her rosary. But both -Trifari's parents seemed so tired that Don Crescenzio felt desperate, -finding everywhere different forms of misfortunes, and greater ones -than his own. Still, he clutched at a straw; above everything, he -wished to know all about it, with that bitter enjoyment a man feels -in tasting the full agony of his misfortune. He, too, had fled, then; -he, too, had escaped him; that money, too, was lost--lost for ever. - -'But who gave him the money to get away?' he cried out in an -exasperated tone. - -'Are you really friendly to him?' - -'Yes, yes, I am.' - -'Truly are you?' - -'Yes, I tell you.' - -'Here is his letter. Take it; you will find out from it.' - -Then by the faint light of fading day he read the unhappy man's long -letter. Eaten up by debts and his ruling passion, not knowing where -to lay his head, he wrote to his parents, taking leave of them on -going to make his fortune in America. Of the four hundred francs it -had taken about three hundred and fifty to pay for a third-class -ticket on a steamer, counting in a few francs for his keep the first -two or three days in Buenos Ayres. He owned up to everything. He was -the cause of his own ruin and of his family's. He cursed gambling, -fate, and himself, swearing at bad luck and his own bad conscience. -He sent back a few francs to the two poor old folks, begging them -to go back to their village, to get on as well as they could, until -he was able to send them something from Buenos Ayres. He told them -to go home, and he would not forget them, and the money would just -serve for two third-class fares to their village; nothing would be -left over to buy food even. He begged them on his knees to forgive -him, not to curse him. He had not had the courage to kill himself, -for their sakes; still, he begged them to forgive him. Though he was -leaving them like this, he implored them not to give him a curse as a -parting provision on this wretched journey of his. He was starting -with no luggage or money, and would be cast into the ship's common -sleeping-place. The letter was full of tenderness and rage: abuse of -the rich, of gentlemen and Government, came alternately with prayers -for forgiveness and humble excuses. - -Don Crescenzio read twice over that agonized letter written by a man -enraged at himself and mankind, feeling himself wounded in the only -tender feeling of his life. He folded it absent-mindedly, and looked -at the two old people. It seemed to him that they were centenarians, -falling to pieces from decrepitude and hard work, bent by age and -sorrow. - -'What are you going to do now?' he asked in a whisper, after a short -time. - -'We are going to our village,' the old man muttered. 'To-morrow we -will go by the first train.' - -'Yes, yes, we are going back,' the poor old woman groaned, without -looking up. - -'What are you to do there?' he rejoined, wishing to find out the full -extent of all that misfortune. - -'We are to work by the day in the fields,' said the old man simply. - -He examined the two, so old, tired, and bent, now making ready to -begin life again so as to get bread, to dig the ground with shaking -arms, bending their brown faces and sparse white hair, under the -summer sun. Struck to the heart by this last blow, feeling the chorus -of misfortune growing around him, he did not open his mouth about the -money he was to have got from Trifari; indeed, feverishly, he felt -such pity for the two old folk that he said to them: - -'Can I do anything for you?' - -'No, no, thank you,' the two said, with the despairing gestures of -those who expect no more help. - -'Keep up your courage, then.' - -'Yes, yes, thank you,' they muttered again. - -He left them without saying more. It was night now when he went down -into the street. For a moment, feeling confused and dismayed, he -thought, Where was he to go? Anew, set along by quite a mechanical -goad, he took courage, and, crossing Toledo Street, went up to the -high part by San Michele Church, where the Rossi Palace stood out -dark and lofty. In that mansion lived the last of those largely -indebted to him, the most desperate of all. So as not to have a bad -omen at the beginning of the day, he had kept them to the last. But -he had found money nowhere; and now, with the natural rebound of the -unhappy who fight against their misfortunes by that strength of hope -which never dies, now he began again to believe that Cesare Fragalà -and the Marquis di Formosa would give him the money in some way--that -it might rain down from heaven. - -When he went into Cesare Fragalà's flat, led across an empty dark -room by little Agnesina, who came to open the door, carrying a -half-burnt candle, he had at once regretted he had come. Husband, -wife and daughter were seated at a small table, with a cloth too -small for it, taking their supper silently, looking at every little -bit of fried liver they put in their mouths for fear of leaving -too little for the others. The child especially, having a healthy -youthful appetite, measured her mouthfuls of bread so as not to eat -too much of it. Cesare Fragalà sat very solemnly, all traces of a -smile having gone from his face, and looked at the tablecloth with -his brows knit. His wife, the good Luisella, with her big black eyes, -on whose brow the happy mother's diamond star had shone, had now a -humble, subdued look in a plain stuff gown. Quietly with her calm -eyes the child looked serenely, with a martyr's patience, at the -visitor, as if she understood and expected the request he was about -to make. Before that gentle, thoughtful child's eye Don Crescenzio -felt his tongue tied, so it was with an effort he stammered out: - -'Cesare, I am come about that business.' - -A flame of fire burned in Cesare's cheeks. The wife gave up eating, -and the child cast down her eyelids as if the blow were coming on her -own head. - -'It is difficult for me to do anything for you, Crescenzio; you don't -know all our embarrassments,' Cesare said faintly. - -'I do know--I know,' said the other, hardly able to keep down his -feelings; 'but I am in a worse state than you are.' - -'I don't believe you can be,' muttered the merchant, who had gone -through the bankruptcy court a few days before, in a dreary tone; 'I -don't think you can be.' - -'Your honour is safe, Cesare, but I am not to save mine. What can I -say? I add nothing more.' - -And, not able to bear it any longer, feeling Agnesina's sympathetic -eyes on him, he began to weep. A little evening breeze coming from -a half-shut balcony made the lamp quiver. It was a fantastically -wretched group, the husband, wife, and daughter clinging to each -other, all most unhappy, looking at that wretched man sobbing. - -'Could we not give him something, Luisella?' Cesare timidly whispered -in his wife's ear, while the other mourned vaguely. - -'How much do you owe him?' said Luisa thoughtfully. - -'Five hundred francs ... it was more. I paid part of it.' - -'Was it a gambling debt?' she asked coldly. - -'Yes, it was.' - -'What was he saying about honour?' - -'He gave us credit. If he is not paid, Government will have him put -in prison.' - -'Has he children?' - -'Yes, he has.' - -She went out of the room. The two men looked sadly at each other, and -the girl gazed at them both with her kindly, encouraging eyes. After -a little Luisa came back looking rather pale. - -'This is our last hundred-franc note,' she said, in her pleasant -voice. 'There is only a little small change left for ourselves; but -the Lord will provide.' - -'God will provide,' the child repeated, taking the hundred-franc note -from her mother's hands and giving it to Don Crescenzio. - -Ah! at that moment, before these poor people, who counted their -mouthfuls of bread, who stinted themselves of the last remnant of -their money to help him; at that moment, in the midst of sad, gentle -expressions on the faces of ruined folk, who still kept faith and -compassion, he felt his heart break; he shook as if he was going to -faint. For a minute he thought of not taking the money; but it seemed -to him charmed, made sacred by passing through that good woman's -hands and the brave little girl's. He only said quiveringly: - -'Forgive me, forgive me for taking it.' - -'It is nothing,' Cesare Fragalà said at once, with his easy -good-nature. - -'You are so kind, so kind,' Crescenzio muttered, as he took leave, -looking humbly at the two--the woman and the child--who bore -misfortune so bravely. - -Cesare went out of the room with him. - -'I am sorry it is so little,' he said; 'it won't do you any good.' - -'It is worth a hundred thousand, as far as the heart is concerned!' -the lottery-keeper exclaimed sadly. 