The Patriot Part 10

"Dear Carlin,--

"You will find my last will enclosed in this letter. I have written it in duplicate. One copy I am keeping. This is the other, and I charge you to publish it if the first be not forthcoming. Do you understand? Very well then; and when we meet I forbid you absolutely to worry me with your advice, as is your d----d custom. You are the only person in whom I have confidence, but, after all, it is my right to command, and your duty to obey. Therefore all advice is useless and will not be tolerated. Good-bye.

"Your affectionate master, "FRANCO MAIRONI.

"CRESSOGNO, _22 Sept., 1828_."

"Now here is the will," said Gilardoni dolefully, handing Franco another yellow doc.u.ment, "but don't read that aloud."

The doc.u.ment read as follows:

"I, the undersigned, n.o.bile Franco Maironi, desire that my estate be divided in accordance with this, my last will and testament.

"Donna Orsola Maironi, born Marchesa Scremin, having deigned to accept my homage as well as that of many others, I bequeath to her, in proof of my grat.i.tude, the sum of ten thousand Milanese Lire, to be paid once and for all, and what, to her, is the most precious jewel of my household, namely Don Alessandro Maironi, duly inscribed in the parish-registers of the Cathedral of Brescia as my son.

"I bequeath to my said son that part of my property which is lawfully due to him, and three _parpagliole_[H] a day more, in token of the special esteem in which I hold him.

"I leave to my agent in Brescia, Signor Grigi, should he be still in my employ at the time of my death, all that he has stolen from me.

"I leave to my agent in Valsolda, Carlino Gilardoni, upon the same condition as above, four Milanese Lire a day, during his natural life.

"I desire that, during the life of Donna Orsola Maironi Scremin, a Ma.s.s be celebrated daily in the Cathedral of Brescia, for the good of her soul.

"I name and appoint my grandson, Don Franco Maironi, son of Don Alessandro, residuary legatee of all the rest of my property.

"As witness my hand, this fifteenth day of April, 1828.

"FRANCO MAIRONI."

Franco read--and, half dazed and without a word, pa.s.sed the sheet of paper back to the Professor. He was shaken, but felt vaguely that he must control himself, that he must restrain his own agitation, collect his thoughts, and strive to get a clear view of this matter and of himself.

"What do you say to that?" the Professor exclaimed.

At this point Gilardoni's intense excitement reached a climax.

"Why did I not speak before, eh?" he continued. "The thing is that I can't possibly give a clear, precise and positive reason for not having done so. Those papers were a horror to me! If I myself and my own father and mother had been involved in such a question, I would rather have let a million slip than ask for it with those doc.u.ments in my hand.

There! I have been a fool again, to have said that! Just forget those last words, for in your place ... it is a different thing. I was speaking for myself. Good Lord, of course I was speaking for myself!

Well, I thought--see what an a.s.s I was--I thought your grandmother just doted on you, and that your grandfather's property would go to you anyway. And with that idea...! After a while I consulted Signora Teresa, and showed her the letter and the will. She said I should have informed you at once, as soon as I had made the discovery, but that she could not give me any advice because now her daughter was, in a way, an interested party. Besides, she said.... But that is of no consequence. In short I saw the will was a horror to her also. Anyway, I was convinced your grandmother would end by accepting this marriage, and I did not speak.

Tonight you come and tell me the Marchesa has used threats. Fancy that!

Now you understand that I could not wait, that I could not keep these doc.u.ments a moment longer. There--they are yours--take them!"

Franco, absorbed in his own thoughts, heard only these last words. "No,"

said he, "I will not take them. I know myself too well. With them in my possession I might be led into doing something rash, or into acting prematurely. You keep them for the present." Gilardoni would not hear of keeping them, and drove Franco into one of his fits of impatience.

There was indeed nothing so irritating to his nerves as the inconclusive outpourings of kind-hearted but brainless persons. Gilardoni's opposition angered him, and he gave him to understand that this wish to rid himself of the doc.u.ments at all costs, was selfishness pure and simple, and that those who have blundered must bear the consequences.

The words he uttered amounted to this, but the angry and harsh expression of his face said much more. Gilardoni, whose face was crimson, shuddered at the accusation of selfishness, but controlled himself and putting on a grim frown in his turn, hastily pocketed the doc.u.ments, repeated a string of "well, well, well, wells," and abruptly left the room. To appease his own conscience Franco at once set to work trying to convince himself that Signor Beniamino was entirely in the wrong. He had done wrong in not having given him the doc.u.ments much sooner, and now he was doing wrong in taking offence. As he was quite sure he should make his peace with the inconclusive philosopher, he thought no more about him, put out the lamp, and, returning to his easy-chair, became once more engrossed in his previous meditations.

Now he was beginning to see clearly. He could not with dignity make use of that will, which, both in form and in substance was dishonouring to his grandmother, arousing as it did, when the letter was considered, a suspicion of criminal suppression. The will also reflected little honour upon his father. No, never. He must tell the professor to burn both doc.u.ments.

"Thus, Madam Grandmother, shall I triumph over you!" thought Franco, "Making you a free gift of the property, and of your honour as well, without even taking the trouble to tell you of it!" Revelling in this thought Franco felt almost as if he were lifted above the earth, and he drew a long breath, vastly pleased with himself, his soul illumined and soothed by a sentiment of mingled generosity and pride. With all his faith and his acts of Christian piety, he was very far from suspecting that such a sentiment was not entirely good, and that a less self-conscious magnanimity would have been more n.o.ble.

