The Patriot Part 33

His good intentions concerning labour and self-sacrifice moved her deeply; when she read that confession of great wickedness, followed by the prayer for pardon to G.o.d and to herself, she smiled and kissed the letter, feeling that this was an act of submission, and a humble acceptance of the censure which had at first only irritated him. Poor Franco! These were the impulses of his n.o.ble, generous nature! But would they last? She answered at once, and if her emotion was apparent in her answer, so also was her smile, which displeased Franco. At the end he found these words: "When I read your many self-accusations I thought, with remorse, of the accusations I brought against you, one sad night, and I felt that you also had been thinking of them as you wrote, although neither in this letter nor in any other are they alluded to. I deeply regret those accusations, my own Franco, but how I wish we could speak together as true friends, concerning those other questions of which I think so much here in my solitude!"

Luisa's wish remained ungratified. In answering Franco did not even touch on this point; indeed his next letter was somewhat cool, so Luisa did not again revert to the subject. Only once, when speaking of Maria, did she write: "If you could only see how Maria recites her 'Our Father'

every night and morning, and how well she behaves at Ma.s.s, on Sundays, you would be satisfied."

He replied: "As to what you tell me concerning Maria's religious exercises, I am satisfied, and I thank you!"

Both Luisa and Franco wrote almost every day, and sent their letters once a week. Ismaele went to the post at Lugano every Tuesday, taking the wife's letters and bringing back the husband's. In June Maria had the measles, and in August Uncle Piero lost the sight of his left eye, almost without warning, and for some time was greatly distressed. During these two periods the letters from Oria were more frequent, but in September the weekly correspondence was resumed. From the bundle of letters I take the last that pa.s.sed between Franco and Luisa, on the eve of those events which overwhelmed them at the end of September.

LUISA TO FRANCO.

"_September 14, 1856._

"I do not think Pasotti will ever come to our house again. I am sorry on poor Barborin's account, for I fear she will not be able to come either, but I do not regret what I did.

"He has known perfectly well for some time that you are in Turin. He even talked of it with the Receiver, so Maria Pon told me. She was in the Romit chapel, and heard them talking on their way down from Albogasio Superiore. When he came here he would always pretend not to know, and would enquire for you with his usual a.s.sumption of interest and friends.h.i.+p. To-day he found me alone in the little garden and asked how much longer you would be absent and whether you were in Milan at present. I answered frankly that his question surprised me. He turned pale. 'Why?' said he. 'Because you have been going about saying that Franco is in an entirely different place.' He became confused and protested angrily. 'You may protest as much as you like!' I said. 'It is quite useless. You know that. At all events Franco is very well off where he is. You may say as much to whomever you please.' 'You wish to insult me!' he exclaimed.

I did not stop to think long, but retorted: 'That is quite possible!' Then he rushed away without saluting me, and looking as black as the ace of spades--that simile suits my present mood! I am sure he will go to Cressogno this evening.

"Custant has sent us a present of a magnificent tench which he caught this morning, much to the chagrin of Bianconi, who fishes all day long, and never catches anything. He is furious with the impudent tench because they snap their fingers--so to speak--at His Imperial and Royal Majesty of Austria and his Carlascia. 'Poor fellow!' says Signora Peppina. 'He is eating his heart out!'

"However, he will get over it, he will get over it.

"_September 15._

"I related the Pasotti episode to Uncle Piero and he was very much annoyed. 'Much good this will do you!' he said. Poor Uncle! One might almost suspect him of being a utilitarian, whereas he is really a philosopher. After all the strongest argument he ever opposes to all my burning indignation against the many ugly things in this world is: 'Worrying won't mend it!'

"To-day the parish Ma.s.s was said at Albogasio Superiore. In coming out of church with Maria I caught a despairing glance from poor Barborin, who evidently had orders to avoid me.

However, Ester walked down with us and coming into the house told me privately something I have been expecting to hear. She began by begging me not to laugh, while all the time she was laughing herself. I succeeded in gathering that the Professor, by dint of great perseverance, has overcome her resistance, although Ester still declares she does not know her own mind.

"'It is his nose!' she said this morning, laughing and hiding her gay little face. Indeed that scandalous nose seems to me to be prospering; it is redder than ever, and grows ever larger!

"_September 18._

"I have not written for three days, fearing I should not be mistress of my pen, nor be able to confine my thoughts within words which must not exceed certain bounds. Now I feel equal to the task, and so I will set about it. But I must warn you, Franco, that I am not sure of being able to control my feelings all the way through.

"Well, then, your grandmother's agent came to me on the evening of the fifteenth. As the half-yearly payment of your income is due on the sixteenth, I concluded he had come to bring the five hundred _svanziche_, and so I told him at once that I would go and prepare the receipt for him. Then the most gracious Signor Bellini informed me that my receipt would not be sufficient.