'But I have to give four thousand -six hundred francs to Government, and this is all I have got.' - -'Have the others given you nothing?' - -'Nothing. I found nothing but misfortunes and bad luck everywhere. I -am going up to the Marquis di Formosa's now.' - -'Don't go there,' said Fragalà, shaking his head; 'it is no use.' - -'I will try.' - -'Don't try for it. They are worse off than we are. They dread every -day they will lose Lady Bianca Maria. Her father has lost his senses.' - -'Who knows? I might get it.' - -'Listen to me: don't go. You might come in for some ugly scene.' - -'Some ugly scene! What do you mean?' - -'Yes, the Marchesina gets convulsions; she cries out frightfully -in them. Every time we hear her we leave the house. She cries out -always, "Mother! Mother!" It is agonizing.' - -'Is she mad?' - -'No, she is not. She calls for help in her fits. They say that she -sees.... Don't go there; it is no use. Do what is right.' - -'Very well. Thank you,' said the other. - -They embraced, as sad and excited as if they were never to see each -other again. - -Now, when Don Crescenzio got to the Rossi Palazzo entrance, after -hurriedly going downstairs almost as if he feared to hear the Lady -Bianca Maria Cavalcanti's dying cries behind him--when he got out -on the street alone, amid the people going and coming from Toledo -Street that soft spring evening, he suddenly thought it was all -over. The hundred francs his weeping had dragged from the Fragalàs' -wretchedness was shut up in his otherwise empty purse in his -great-coat pocket. Just there he felt something like an increasing -heat, for that money was really destiny's last word. He would get -no more; all was said. His desperate resolutions, his growing -emotion, his day's struggle, running, panting, speaking, telling -his wrongs, weeping, and the great dread of ruin tarrying with him, -had done nothing but drag the last mouthful of bread from his most -innocent debtor. A hundred francs--a mockery to the sum he had to -pay on Wednesday, without fail. A hundred francs, no more; a drop -of water in the desert. He felt it, for he had used up a lot of -strength and excitement, and had only managed to drag these few -francs from the Fragalà family's honesty; so he felt flabby, weak, -and exhausted. That was the last word. Then there was no more money -for him; he must look on himself as ruined--ruined, with no hope of -salvation. A cloud--perhaps it was tears--swam before his eyes. The -flow of the crowd took him to the bottom of Toledo Street; he let -himself be carried along. He felt that he was the prey of destiny, -with no strength to resist; he was like a dry leaf turned over by -the whirlwind. He could do nothing more--nothing; all was ended. -Some other people still owed him money. Baron Lamarra, Calandra the -magistrate, and two or three others owed him small sums. But he did -not want to go to them even; it was all useless, all, since, wherever -he had gone, wherever he had taken his despair, he had found the -marks of a scourge like his own--the gambling scourge--that had sent -them all to wretchedness, shame, and death like himself. - -He dared not go back to his home now, though it was getting late. He -had gone down by Santa Brigida and Molo Road to Marina Street, where -he lived in one of those tall, narrow houses one reaches by gloomy -alleys from Porto, which look on to rather a dull sea between the -Custom-house and the Granili, and from Marina Road, where fishermen's -luggers and boats are anchored and tied up. Among the thousands of -windows he gazed at the lighted-up one where his wife was putting -the babies to bed. But he dared not go in--no. Was it not all ended? -His wife would read the sentence, the condemnation, in his face, and -he could not bear that. An increasing feebleness took hold of him; -he felt as if his arms and legs were broken, and in the darkness and -silence--where only the cabs taking travellers to the evening trains, -only the trams going to the Vesuvian districts, gave a touch of life -to the dark, broad Marina Road--not able to stand, he sat down on one -of the seats in the long, narrow Villa del Popolo, the poor folk's -garden that goes along the seashore. From there he still saw, though -further off in the distance, like a star, the lighted window in his -little home. How could he go in to bring tears and despair into that -peaceful, happy little atmosphere! That innocent infant and the other -about to come into the world, the mother so proud of her husband, -of her little boy: must he--_he_--make them quiver with grief and -shame that evening? This would be unbearable for him. How tremendous -a punishment it was, falling on everyone's head, as if all were -accursed, and destroying health, honour, fortune, everything! - -In a dream, going on from one thing to another, he knit together -all the threads of that chastisement that started from himself and -returned to him, going on from his despair to that of others, while -he still gazed at the slight beacon where his family were waiting -for him. He saw again Ninetto Costa's pale, worn face, setting out -for a much longer journey certainly than to Rome, leaving his mother -a bankrupt suicide's name; he saw Marzano the advocate struck with -apoplexy, his lips bloated, amid the frightful wretchedness that left -no money to buy more ice, whilst a dishonouring accusation had been -made against him, shaming his gray hairs; then Professor Colaneri, -chased away from the school, accused of having sold his conscience -as a teacher, and, after having cast off the clerical robe, now -obliged to give up the religion he was born in, of which he had been -a priest; he saw Dr. Trifari sailing in an emigrant ship, without a -farthing, short of everything, while his old parents had to go back -to dig the hard earth so as to earn their living; and Cesare Fragalàs -resigned surrender, which ended the name of the old firm, and left -him to confront a future of wretchedness. Finally, above everything, -the illness Lady Bianca Maria Cavalcanti was dying of, while her -father had not a bit of bread to put in his mouth. All, all were -being punished, great and small, nobles and common folk, innocent -and guilty, and he with them--he and his family, struck in all he -held dearest--his means, home, happiness, and honour--a band of -unfortunates, where the innocent were the ones that had to weep most, -where little infants, girls, and women paid for grown men's mistakes, -and old people, too--a band of wretched ones--to whom, in his mind, -he added others that he knew and remembered. Baron Lamarra, with the -accusation of forgery held over him by his wife, had gone back to -work as a contractor, in the sun on the streets, among buildings in -course of construction; and Don Domenico Mayer, the hypochondriacal -official, who one day in despair, not being able to move for debt, -had thrown himself from a fourth-floor window, dying at once; and -Calandra the magistrate, who had twelve children, was so badly -reported on that every six months he ran the chance of being put on -the shelf; and Gaetano the glover, who had killed his wife Annarella -with a kick on the stomach when she was two months gone with child: -but no one knew anything about it except his children, who hated -their father, as every Friday he promised to kill them also, if they -did not give him money. All--all of them were at death's door, yet -living on, amidst the pinching of need and the canker of shame. And -he, finally, who had his family there in the little house waiting, -while he had not the courage to go back, feeling that the first -announcement of their misfortune would burn his lips. It was all one -chastisement, one frightful punishment--that is to say, the hand of -the Lord bearing heavily on the wicked, the guilty, and striking -them to the seventh generation; or, rather, the same sin, the same -guilt, that infamous, cursed gambling, had got to be an instrument -of chastisement against those who had made an idol of it; for the -gambling passion, like all others that are outside of life and real -things, had the germ, the