The Patriot Part 36

Ester, standing very erect behind Luisa, shook her head. The doctor put out the match. "Hot flannels," he ordered. Luisa rushed from the room, and the doctor once more resumed the movements of the arms. When Luisa returned with the hot flannels they began to rub the child's chest and bowels, he on one side, she on the other. Presently, noting Luisa's pallor, and the distortion of her features, he motioned to a girl to take her place. "You must give up," said he, for Luisa had made a protesting gesture. "Even I am tired. You cannot go on." Luisa shook her head without speaking and continued her work with convulsive energy. The doctor silently shrugged his shoulders and raised his eyebrows, and gave his place to the girl, ordering Ester to bring more flannel with which to cover the child's legs. Ester went out and herself heated the flannel, for Veronica, on hearing what had happened, had disappeared and was nowhere to be found. In the corridor and on the stairs people were discussing the how and where of the event, and as Ester pa.s.sed all inquired: "What news? What news?" Ester made a despairing gesture and went on without answering. Then the talk once more flowed on in an undertone.

No one knew how long the child had been in the water. While the thunderstorm had been raging a certain Toni Gall had happened to be in the stables behind Casa Ribera. Reflecting that if the engineer's boat was not tied fast enough it would be dashed to pieces against the walls of the boathouse, he bounded down the steps, and seeing the door open, went in. The boat was being frightfully knocked about, and was drenched with the splas.h.i.+ng of the waves that broke against the walls. It was tossing and writhing among its chains, and had set itself crosswise, with the stern knocking against the wall. Opposite the door that opens from the road, there runs a gallery from which two flights of steps lead down to the water, the first on the side of the prow, the second on the side of the stern. Toni Gall went down the second flight to tighten the stern chain. There, between the boat and the lowest step, where the water is from sixty to seventy centimetres deep, he saw Maria's little body. She was floating face downwards, with her back above the water. As he drew her out he saw a little tin boat lying on the bottom. He carried the child to the house, crying out with his terrible voice, bringing the whole town to the spot, and fortunately the doctor also, who happened to be in Oria, and then he helped Ester undress the poor little creature, who gave no sign of life.

With whom had she been before going down to the lake? Not with Veronica, for before Luisa went out Veronica had been seen going into the storeroom where the flowerpots were kept, with her customs-guard. Nor had she been with Ester and the Professor. Ester had sent her to pray in the alcove-room, and had not seen her again. Cia had been sewing and Uncle Piero had been writing when they heard Toni Gall's shouts. Maria must have gone straight from the alcove-room to the boathouse to sail her boat, and as ill-luck would have it, she had found both the house door and the door of the boathouse open. It was Toni Gall's opinion that she had been in the water several minutes, for she was floating at some distance from the spot where the little tin boat lay. Standing in the hall where Cia, the engineer, the Professor, and others from the village were a.s.sembled, he was describing his frightful discovery for the hundredth time. All save Uncle Piero were sobbing. Seated on the sofa where Ester and the Professor had sat, he seemed turned to stone. He shed no tears and spoke never a word. Toni Gall's chattering was evidently annoying to him, but he held his peace. His n.o.ble countenance was rather solemn and grave than distressed. It was as if the shade of ancient Destiny had arisen before his eyes. He did not even ask for news; it was evident he was without hope. And it was also evident that his sorrow was very different from all this nervous, noisy, fleeting sorrow that surrounded him. His was the mute, calm grief of the wise and the strong.

From the open door of the alcove-room came voices now commanding, now questioning, but for an hour and a half no one could have a.s.serted that they had heard Luisa's voice. From time to time half-frightened, almost happy exclamations were heard. Some one in there had thought they perceived a movement, a breath, the glow of life. Then all who were outside would press forward. Uncle Piero would turn his face towards the door, and only at such moments would his expression become slightly troubled. Alas! Each time he saw the others turn slowly away, in heartbroken silence. It was past five o'clock now, and as it continued to rain the light had begun to fade.

Finally, at half-past five, Luisa's voice was heard. She gave a loud and terrible cry, which froze the blood in the veins of all. The doctor's voice answered in accents of eager protest. It was whispered that he had made a gesture which said plainly: "It is hopeless now, let us desist,"

but at her cry he had once more renewed his efforts.

The monotonous lament that the fine rain sent in through all the open windows made the stillness of the house seem more sepulchral than ever.