'How can that be?' I said. 'It was sufficient on the sixteenth of March.' 'I don't know,' he replied. 'I have my orders.' 'But Franco is not here.' 'I know that.' 'Then what did you come here for?' 'I came to tell you that if Don Franco wishes to draw his money he must present himself at the Signora Marchesa's agency in Brescia.' 'And what if he cannot go to Brescia?' Here Signor Bellini made a gesture that meant, 'That is your affair.' I replied that it was all right, had coffee brought for him, and told him I was anxious to purchase the book-shelves in your old study at Cressogno from the Signora Marchesa. Bellini turned yellow, and sneaked away like our old dog Pato at Casa Rigey when he had been stealing.

"Most certainly the worthy Pasotti has had a finger in this dirty business.

"The Prefect of Caravina was here yesterday and told us that Pasotti went to Cressogno on the evening of the fourteenth. He was very late, and reached your grandmother's house while they were saying the rosary, so he had to mumble the prayers with the others, which greatly amused the prefect, for it is his opinion that Pasotti goes to Ma.s.s simply because he is an Imperial and Royal pensioner, but that his only prayer is 'the rats' Pater,' whatever that may be. He added that after the others had gone out Pasotti remained in confabulation with your grandmother, and that Bellini was also present. Bellini had arrived that very day from Brescia. He probably brought the money for you.

"We have enough left to live upon until the money comes from you in October. That is all I wish to say.

"Maria sends you the cyclamen you will find enclosed. I must also tell you the following incident. You can fancy she notices the state of mind I am in. She often hears me discussing the subject with Uncle Piero. The uncle is always the uncle! In his whole life he has set down as rascals only such contractors as offered him bribes, and another uncle his exact opposite, who, after making use of his nephew for many years, died without leaving him so much as a dried fig. He would never recognise any other rascals, nor will he do so even now. Well, when I am talking with him, Maria always wants to listen. I send her away, but I sometimes fail to notice that she has returned very softly. This morning she began saying her prayers. Oh, Franco!

your daughter is indeed very religious in your own way! The last prayer she repeats is a _requiem_ for poor Grandmamma Teresa. 'Mamma,' said she when she had finished, 'I want to recite a _requiem_ for the grandmother in Cressogno also.'

Never mind my answer. My words were bitter; perhaps I did wrong; I am even ready to confess I did wrong. Maria looked at me, and said: 'Is the grandmother at Cressogno really wicked?'

'Yes.' 'But why does Uncle Piero say she is not really wicked?'

'Because Uncle Piero is so very good.' 'Then you are not so very good?' My dear little innocent! I devoured her with kisses, I could not help it! As soon as she was free to speak she began again: 'You will not go to Paradise, you know, if you are not so very good.' Paradise is her one idea. Poor Franco, not to have her with you, you who would be so satisfied with her! You are indeed making a great sacrifice! If it will give you any pleasure I will tell you that the only possibility for me to love G.o.d is through this child, for in her G.o.d becomes visible and intelligible to me.

"Good-bye, Franco. I embrace you.

"LUISA.

"P. S. I must tell you that I have dismissed Veronica for the first of October. This I did in the first place for reasons of economy, and secondly because I have discovered that she is flirting with a customs-guard. Oh! I almost forgot something else! Half an hour ago Ester came to tell me she has decided to say 'yes,' but she wishes to wait a day longer before seeing the Professor. She has evidently succeeded in swallowing the nose, but has not yet digested it."

FRANCO TO LUISA.

"TURIN, _September 14, 1855_.

"The 'knave of clubs' is threatened with dismissal by his employer on account of the truly miserable state of his clothes. The 'knave' is indeed given to extravagance, and has not yet learned--_duris in rebus_--to handle a clothes brush, but however that may be, the other 'wise men' have decided not to lunch for a week in order that he may re-clothe himself. Now observe the baseness of the human heart! The 'knave,'

overflowing with expressions of grat.i.tude, calmly prepared to go to his own lunch! This, however, we would not stand. So to-day, instead of repairing to Stomach-ache Tavern, we spent half an hour on the banks of the Po, near the Valentino, watching the water flow past. The wise man from Udine had brought his flute with him, because music should not be wanting at an ideal lunch, at which the most Irimalchionian ideas of food and beverages are handed round. He also had with him a letter from his family, containing magnificent proposals for his return to the fold. They even offer him a riding-horse. He says he has written them that they will soon see him come das.h.i.+ng up on one of King Victor Emmanuel's horses. Then the Paduan, who is a wag, said to him with a great a.s.sumption of seriousness, "Ah, my hero! So you are beginning to blow your own trumpet as well as play the flute!" The flutist was wild, but presently he calmed down, and played us a nice little tune.

The strange part of it all is that none of us felt hungry.

However, when the meeting was adjourned, we decided that the 'knave's' clothing should be simplified, and that he could get along without the _justicoat_, known in modern parlance as the waistcoat.