seed of bitter repentance, in the vice -itself. They were struck where they had sinned, or, rather, by the -sin itself. It was just one long burst of weeping from all eyes, even -the purest ones, a burst of sobs from the cleanest lips; a crowd -of poor, honest, innocent creatures struggling amidst hunger and -death, paying for others' mistakes, giving the guilty the remorseful -thought that they had cast the people they loved best into this great -abyss. Not one safe, not one, of those who had given up their life -to gambling, to infamous, wicked gambling, that eater-up of blood -and money. Not even he or his family were safe; he, too, was broken; -his children were to be reduced to holding out their hands. The -punishment was too great; it was unbearable. What had he done to have -to go to prison like an evil-doer, that his wife should be ashamed -of belonging to him, and his children would never mention his name? -What had he done to have to stay there in the street like a beggar, -who dare not go back to his den, having got no alms from hard-hearted -men? Ah! it was too much, too much! What fault had he committed? - -A couple of policemen went through Marina Street, and cast searching -glances into the darkness of the footpaths in Villa del Popolo; but -the shadows were deep, and the men did not notice Don Crescenzio -lying at full length on a seat. But he, by a quick change of scene, -saw before him his lottery shop in Nunzio Lane, on glowing Friday -evenings and anxious Saturday mornings, when the gamblers crowded to -the three wickets in his shop, their eyes lighted up by hope, their -hands quivering with emotion. He saw again the placards in blue and -red letters that incited gamblers to bring more money to the lottery. -He saw again the number of advertisements of Cabalists' newspapers -and the mottoes: 'So you will see me'; 'It will be your fortune'; -'The people's treasure'; 'The infallible'; 'The secret unveiled'; -'The wheel of fortune.' He remembered the medium's frequent visits -and his fatal intimacy with all the other Cabalists, spiritual -brothers, and mathematicians, who excited the gamblers with their -strange jargon and impostures. He saw it again at Christmas and -Easter weeks, when the gambling became wild, fierce; for people have -such a longing to get into the long-dreamt-of Land of Cockayne. And -he always saw himself pleased with their illusions that ended in a -sad disappointment; pleased that that mirage should blind the weak, -the foolish, the sick, the poor, the sanguine--all those who live for -the Land of Cockayne; pleased that everyone should get the infection, -that no one was safe; quite delighted when, at great festivals, -the rage increased and the stakes augmented his percentage. He saw -it all clearly: his own figure bending to write the cursed ciphers -and the lying promises in the ledger, the gamblers' crimson or pale -faces distorted by passion. He bowed his head, crushed, feeling -he had deserved the punishment, he himself, his family, on to the -seventh generation. The lottery was a disgrace that led to illness, -wretchedness, prison--every sort of dishonour and death. And he had -kept a shop for the infamous thing! - - - - - CHAPTER XX - - BIANCA MARIA CAVALCANTI - - -For three days in the Marquis di Formosa's house a deep silence -had reigned. The doors, oiled in their hinges and locks, shut and -opened with no noise. The two old servants, Giovanni and Margherita, -walked on tiptoe, not saying a word, like shadows gliding over the -floor--or, rather, they made no movement. Giovanni, seated on the -single straw chair that furnished the lobby, Margherita seated at the -sick girl's bedside, gazing at the pale face sunk in heavy stupor -in the sickly slumber of high fever, both kept quite still. The -doctor, some sort of a medical man, called in from Berriolas', the -neighbouring druggists, said that above everything any noise would -have a bad effect on the patient's brain, and at once in the house -every sound, even sighs, were hushed. Not a word was said above the -breath, for those old servants were accustomed to being silent and -motionless. It looked already as if they had been overtaken by the -long last rest. Then the doctor asked for the family practitioner. -When they mentioned Dr. Amati's name, he at once proposed to send -for him. He needed him. The Marquis di Formosa's anxious face got -icy, and the two servants looked just as sorrowful. Then he suspected -something, shook his head, and set to treating the patient himself, -covering her burning head with ice, giving her quinine every two -hours to try and bring down the high fever, the raging typhoid, -giving her strong nourishment, but without making any improvement, -never managing to overcome the state of coma she was in, except by -raising a queer delirium, mingled with spasmodic nervous convulsions; -for the blood-poisoning by typhoid was complicated by serious nervous -disorders. - -'What do you say about it, doctor--what is your verdict?' asked the -Marquis di Formosa on the stair landing. - -'If it was only typhoid there might be some hope; but the whole -nervous system is overthrown. We run the risk of meningitis. I tell -you again, you must call Dr. Amati in; he knows the patient.' - -'It is impossible to do so,' the Marquis answered sharply. - -'Then I do not answer for the consequences,' said the other, going -off. - -Going back into his daughter's room, the Marquis di Formosa stiffened -his pride against the doctor's request, which tortured his fatherly -heart. That man, who had taken his daughter's heart from him, would -never enter his house again and bring his evil influence on her. -Bianca Maria was young and strong; she would get over the illness. -Thus he persisted in his haughtiness, and went back to sit at his -sick daughter's bedside. He leant over that face that always got more -bloodless, and called to his daughter just above his breath. - -She was lying sunk in that torpor of typhoid, with a lump of ice on -her motionless head, her hands joined as if in prayer, the usual -attitude of typhoid patients. Still, she heard that breath of a -voice. She did not answer, she did not open her eyes, but, with a -slight contraction of her muscles, she drew her eyebrows together -frowningly, as if annoyed; and her hand made a constant motion, -always the same, obstinate, discouraging, to keep her father at a -distance. He leant down again, hurt and offended, saying in a whisper -that it was her father--her own father, who loved her so fondly, who -wanted to make her well; he was the only person who really loved her. - -But the bored expression got stronger on the poor invalid's face--the -patient, as the doctor called her--and the slender, obstinate, uneasy -hand went on driving away the Marquis di Formosa. The old man had -difficulty in keeping down a rush of anger that rose to his brain, -and he went to sit a little distance off, folding his arms across -his breast, his head down, submitting, humbling himself. Margherita -alone got an answer when she asked Bianca Maria anything--if she -would drink any of that strong beverage, marsala, beaten up egg and -soup, that is given to typhoid patients, or if she wanted the ice-bag -changed. The girl, without opening her eyes, answered either way by a -wave of her slight hand. And the Marquis di Formosa was obliged, if -he wished to know anything, to watch the old waiting-woman's face. -At certain times, in despair at that obstinate ostracism, he went -out of Bianca Maria's room and began to walk up and down in the -drawing-room; but often his excited footsteps made too much noise, -and Margherita's worn face came to the doorway. He stood still. She -made him a sign to be quiet; the noise did harm to Bianca Maria. - -'Here, too, do I annoy her?' he asked, quivering. - -And as Margherita agreed, 'Yes, it was true,' even in the distance -he made her suffer, to keep down a feeling of rage, he took his -hat and went out of the house. Then the flat fell back again into -its great stillness; Giovanni slumbered sadly in the hall, whilst -Margherita leant over the invalid's pallid, burning face to breathe -out some gentle word to her. Making an effort, the poor girl smiled -for a single minute, and the old servant, satisfied, went back to her -chair, muttering words of prayer to herself, without taking her eyes -off Bianca Maria. - -Very, very late, after