The hall and the corridor were growing dark, and the pale candle-light from the alcove-room seemed brilliant by contrast. People began to go away silently and on tiptoe, one shadow after another, and presently steps and hushed voices and the beat of heavy boots were heard on the pavement of the street below. Cia went softly towards her master, and asked him in a whisper if he would not eat something. He silenced her by an imperious gesture.

After seven o'clock, when all outsiders had left save Toni Gall, Ismaele, the Professor, Ester, and three or four women who were in the alcove-room, long, low groans, which seemed hardly human, broke the silence. The doctor came into the hall. It was now quite dark, and he knocked against a chair. "Is the engineer here?" he asked aloud. "Yes, sir," Toni Gall replied, and went for a candle. The engineer neither spoke nor moved.

Toni Gall soon returned with a candle and Dr. Aliprandi--whom I am happy to recall here as a frank and upright man, possessed of a fine intellect and a n.o.ble heart--approached the sofa where Uncle Piero sat.

"Engineer Ribera," said he with tears in his eyes, "it is time for you to do something now."

"For me to do something?" said Uncle Piero, raising his eyes.

"Yes. We must at least try to get her away. You must come and speak a word. You are like a father to her. At such moments as these it is a father's place to speak."

"Let my master alone," Cia grumbled. "He can't do these things. It would just be making him miserable to no purpose."

Now pitying voices and kisses mingled with the groans.

The engineer pressed his clenched fists upon the sofa, and remained motionless for a moment, with bowed head. Then he rose, not without difficulty, and said to the doctor:

"Must I go alone?"

"Do you wish me to be present?"

"Yes."

"Very well. Our efforts may be of no avail. I should not wish to force her, but we must, at least, make an attempt."

The doctor dismissed the women who were still in the alcove-room; then, standing in the doorway, he turned to the engineer and motioned to him to come in.

"Donna Luisa," said he gently, "here is your uncle, who is coming to beseech you----"

The old man staggered as he came forward, although his face was composed. He advanced a few steps and then stopped. Luisa was seated upon the bed with her dead baby in her arms, holding her tight, kissing her face and neck, and uttering long, heart-rending groans as she pressed her lips to the little body.

"Yes, yes, yes," she was saying, with almost a smile of tenderness in her voice. "It is your uncle, dear, your uncle, who is coming to see his little treasure, his little Maria, his little Missipip, who loves him so much! Yes, yes, yes!"

"Luisa," said Uncle Piero, "you must control yourself. Everything that could be done has been done. Now come with me--don't remain here any longer--come with me."

"Uncle, Uncle!" cried Luisa, in a voice full of tenderness but without looking towards him, while she pressed the little dead body to her breast and rocked backwards and forwards. "Come here! Come here to your Maria! Come! Come to us, for you are our uncle, our dear uncle! No, dear, no, dear! Our uncle will not forsake us."

Uncle Piero shuddered. His grief overwhelmed him for a moment, and wrenched a sob from him.

"Let her rest!" he murmured in a stifled voice. She did not appear to hear him, and continued: "We will go to our uncle, dear, you and I. Do you want to go to him, Maria? Yes, yes! Let us go!" She slid from the bed to the floor and went to Uncle Piero. Clutching her sweet, dead burden to her breast with one arm, she threw the other about the old man's neck, and whispered: "A kiss, a kiss, for your little Missipip.

One kiss, only one!"

Uncle Piero bent down and kissed the little face, already sadly ravaged by death, wetting it with two great tears.

"Look, look, Uncle!" she said. "Doctor, bring the candle! Yes, yes!

Don't be cruel, doctor. Look, Uncle! See what a little treasure she is, doctor!"

Aliprandi hesitated, and tried to resist her appeals, but in this mad grief there was something sacred, something that must be respected. He obeyed, and raising the candle, held it close to the tiny corpse, that was intensely pitiful with its half-open eyes and dilated pupils, this little corpse that had once been Maria, sweet little Missipip, the old man's delight, the smile and the love of the house.

"Look at this tiny breast, Uncle. See how we have abused it, poor treasure, how we have hurt it with all our rubbing. It was your mamma, Maria darling! Your horrid mamma, and that wicked doctor there."

"Enough!" said the doctor resolutely, setting the candle on the writing-desk. "Talk to your child if you will, but not to this one. Talk to the one in Heaven."