"Ah! We would all gladly do without dinner as well as lunch if we could only cross the Ticino with the King in April, 1856! We talked of this on our way back to the city after the ideal lunch. The Paduan observed that the water is too cold in April and that we had better wait until the end of June. We began to talk about how great Italy will be without the Germans. I a.s.sure you we were all enthusiastic, in spite of the emptiness of our stomachs. All except the Paduan of course, but of him I must tell you that if he is reduced almost to the verge of starvation, it is because he will not tolerate the Austrians, and that although he is knocking at the door of forty, he will fight better than some of these young fellows who are now devouring an Austrian for lunch, and two for dinner! He says we shall once more become a cat and dog kingdom. 'Mark this, for example,' he added. 'When the Germans shall have departed, each of us will return to his own home, and woe to you if you come and worry me in Padua!' I can almost fancy I am listening to Uncle Piero, when, at Oria, we used to discuss the greatness and the splendid future of Italy. 'Yes, yes, yes!' he would say, 'Yes, yes, yes! The lake will turn into milk and honey, and the Galbiga will become a Parmesan cheese!'

"We shall see! We shall see!

"_September 21._

"Your letter has awakened in me a tumult of feelings which cannot be described in writing.

"Of course my grandmother's action and the indirect malevolence of Pasotti grieve me deeply, but your too violent indignation is far more painful to me. When some one holding my power-of-attorney presents himself at Brescia, payment cannot be refused. It is true that you, a woman, are not expected to know these things. I can also forgive your anger, for in the beginning I myself was not unmoved. Then I asked myself: Why are you indignant? Why are you surprised? Were you not already acquainted with that evil spirit, and have you not already suffered greater insult from it?

"I am most deeply grieved that you did not succeed in hiding your feelings from Maria; I am deeply moved to learn that you repented of this; and deeply thankful that you love the Lord in the child, and that you have confessed as much to me. Indeed I feel I should not be so overjoyed at this, for the heavens and the earth are always inviting us to love G.o.d; He is visible in every ray of light, and His voice may be heard in every truth.

But, at least, you are beginning to hear this voice! I have never touched upon this subject in my letters because I feel I am not capable of speaking worthily and efficaciously of it to you. And now I shall let G.o.d Himself speak to you through the child, and once more resume my silence. But remember, I am waiting in suspense; I am hoping and praying.

"How can I express to you what I feel for Maria? Who could describe this emotion, this immense tenderness, this consuming desire to clasp her for a moment, only for one moment, to my heart? Do you believe I shall be able to wait until November?

No, no, no! I will write, I will copy, I will do the work of others, but I must come to Lugano sooner! Cover her with kisses for me, and meanwhile, tell her that Papa carries his Maria in his heart always, and that he sends her his blessing. Ask her what she wishes me to bring her and let me know, without thinking too much about my poverty.

"With my whole soul I embrace you, my Luisa.

"FRANCO."

LUISA TO FRANCO. "_September 24, 1855._

"At last! Ever since you left I have been longing for you to touch upon this question. How did I explain myself that night, in my painful emotion? How did you understand me, in your equally painful emotion? For months and months I have felt the necessity of speaking of this to you, and I have never done so because I lacked courage.

"You will remember you accused me of pride that night. I implore you to believe that I am not proud. I cannot even understand such an accusation.

"Your letter gives me the idea that you think I have returned to a belief in G.o.d. But did I ever tell you that I do not believe in G.o.d? I cannot have told you so, for the whole history of my opinions is engraved upon my mind, and the fright, the distressing thought that I might perhaps no longer be able to believe in G.o.d, came to me after you left. I know the day, the very hour. At S. Mamette I had heard them talking of a great dinner your grandmother had given at Brescia, while I could not even procure the food and wine necessary for the diet the doctor--fearing the loss of the right eye--had prescribed for our beloved Uncle. I struggled against these awful shadows, Franco, and I conquered. It is true the victory is due, in a great measure, to Maria. I mean that if all these black clouds hide the existence of Supreme Justice from me, a ray of light from it reaches me through Maria; and this ray of light makes me believe, makes me hope in the Orb. For it would be too horrible if the universe were not governed by justice!

"That night then, I can only have told you that I understood religion in a different way from you; that prayers and acts of Christian faith did not seem to me essential to the religious idea, but rather love and actions for those who suffer, rather indignation and actions against those who cause suffering!

"And you wish to resume your silence? No, you must not. You feel weak, you say. Do you feel you yourself are weak, or your _Credo_? Let us reason, let us discuss. Confess that one reason why you who believe, love your beliefs, is because they are comfortably restful to the intellect. You stretch yourselves at your ease in them as in a hammock, suspended in the air by innumerable threads spun by men and fastened by men to many hooks. You are comfortable, and if any one examines or lays his hand upon one only of these threads, you are troubled, and afraid it will snap, because very probably its neighbour will snap also, and after that one, another; and so, to your great fright and pain, your fragile bed will come tumbling down from the sky to the earth. I know this fright and this pain, I know that the satisfaction of walking on solid ground must be purchased at this cost, and therefore I am not deterred by a pity that would be false from discussing with you. But I may be mistaken, and perhaps it may be you who will lift me up, up to your resting place of fragile threads and air. Maria is not equal to this task. If Maria makes me believe in G.o.d, it does not follow that she can make me believe in the Church as well.

And you yourself believe in the Church above all things.

Therefore try to convince me, and I also will listen in suspense, and though I do not pray, at least I can hope, because now my longing for a perfect union with you is stronger than ever before. Now, together with my old affection, I feel a new admiration for you, a new grat.i.tude towards you.