having wandered through the streets, tiring -himself by walking, ill-dressed, unbrushed, having lost all care for -his appearance, quite unrecognisable, the Marquis di Formosa came -home to find the door open, as if they had heard his footsteps from -a distance. Margherita came up to him in the dark with her ghost-like -step. - -'How is she?' he asked. - -'Just the same,' she sighed out. - -'What does the doctor say?' - -'He orders ice and quinine. He again asked for Dr. Amati to be sent -for.' - -'I told you never to mention that scoundrel's name!' - -'Hush!' she hissed out respectfully, and she went away. - -The Marquis was seized by so profound an anguish that, the old faith -rising again in his heart, he sought for a place to kneel down and -pray the Lord that He would save his daughter, and free him from -that agony. Alas! the small room used as a chapel at first, where -Bianca Maria and he had prayed together so often, was empty: he, -after having abused the saints and the Virgin, after having done -the sacrilege of punishing Ecce Homo, had sold the saints, Virgin, -and Ecce Homo to stake the money at the lottery. There were no more -guardian saints in Cavalcanti House; the Virgin and her Divine Son -had withdrawn their saddened eyes from insult. There was nothing left -in that house, nothing. During these last days, throughout the poor -girl's illness, they had lived on alms; that is to say, off some -allowance inexhaustible pity of Gennaro Parascandolo the usurer's -wife had granted to Margherita and Giovanni's tears and entreaties. - -The Cavalcantis were holding out their hands for alms now! For many -weeks he had had no money to stake, and he avoided Don Crescenzio's -lottery bank, as he had not the many francs he owed him to give back; -but when Friday came, though he knew they were reduced to private -begging, knowing that what he did was a domestic crime, he came -to Margherita to implore her to give him two francs, or only one, -to gamble with. Only on that Friday, confronted by Bianca Maria's -illness, he had not dared; he was struck incurably. That girlish -body, stretched on what perhaps might be her death-bed; that head -crushed down under the heavy bag of ice; that profile, pinched as -if it was rubbed down by an inward hand; that eyebrow, that frowned -on hearing his voice only; and that hand, that hand above all, that -chased him away constantly, obstinately, a victim to a dumb, lively -horror--all that had broken down the last energies of his old age. - -Illnesses of old people make the old thoughtful and melancholy, but -young people's illnesses frighten them as a thing against the order -of Nature. Ah! in these moments of anguish, he felt so weak, so old, -so worn-out, an organism with no vitality, a lamp with no oil. And -shaking, trembling, not even looking towards his daughter's bed, he -went to sit in his usual place, letting himself go, as if he had to -sit there and wait for death. - -Only one thing could give him back a flash of energy--that is to say, -a flash of hatred--and it was the name of the loathed doctor, which -was repeated from time to time by the new doctor or mentioned by his -own servants, who referred to him in spite of his express orders -against it. She, Bianca Maria, had never mentioned it. In the doleful -convulsions that had come on before that typhoid she had raved at -great length, cried out over and over again, calling for her mother, -'Mama, mama!' like a child in danger, like a lost child; nothing -else. Vainly in these low ravings, in that confused muttering, -that long, disconnected chatter, he had stretched his ears to hear -his own name or the scoundrel's who had taken his daughter's heart -from him. She had always called for her mother, no one else. And he -trembled, shivered, in case of hearing that name coming from her -lips, still keeping up in his old age and tiredness, in his growing -weakness, that dull rage, that implacable hatred. Sometimes, when the -delirium got higher and higher and haunted him, he ran away from the -room, stopping his ears, always fearing she would call on that name. -Outside he stood thus, waiting, undecided, and very agitated. - -'What is she speaking about?' he asked Margherita when she, stupefied -and frightened, came out of the room. - -'She wants her mother,' the other muttered, crying silently, for it -seemed to her a forerunner of death. - -And the typhoid went on, finishing its first week, not yielding to -the ice or the quinine, keeping always between a hundred and four and -a hundred and five degrees, as if the mercury in the thermometer had -stuck at that doleful figure, a funereal cylinder that nothing was of -any use now to bring down. - -'How much is it?' the old father made inquiry with anxious eyes from -Margherita, who was looking at the thermometer held against the sick -girl's burning skin. - -'A hundred and four degrees,' she muttered under her breath with -infinite despair. - -Implacable figure! To bring down the fire that burned away Bianca -Maria's blood and nerves, seeing that quinine taken by the mouth -in large doses had no proper effect, quinine was now injected with -a tiny, pretty silver syringe into the patient's arm. Not having -the strength to open her eyes, she raised herself with difficulty, -propped up on pillows, and held up in Margherita's arms, and her head -shook, the black hair stuck to her temples, and dripped moisture -from the chill of the ice-bag. They had to hold up her head, too, -for it went from side to side. Then, baring the poor arms all -dotted by the silver needle, a new burning, painful puncture was -added to the others. She started, but only slightly, as if no pain -was worse than that sleep. Sometimes she opened her eyes, and set -them on Margherita's face, and they were so sad in their expression -of weariness, so muddy in colour, dry, and indifferent now to all -earthly sights, that a glance from them wrung the heart. It looked as -if they had emptied out the fountain of tears. When her father and -Margherita saw these doleful eyes in front of them, they gave a start. - -'My child! my child!' the old man said to her, holding her hands. - -Then she, disturbed and tired, lowered her eyelids at once, and -sank anew into that stupefied state in which the only two signs of -vitality were her laboured breathing and the high temperature. Very -seldom did the quinine injections succeed in bringing down the high -fever; there was a slight discouraging variation, nothing more. - -Only on the morning of the tenth day she seemed, all of a sudden, in -a better state. It was sleep instead of torpor, and in the comforting -sleep a cold sweat ran over her forehead, which Margherita wiped off -carefully. The poor old woman followed tremblingly every minute of -that sleep, as if she guessed intuitively Bianca Maria's life was to -depend on it; and while she said her prayers over mentally, her whole -attention was fixed on the loved face sharpened by illness, that -seemed to be getting back renewed brightness. Whilst the sound sleep -lasted, Margherita's vigilant ear heard a noise in the flat. She got -up on tiptoe and went out. It was the Marquis di Formosa coming in -again, and he questioned her with his eyes anxiously. - -'She is resting; she is better--she is much better,' muttered the -poor old woman, putting a finger to her lips to enjoin silence. - -The father's dry eyes filled with tears; it was the first good news -in ten days' anguish and fears. He, too, went into his daughter's -room, sitting down in his usual place, watching the thin face, where -the great nervous tension seemed to have given way to a favourable -crisis. - -Margherita, so as not to disturb Bianca Maria's sleep, dared not make -use of the thermometer to find out her temperature, but her heart -told her the fever had certainly gone down. Then, both silent, she -praying inwardly and the Marquis di Formosa fishing up some shreds -of prayer from the depths of his clouded conscience, they spent two -hours watching over the invalid's quiet sleep. It was dusk when she -opened her eyes--the large eyes that had been shut for ten days by -fever's burning, leaden hand, and at once Margherita leant over her, -questioning her: - -'How do you feel?' - -To her astonishment, the girl, instead of answering with a wave of -the hand or a nod, said in a very feeble voice: - -'I am better.' - -Also the Marquis