The effect of his words was terrible. All tenderness vanished from Luisa's face. She drew back, frowning fiercely, and pressing her dead child closer to her breast. "No!" she cried aloud. "No, not in Heaven!

She is mine! She is mine! G.o.d is wicked! I will not give her to Him!"

She drew ever farther back, back into the alcove, where, standing between the great bed and the little one, she once more began uttering those low groans which did not seem human. Aliprandi sent the trembling old man out of the room. "It will pa.s.s! It will pa.s.s!" he said. "We must have patience. I will stay with her now." Ismaele came into the hall and drew the Professor aside.

"Has Signor Don Franco been informed?" he asked.

They consulted the uncle and it was decided that a telegram in Uncle Piero's name, and announcing serious illness, should be sent from Lugano the next morning, for it was now too late. There was some one else in the hall. Poor Barborin Pasotti, who had hastened thither while her husband was absent escorting the Marchesa back to Cressogno. She was sobbing, and in despair because she had given Maria the little boat. She wished to go to Luisa, but the doctor, hearing loud crying, came out and begged her to be calm and silent. Barborin went to cry in the loggia.

The Curate, Don Brazzova, and the Prefect of the Caravina, who had been dining at Casa Pasotti, had accompanied Barborin. Later the Curate of Castello, Intrioni, arrived, weeping like a child. He was determined to go to Luisa in spite of the doctor's protests, and knelt in the centre of the room, entreating her to give her baby to the Lord. "Listen, Signora Luisa, listen. If you will not give her to G.o.d, give her to her grandmother Teresa, to your own dear mother who will be so happy to have her with her in Heaven."

Luisa was touched, not by his words, but by his grief, and answered gently: "Can you not understand that I do not believe in your Heaven? My Heaven is here!"

Aliprandi made a gesture of entreaty to the Curate, who went out, sobbing.

The doctor left Oria towards midnight with the Professor. The whole house was quiet, nor was any voice to be heard in the alcove-room.

Aliprandi had spent the last two hours in the hall with the Professor and Ester, and not a single cry, not a groan, nor any movement had he heard. He had gone twice to look in. Luisa was sitting on the edge of her bed, her elbows on her knees and her face in her hands, contemplating the little bed which Aliprandi could not see. This state of immobility caused him more anxiety than the state of intense excitement that had preceded it. As Ester was going to remain all night he advised her to try and rouse her friend, to make her talk and weep.

Some women from the village were to watch with Ester, and Ismaele would be there until five o'clock, when he must start for Lugano. Uncle Piero had gone to bed.

Aliprandi and the Professor stopped on the square by the church to look at the lighted window of the alcove-room, and to listen. Silence.

"Accursed lake!" the physician exclaimed, taking his companion's arm and once more starting forward. He was certainly thinking of the sweet little creature the lake had killed when he uttered the words, but in his heart there was also a great fear that other troubles might be approaching, that the treacherous waters had not yet done their worst; and he was overwhelmed with pity for the poor father, who, as yet, knew nothing.

CHAPTER XI

SHADOWS AND DAWN

On receiving the telegram Franco at once hastened to the office of the _Opinione_, in Via della Rocca. Perceiving his agitation, Dina said: "Ah! then you already know?" Franco's blood ran cold, but on hearing about the telegram Dina exhibited great surprise. No, no, of that he knew nothing. Information had reached him from the Prime Minister that the Austrian police had been searching houses and making arrests in Vall' Intelvi, and that among the papers of a certain doctor there was one in which the name of Don Franco Maironi was mentioned, with particulars of a compromising nature. Dina added that at a moment of such great anguish for a father, he would refrain from going into an explanation of Count Cavour's interest in him; suffice it to say that he himself had mentioned Franco to the Count, who had expressed his regret that a Lombard gentleman, bearing such a distinguished name, should be obliged to live in such straitened and obscure circ.u.mstances in Turin.

Dina believed it was his intention to offer him a position in the Foreign Office. Now, of course, Franco must go. But the little girl would recover and he must return as soon as possible. Meanwhile he would stop at Lugano, would he not? He must, at least, await news there, and unless it became absolutely necessary, he must not venture into Lombardy. After this affair at Vall' Intelvi it would be extremely imprudent. As Franco remained silent, the director once more broached the subject before bidding him good-bye. "Be prudent! Don't let them take you!" But Franco would not answer.