di Formosa had come up beside the bed, and, -quivering with joy, he said over and over again: - -'My child! my child!' - -'Do you want anything?' the waiting-woman asked, for the sake of -hearing the feeble voice which had gone to her heart. - -'No, nothing; I feel better,' the invalid whispered, with a sigh of -relief from her unburdened breast. - -Her father had taken hold of her hand, gazing affectionately at his -daughter. And she, who for ten days had driven him away from her bed -by her look and the waving of her hand, smiled on him this time. It -was a flash of light. He could do nothing but stammer out: - -'My child! my child!' - -And Margherita went out of the room cheerfully, as if her young -mistress were safe--safe for ever from the frightful danger she had -gone through for ten days. The Marquis di Formosa had sat down at the -head of the sick girl's bed, and, holding her slight hand in his, he -felt his darling's fleshless fingers pressing now and then a little -harder on his own, as a loving caress. Twice or thrice he leant over -and asked, 'Would you like anything?' She had not replied, but that -rapid flash of a smile had come back. It was night already, and faces -could not be made out any longer, when, on a new question from her -father, Bianca Maria replied: 'Yes, I do.' - -'What do you want? Tell me at once!' - -'I want the doctor at once,' she said. - -'Do you feel ill?' the old man asked, misunderstanding her. - -'No; I want Dr. Amati.' - -Her father put his hand over the girl's on the coverlet, but he said -nothing. - -'Do you hear? I wish for Dr. Amati,' she repeated in a louder voice, -that already had a quiver of annoyance in it. - -'No, my dear, it cannot be,' he replied, trying to restrain himself, -thinking of her illness, and remembering her danger. - -'I want Dr. Amati,' she said in a loud voice, raising her head from -the pillow with a peculiar motion. It seemed, indeed, to the old man -that she had ground her teeth after having announced for the fourth -time her strange demand. - -'It is not possible, my dear,' he muttered, trying to hold in his own -burning rage. - -'Go and call Dr. Amati! Go at once!' she shouted, as if giving him an -order. - -'You are mad!' he cried out, rising from his seat. 'I will never go.' - -'Yes, yes, you will!' she yelled, rising on the pillow, clutching at -the sheet with her clenched hands; 'you will go at once, and bring -him here directly. I want Amati beside me--always with me. Go at -once!' - -'No, no, I will not!' he shouted in his turn, not knowing what he was -doing. 'He will never put a foot in here while I am alive.' - -Margherita had run in, quite upset, in despair a second time, but -still more despairing from the new turn the illness had taken. Hardly -had Bianca Maria seen her, when she called out to her: - -'Margherita, if you love me, go and call Dr. Amati.' - -'I forbid you to; do you hear?' the old Marquis shrieked to the -woman. He was so exasperated that his hands shook, his eyes gave out -sparks. - -'For goodness' sake, miss, do not get in such a state; remember you -are talking to your father. Please, my lord, remember my lady is ill; -she is not in her right mind.' - -'I am not mad; I want Dr. Amati,' the girl still cried out, clenching -her fists, grinding her teeth, rolling her eyes so convulsively that -only the white of the eyeball could be seen. - -'Holy Virgin! Holy Virgin!' Margherita went on sobbing out. - -'For the love of God, if you are fond of me, go and call Dr. Amati!' -the sick girl sobbed out, her head swaying about, sometimes rising -from the pillow and falling back upon it. - -'She is mad! she is mad!' shouted the old man, raving. - -'My lord, go away outside; I beg of you, go away,' Margherita -implored, seeing that his daughter fixed her eyes, now full of -intense rage, then with keen sorrow, on her father, and that the -sight of him made her still more frantic. - -'I am going away--I am going away; but she will not see Dr. Amati!' -he shouted, going outside, feeling he could bear it no longer. - -But from the drawing-room, whither he had borne his anger, he heard -a loud shriek, loud and agonizing, as if the patient were driving -her nails into her flesh; and after that shriek another, lower, -but equally agonizing, such a cry of unbearable sorrow quivered in -it, and words spoken now loudly, now in low tones, that came to him -confusedly. The girl had fallen into convulsions. Suddenly the sounds -quieted down, and then, still trembling from a mixed feeling of rage, -pity and fear, he went near the room; but he did not go in, merely -calling Margherita to the door. - -'How is she?' - -'She is worse, much worse,' she said, weeping silently. - -'But what is she saying?' - -'She wants Dr. Amati.' - -'That she will never get.' - -These short discussions, however, though the invalid sank at -intervals into a state of coma, were heard by her, and twice on -coming out of that torpor the loud shrieks had burst out anew, with -a quivering of all her muscles, especially with a frightful knotting -together of the muscles in the nape of the neck. Throughout the cries -that name, the name the poor thing had worshipped so long in secret, -that name that had been for her the sign of salvation--that name -came up again always obstinately in her delirium, proclaimed by the -soul that knew no fetters now; imperiously, gently, despairingly, -with such an outflow of love that Margherita and Giovanni, who -ran in to keep down the hysterical girl's arms, felt their hearts -breaking. From the other room, as the sick girl raised her voice, -sometimes shrill, then deep, calling upon Dr. Amati, the Marquis di -Formosa started and shuddered, with that obstinate, blind hatred of -old people who cannot forgive. Vainly, vainly he tried to think of -something else--not to hear, not to feel the despairing sorrow of -that appeal. It was no use keeping down his head and stopping his -ears, trusting to the farthest-off room in the house; that clamorous -complaint still reached him persistently--nothing could be done to -check it. It was a nightmare now, and in spite of the distance, in -spite of closed doors, he heard clearly and distinctly the words of -love and sorrow in which Bianca Maria called on Dr. Amati; the words -got printed on his mind, and hammered on his brain like a persecution. - -That went on for an hour and a half, and she did not quiet down nor -stop speaking, finding new strength, nervous strength, to call, and -call as if her voice, as if her calls, were to go through the wall, -across the streets, were to get to the man she longed for to save -her. Oh, that nightmare, that nightmare! to hear his daughter's -ravings! She who had thrust him away from her bed, now was making -desperate appeals to another man. Now and then, as if to put an end -to that talking, imploring madness, he went close to the room door, -and heard Margherita's level voice, as she held her mistress clasped -in her arms, trying to calm her, whilst she went on as if she had -no ear for other voices, as if she had to call for Dr. Amati until -she saw him come into her room. And her old father went off wild -and desperate, shaking with rage and anguish, not knowing what to -do; now grovelling, now ferocious, still unsubdued; keeping up his -hatred, not able to calm down, his blood boiling in his veins, and a -shortness of breath oppressing him. But at a certain stage he heard -the bell ring, and someone go into the flat, and then into Bianca -Maria's room. Formosa stood still, motionless, astounded. Who had -come in then? - -When Margherita came into the room where he had taken refuge, and -called him with a wave of her hand, he followed her meekly. Beside -the sick girl's bed, holding her twitching arms and looking into her -eyes, was the doctor in charge, Morelli, whom poor Margherita had -called in. But Bianca Maria, even under the doctor's strong hands, -even under his scrutinizing glance, went on trembling; her head rose -convulsively from the pillow, her neck stretched forward, getting -rigid, and then her head fell back again, worn out, still with a -continued slight movement backwards and forwards, whilst unweariedly -she went on saying, sometimes low, then shrilly, 'Amati ... Amati ... -Amati ... I want Amati....' - -'But what is the matter with her?' asked Formosa, clasping his hands, -with tears in his eyes. - -'She must have had some strong excitement two or three hours ago: had -she not?' - -'Yes, I fear so.' - -'Was it from some alarm, some noise?' - -'I ... I don't ... quite know.' - -'Well, she got excited? Did she cry out?' - -'Yes ... she did.' - -'Why did you let her get excited? Why did you not let her have what -she wanted? Do you know the danger your daughter is running?' - -'I do not know ... I know nothing. What do you expect me to know?' -the old man shouted, holding out his hands, beseeching like a child. - -'The danger is of meningitis,' said the doctor through his clenched -teeth. - -Now the invalid had half opened her eyes. The doctor examined her -pupils. Her eye seemed glassy, rigid, as her whole person had got. - -'Doctor, what is it? is she dead?' yelled the old man, as if he were -mad. - -'It is temporary paralysis, from meningitis.' - -'What is to be done?' - -'Well, we will see. Meanwhile I beg you to have Dr. Amati called in.' - -The old man looked at him, disordered. - -'What do you say?' - -'Send and call Amati. Do you not see she wants him?' - -'... She is raving.' - -'Yes, sir; but when she asked for him, she must have been conscious; -and even in delirium you must obey her, my lord.' - -'Am I to obey?' - -'Your daughter is in a serious state; it is better to satisfy her.' - -'Is she in danger?' - -'You may lose her from one hour to another. She has no strength to -bear up against meningitis.' - -'Doctor, doctor, do not say that!' - -'My dear sir, do you want me to tell you the truth, especially as -the poor patient cannot hear us? First of all, you would not allow -Amati to be called; then you let the young lady get into this state -of exasperation.... You will not go on with this refusal? The girl is -dying....' - -'O holy God!' blasphemed the Marquis. - -'I will go to Amati's house,' Morelli said. - -'... He will not come.' - -'Why should he not? Was he not the doctor in charge? He is an honest -man; he is a great doctor.' - -'... He will not come,' Formosa repeated. - -'Then go yourself, my lord.' - -Now, whilst Formosa made a despairing gesture, the sick girl had -started up, and again rapidly through her clenched teeth she had -begun to say: 'Amati! ... Amati! ... I want Amati!...' - -'Do you hear?' said Morelli. - -'But I cannot!' shouted Formosa, 'for I turned that man out of my -house. I would not let my daughter marry him. I cannot humble myself -to him.' - -'Very well, but my lady is dying,' said the doctor, holding down the -girl's hands, which were clapping together. - -'Go and call Amati! For mercy's sake, for the love of God, do not -give me up! Call Amati!' groaned the invalid. - -'My God! what a punishment! what a punishment!' the old man cried -out, tearing his hair. 'But, doctor, give her something; do not let -her die!' - -'... Amati! ... Amati! ... I want Amati!' she said, raving, rolling -her eyes fearfully. Then, falling back again, worn out, on the bed -with a fresh stroke of paralysis, the only living thing in her was -her voice, asking for Amati; still the only idea of her wandering -reason was Amati, Amati, Amati. - -'I will write to him,' the old man said desolately, going to another -room whilst the doctor was trying to put new ice on Bianca Maria's -burning head. - -The Marquis di Formosa was writing, but it was unbearable, the shame -of having to give in, and the words would not come from his pen. He -tore two sheets. At last a short letter came out, in which he asked -Dr. Amati to come to his house, as his daughter was ill--nothing -more. When he had to write the address he nearly smashed the pen. -Then, not looking Giovanni in the face, he told him to run to -Dr.--yes, to Dr. Amati's. The poor old thing ran, whilst Morelli -gave calomel pills to his delirious patient, who was crying out, -for the pain in her head had got unbearable, frightful. Her father, -having carried out his first sacrifice, felt he was going mad with -these howls, fearing lest he should begin to howl and howl like her, -as if he had caught meningitis from her. Now that he had written -the letter, carried out an unbearable sacrifice, the Marquis di -Formosa began to wish that Dr. Amati would come soon, at least. It -was impossible for him to bear these cries, laments, and groans any -longer, where one name came up continuously. Now he was counting the -minutes for Giovanni to come back, straining his ears if he heard -the noise of a door opening. Time was passing, and the sick girl, in -spite of ice, in spite of calomel, was raving, with glaring eyes, a -prey to the inflammation that seemed to be burning up her brain. -Here was a door opening; someone was coming towards the room where -the Marquis di Formosa had taken refuge in his desperation. It was -Giovanni alone, and he looked so tired, so old, so sad, that the -Marquis shivered as he asked him: - -'Well?' - -'Dr. Amati is not coming.' - -'Was he not at home?' - -'He was not. I waited for him under the portico; then he came -back....' - -'Well, then, what happened?' - -'He read the letter ... and he said he was too busy; that the young -lady was sure to have a good doctor.' - -'Did you not ... beg ... him to come.' - -'I did, my lord. He got severe then, and went away muttering -something that I did not understand.' - -'You ought to have gone upstairs and insisted.' - -'I had not the courage.' - -'But do you not know my lady is dying for want of him? Do you not -know that?' - -'I do know it, my lord; but the doctor used me ill. I am a poor -servant.' - -'He is right,' said the old man slowly; 'I insulted him deeply.' - -'My lord, my lord, go yourself; he will not refuse you.' - -'You are mad.' - -'For the young lady's sake.' - -'He will refuse. He will insult me.' - -'For her sake.' - -'No, no; it is too much to expect....' - -'But, my lord, you said it yourself: my lady is dying.' - -'Go away!' shouted the Marquis brutally, driving his servant away. - -He was left alone. His pride rebelled against the idea of humbling -himself before the man he had abused. He suffered frightfully; his -daughter's voice, now muttering in a low tone, now yelling shrilly, -calling out 'Amati,' gave him a feeling of physical pain, of a -red-hot iron scorching his flesh. Within him, however, as time -passed, as the girl's danger increased, a work of clearing away was -going on, in which all the old and the new rebellions of his haughty -feelings went on tumbling down, and in place of the pride came a -tremendous pity, a great affection, an immense sorrow. The hours -flew by whilst he walked up and down, gnawing at the curb of the -last chains in which his heart was bending, till at last it sank to -the earth; and that eternal delirious voice which could say nothing -but the name of Antonio Amati never ceased. He no longer shook with -anger; hatred was silent, and when Dr. Morelli, having gone away and -come back, asked for Amati, he replied: - -'He has not come. I am going myself.' - -'Will you bring him?' - -'Yes, I will.' - -It was very late, however, when he set out on foot to go to Santa -Lucia Road, where Dr. Amati was now living. It was nearly midnight, -and people had turned out in Toledo in the mildness of the April -evening. In spite of being old, the Marquis ran through the streets, -urged by a nervous force, and when he got to the big gateway of the -palazzo Amati lived in, he went up the stairs rapidly, not giving any -answer to the porter, who asked where he was going. - -'Tell Dr. Amati that the Marquis di Formosa is here,' he told the -housekeeper, who came to open the door to him. - -'Really ... he is studying.' - -'Tell him, I beg of you. It is very urgent ...' the old man -implored; his pride was completely gone. She went off, and came back -again at once, making the Marquis a sign to come in. He crossed -two sitting-rooms, and came to a study all in shadow, where the -lamp-light was concentrated on a large table scattered with papers -and books. But Dr. Amati was standing in the middle of the room, -waiting. These two men, who had hated each other so much, looked at -one another, with the same sorrow they had in common, and pity for -the unhappy dying girl cut short all rancour. They looked at each -other. - -'What is it?' Amati asked in a weak voice. - -'She is dying,' said Formosa with a despairing gesture. - -'Of what?' - -'Of meningitis.' - -An earthy pallor spread over the doctor's face, and two lines formed -themselves about his lips. And he dared not make the Marquis any -reproaches. Had he not himself forsaken the poor girl, though he had -promised and sworn to save her? Had he not through pride left the -delicate, sickly flower a prey to all moral and physical evils? Both -of them were guilty, both. - -'Let us start, then,' he said. They went out together, called for a -cab, and had the hood put up, as if they wanted to hide their sorrow. -They did not speak during the drive. Only whilst he bit at his spent -cigar Dr. Amati from time to time asked some medical questions. - -'How long has she had meningitis? is this the first day of it?' - -'Yes; but she has had typhoid fever for nine days.' - -'Had she high fever?' - -'It went up to a hundred and four and a hundred and five.' - -'Had she bad headaches?' - -'Frightful headaches.' - -'Did she have convulsions?' - -'Yes, at intervals.' - -'Does she roll her eyes about?' - -'Yes, she rolls her eyes.' - -'Do the muscles at the nape of her neck contract?' - -'Yes, they do.' - -'Was there some reason for it?' - -'Yes,' said the father humbly, almost sobbing out his monosyllable. - -'Did she get calomel?' - -'Yes; Morelli gave that.' - -'Did it not soothe her?' - -'No, not a bit. Often she is paralyzed, but for a short time.' - -'It is just meningitis,' the doctor muttered thoughtfully. - -The carriage went on and on, as well as it could with an ordinary -night horse. They were not getting there yet, and they had already -urged the driver to hurry. - -'Is she delirious?' the doctor asked again. - -'I do not know--I am not sure if it is delirium; but she is always -speaking convulsively.' - -'What does she say?' - -'She calls out for you.' - -'For me?' - -'Yes--always for you.' - -Ah! the doctor's heart broke on hearing that. The old father heard -him say, like a frightened prayer, 'My God!' They said nothing -more. They found the door open. Poor old Giovanni had waited for -them on the landing, leaning over the railing, looking into the -entrance-hall, anxious to see them arrive, but certain that the -doctor would come. - -'How is she?' asked her father at once; he had a constant need of -being reassured. - -'Just as she is bound to be,' sighed the old butler, going on in -front. 'She is much the same.' - -'Is she still delirious?' - -'Yes, still delirious.' - -They went in very softly to the small room. Dr. Morelli had gone away -a little while before, leaving a short note for Dr. Amati. But he -went straight to the sick girl's bed. Her voice, tired now, but still -impassioned, went on always repeating Amati's name, but her head was -sunk in the pillows, and her eyes half shut. He saw everything at -once, and the disorder of his mind must have been tremendous, for he -could not manage to control his face--he, the strong, invincible man. -And he hesitated a minute before replying to the unhappy, raving girl -who went on calling to him, fearing to cause too strong an impression -on her nerves; but he could not resist the feeble voice that went -straight to his heart and made it bleed with tenderness; he said: - -'Bianca Maria.' - -What a cry the answer was! She got up, her face suddenly flaming; her -eyes grew enormous. She threw her arms round his neck, and leant her -head on his breast, crying out: - -'Oh, my love! my love! how long you have been in coming! Do not leave -me again--never forsake me; it is so long since I have been calling -for you--do not leave me.' - -'Do not fear; I will not leave you ...' he muttered, trying to -overcome his emotion, petting her fine, ruffled, tumbled hair. - -'Never go away from me again--never!...' she cried out passionately, -clinging with her arms round his neck. 'If you forsake me I shall -die.' - -'Keep quiet, Bianca Maria, be quiet--do not say such things.' - -'I will say so!'--she raised her voice, irritated at being -contradicted--'if I have not you it is death for me. But you will not -let me die? Ah, do not leave me to die!' - -'My darling, be quiet--be quiet,' he said, not able to control -himself, trying to loosen the chain of her arms round his neck. - -'Do not lift me from here! do not make me let go!' she shrieked, -making desperate motions with her head. 'If you make me let go, I -feel that death will take hold of me....' - -'Oh, Bianca, Bianca, be quiet, for my sake! do not kill me!' said the -strong man, now become the weakest and wretchedest among men. - -'Death will catch hold of me! it is here behind me! I feel it! You -alone can save me! Do not let me die--I do not wish to die: you know -I do not wish to die!' - -'You will not die. Hush, my dear, or you will get worse. I am here: I -will not go away ever again--I will not leave you!' - -'... I do not wish to die!' she ended up, again getting a little -quieter. They remained like that for some time. The father was -standing at the foot of the bed, leaning against the bed-rail, with -his eyes down, feeling in his broken pride, in his wounded soul, the -full weight of the chastisement the Lord was heaping on him, as a -punishment for his lengthened sin. - -Very softly, seeing that the girl had stopped speaking, that her eyes -were closing, Dr. Amati tried to put her head back on the pillow; -but she felt the movement, and while he bent down she drew him to -her at the same time, and he had to stoop, since her arms would not -let go. They remained like that, she dozing, he leaning over in an -uncomfortable position, in such anguish at her state and his own -powerlessness that the sensation of physical discomfort did not -affect him. Grief took such a violent hold of him that he seemed -about to suffocate, not being able to weep, cry out, or speak now -the unhappy girl was dozing; but sometimes she gave a start, and an -expression of painful annoyance came over her fleshless face. An idea -seemed to come into her mind: either she heard a voice the others did -not, or saw some fanciful sight, for her eyelids fluttered and her -lips drew back from her whitish gums. Then she opened her eyes, as -if she had found out where that noise, that sight, that disagreeable -impression, came from, and with a thread of voice, which only the -doctor heard, she called: - -'Love!' - -'What is it you want?' - -'Send him away.' - -'Who do you mean?' - -'My father.' - -The doctor turned pale, and did not answer. He gave a side-glance at -the old man, who was still standing at the foot of the bed with his -eyes cast down in sorrowful thought. - -'I beg of you, send him away,' she began again, speaking into his ear. - -'But why do you wish it?' - -'Just because--I don't wish to see him. Send him away. He must go -away.' - -'Bianca Maria, remember he is your father.' - -'Look here--listen,' she said, pulling him nearer to her, so that she -could speak lower. 'He is my father,' she whispered; then, with a -smothered fear and an immense bitterness, 'but he has killed me!' - -'Do not speak like that,' he replied, turning his head the other way -that she might not see his feelings. - -'I tell you I am dying through him. I am not raving, you know; I am -in my senses,' she replied, opening her eyes wide with that babyish -trick of dying children that drives mothers mad with grief. - -He shook his head, as if he could not tell what to do nor what to say. - -'Send him away!' she insisted, in a rage, with the fatal outbursting -fury of meningitis. - -'I cannot do it, Bianca Maria....' - -'If you do not send him away yourself, I will get up and shriek out -to him to go away, never to come before me again--never, for the -future: do you hear?' - -'Wait a moment,' he said, as he made up his mind, resigned. - -And he left her, loosening himself from her, putting back her thin -arms on the coverlet. She followed him with her glance, never taking -her eyes off him, as if through them she could know what Dr. Amati -was saying to her father in a low tone. - -Dr. Amati, with great delicacy and a shudder of grief that made his -voice shake uncontrollably, was explaining to him that meningitis -is a frightful malady which burns the brain, breaks the nerves, and -makes the unlucky patients attacked by it rave for days and days: it -incites them to constant anger, and fury, even. Poor Bianca Maria was -a victim to this fancy, that she could not bear to have anyone in -her room; and that if he loved his daughter, if he did not wish to -hear her burst out into wild talk, would he be so kind as to go into -another room?... - -'Did my daughter tell you that?' the old man asked, deadly pale, with -his eyebrows knitted. - -'Yes, it was she who said it.' - -'Does she wish to have no one in her room?' - -'No, no one.' - -'Except yourself, is that it?' - -'Yes, I may stay.' - -'Does my daughter turn me out?' shrieked the old man. - -'For goodness' sake, my lord, do not get irritated! Have pity on your -daughter, yourself, and me.' - -'I will not go away unless she tells me herself, do you hear? Bianca -Maria!' the Marquis called out, going up close to the bed. - -She looked at her father with the greatest intensity, as if she was -answering him. - -'Bianca Maria,' shouted the exasperated old man, 'is it true that you -do not want to have me in your room? Say yourself if it is true. I do -not believe this man. You must say it yourself.' - -'It is true,' she said in a very clear voice, looking at her father. - -He cast down his eyes, where the last tears of old age were showing, -and his head sank on his breast, overcome by the inflexible -punishment that came to him from the raving girl--from his dying -victim. He went out without turning round. And stooping, as if he -were a hundred years old, alone, speechless, he went away to what -had been his study, where only an old table and a chair were left. -There, lying forward with his face in his hands, with no conception -either of time or things, the old sinner sank into the immeasurable -bitterness of his punishment. Sometimes Bianca Maria's voice came to -him, feeble or loud, ever telling Amati: - -'I do not want to die--I will not die! Save me! save me! I am only -twenty! I will not die!' - -The voice, the despairing words, said in delirium, but which still -seemed to be a lament and a curse, had a cruel effect on him. He had -not strength left to get up and go out, to leave the house alone, to -die like a dog on some church steps, unwept for and unregretted. He -did not get up to go beside the dying girl, for his daughter had -turned him out, keeping by her the only person she had loved. - -'I will not die, love! I will not die!' the delirious girl was saying. - -'She is right--she is right,' her father thought, giving a start. - -Whilst the hours went by he heard, from where he was, the doctor -going backwards and forwards, in his effort to save the girl's life, -the hurried orders, Giovanni going out and the assistant doctor -coming in. He had no right now to come forward and know what was -going on, and, in fact, he was forgotten there, as if he had been -dead for years and years, as if no Marquis di Formosa had ever -existed. Would it not be better for him if he were dead, since -everyone had forsaken him? 'It is what I deserve,' he thought to -himself. - -He strained his ears sometimes, as if the noises that came to him -were to tell him that his daughter was getting better, that the -doctor was giving her strong, effective remedies; but, except for the -servants, the assistant, and the doctor going about their work, he -heard nothing else but the constant agonizing cry: 'I will not die! I -will not die! Love, save me!' - -He sank into a slumber, with his old head resting on his arms, -towards dawn, still hearing in this slight unconsciousness that same -cry of anguish. It was Giovanni who wakened him, at full daylight, -by bringing him a cup of coffee. The father, turned out of his -daughter's room, questioned the servant with his eyes. - -'She is still in the same state--just the same.' - -'Then, not even Amati can save her--not even him?' - -'He is trying to, but he is in despair.' - -The Marquis di Formosa spent three days and nights in that room -alone, not seeing a bed and hardly touching the little food that was -brought in for the three days and nights that Bianca Maria's dying -agony lasted. The old man's face, always of a reddish tinge, in -spite of his age, was now streaked with purple, his white hair, when -Giovanni and Margherita came to him, was tragically disordered. Only, -from seeing their crushed state, he asked them no more questions. -Did he not hear her still raving, crying out that at her age she did -not want to die, she would not die, adding the most heartrending -supplications and cries? - -The two servants told him nothing; his hearing had got more acute, -and not a word of the raving went past unheard. Still, that very -vitality of nervous strength, that strong voice, deluded him as -being a sort of health, and in the short intervals of silence he -almost wished the raving would begin again. But the third day, in -the morning, a new painful sensation drew him out of that stupor. -The delirious girl, in a choked voice, was calling for her mother, -begging _her_ not to let her die. Sometimes she stopped speaking; he -looked round him, alarmed at these sudden silences, which got longer, -starting when again Bianca Maria began to cry out: - -'Mother, I will not die! I will not--I will not, mother dear!' - -About two hours after midnight, on the third day, still seated by his -small table, slumber came upon him, with the raving still echoing in -his ears. How long did he sleep? When he wakened, the silence was so -profound that it frightened him. He waited to hear the voice crying -out not to die yet. There was nothing. He counted the time from the -wasting of the candle; two hours must have gone by. - -A horrible fear took hold of him; he dared not move. He looked under -the doorway arch, and saw Margherita's white face looking at him. He -understood. Still, mechanically he asked: - -'How is Donna Bianca?' - -'She is well,' the old woman said feebly. - -'When did it happen?' - -'An hour ago.' - -'Did she not ... did she not ask for me?' - -'No, my lord.' - -He tried to get up; he could not. He thought that death would lay -hold of him there, on that seat, at once, since young people of -twenty die before old men of sixty. Now Dr. Amati had come into the -room. He was unrecognisable; a deadly weight had broken down all his -moral and physical energies. Great silent, child's tears rolled down -his cheeks. They said nothing for a time. - -'Did she suffer a great deal?' the father asked. - -'Yes, frightfully....' - -'Were you not able to do anything to ...' - -'No, I was able to do nothing,' the doctor said, beaten, holding out -his arms as he owned to the most horrible of his failures. - -The old man, his face now rigid in tragic expression, was not crying. -Like a child who is not to be comforted, Dr. Amati took him by the -hand, lifted him from his chair, and said gently: - -'Come and see her.' - -They went. The Marchesina di Formosa Bianca Maria Cavalcanti was -lying on her small white bed, her head rather sloping on one -shoulder, the waxen hands, with discoloured fingers, clasped over -a rosary. A soft white robe had been put over her wasted body. The -violet-shaded mouth was half open, the clayey eyelids lowered. She -seemed very much smaller, like a girl in her teens. On her face there -was only the haughty seal of death, that soothes all and forgives -all. It was not serenity, but peace. - -From the doorway the two men gazed on the small figure, with long, -black hair flowing over it. They did not go in; motionless, both kept -their eyes on the mortal remains, and Amati repeated gently, as if to -himself, like a child whom nothing could comfort: - -'There should be flowers--flowers....' - -The old man did not hear him. He looked at his dead daughter, saying -not a word, giving no sigh; he bent his great frame and knelt down -in the doorway, holding out his arms for forgiveness, like old Lear -before the sweet corpse of Cordelia. - - - THE END - - - BILLING AND SONS, LTD., PRINTERS, GUILDFORD - - * * * * * - - TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES - -Italic text is denoted by _underscores_. - -A number of words in this book have both hyphenated and -non-hyphenated variants. The trend in the original book was to -hyphenate compound words. Therefore the hyphenated variant was chosen -in most of the cases. - -Obvious punctuation and other printing errors have been corrected. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Land of Cockayne, by Matilde Serao - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LAND OF COCKAYNE *** - -***** This file should be named 54614-8.txt or 54614-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/4/6/1/54614/ - -Produced by Andrés V. 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