He let himself sink back in his easy-chair, more disposed to rest than he had been before, thinking quietly of what he had read, of what he had heard, as one who has been on the verge of embarking upon some perilous speculation, and looks back upon the anxiety and the calamities from which he has escaped forever. Old memories were also beginning to stir in the depths of his soul. He recalled a certain tale an old servant had told concerning the riches of the house of Maironi, which, she said, had been stolen from the poor. He was a child then, and the woman had not hesitated to speak in his presence. But the child had received a deep impression, and this impression had been re-awakened in his early boyhood, by the words of a priest, who had confided to him, with an air of great secrecy and solemnity, and perhaps not without intention, that the Maironi fortune was the fruit of a law-suit which had been unjustly won against the Ospedale Maggiore of Milan.

"So, through me," thought Franco, "everything has gone back to the devil."

It struck him that perhaps it was late, so he lighted the lamp once more, and consulted his watch. It was half-past three. Now, it would be impossible for him to rest. The moment which would re-unite him to Luisa was too near at hand, his fancy was too greatly excited. One hour and a half more! He looked at his watch every two minutes; it seemed as if the tedious time would never pa.s.s. He took a book, but could not read. He opened the window; the air was soft, the silence profound, the lake was bright over towards S. Salvatore, and the heavens were studded with stars. At Oria he could see a light. Perhaps it would be his fate to live there in Uncle Piero's house. Gazing absently at that luminous spot, he began to imagine what the future would be, and ever-changing phantoms rose before him. At about half-past four he heard a bell ring on the lower floor, and presently Pinella came with a message from his master to the effect that if he wished to make the _ascent of the Boglia_ it was time to start. The master had a severe headache, and could neither rise nor receive him. Franco searched on the writing-table for a sheet of paper, and wrote:

"_Parce mihi, domine, quia brixiensis sum._"

He went out, Pinella accompanying him with the light as far as the dark arcade, where the road to Castello begins. Then he disappeared.

The Marchesa Orsola rang her bell at half-past six, and ordered the maid to bring her chocolate as usual. She swallowed more than half of it before asking with the utmost composure, at what hour Don Franco had returned.

"He has not yet returned, Signora Marchesa."

The old woman must have received an inward shock, but not a muscle of her face twitched. She placed her lips on the edge of her cup of chocolate, looked at the maid, and said calmly:

"Bring me one of those little biscuits we had yesterday."

Towards eight o'clock the maid came back to say that Don Franco had returned, but only to go directly to his room for his pa.s.sport, coming down again immediately, and he had then ordered the footman to find a boatman who would take him to Lugano. The Marchesa said never a word, but later in the day she sent word to her confidant Pasotti that she was expecting him. Pasotti took in the situation at a glance, and remained with her more than half an hour. The lady was determined to find out where and how her grandson had spent the night. Pasotti had already heard some rumours, which he now repeated, concerning a nocturnal visit of Don Franco's to Casa Rigey; but more reliable and precise information was desired. The cunning _Tartufo_, by nature as curious as a hound, that goes about following every scent, poking his nose into every hole, and rubbing it against every pair of trowsers, promised to furnish the Marchesa with such information in the course of a day or two, and then took himself off, his eyes sparkling, rubbing his hands in antic.i.p.ation of a pleasant chase.

FOOTNOTE:

[H] _Parpagliota_: a small coin then in circulation, and worth about twenty centimes (?). [_Translator's note._]

CHAPTER V

THE ROGUE AT WORK

The next morning, Pasotti having imbibed his coffee and milk, lay pondering the plan of the chase until half-past ten, when he summoned Signora Barborin, who slept in another room because her snoring disturbed the "Controller," as she respectfully called her husband. "He is quite right," the poor deaf woman would say, "it is a terribly bad habit, this snoring of mine!" She was older than Pasotti, whom she had accepted as her second husband because her heart was very susceptible, and to whom she had brought certain moneys which he had long coveted, and was now enjoying. The Controller was fond of her in his own way; he obliged her to make calls, to go on boating excursions, to take long walks in the hills, all of which things were torments to her. He made fun of her deafness, sent her out covered with silks and feathers, and at home made her work like any drudge. In spite of all this she respected and served him like a slave, in fear and trembling it is true, but not without affection. When she did not call him "the Controller"

she called him "Pasotti," but she never allowed herself to use a more familiar appellation.

Pasotti, with a face as stern as any satrap, ordered her by gestures to go to the drawer for a white shirt, to the wardrobe for his second-best suit, to a cupboard for a pair of boots. When his wife had prepared everything, hunting anxiously here and there, continually facing about to follow the eyes and gestures of the master who several times called her a fool, when she would stare open-mouthed at him, striving to catch the word she had only seen, Pasotti stuck his legs out of bed, and said:

"Here you are!"

Signora Barborin knelt before him, and began pulling on his stockings, while the Controller, stretching out his arm to the pedestal, took his snuff-box, and, having opened it, continued his previous meditations, his fingers buried in the snuff. He intended to make several visits of discovery, but in what order should he arrange them? From what his farmer had told him, he judged that Signor Giacomo Puttini's Marianna, and perhaps even Signor Giacomo himself must know something about Don Franco, and certainly something must be known in Castello. While Signora Barborin was tying the second shoe-lace, Pasotti remembered that it was Tuesday. Every Tuesday Signor Giacomo, with a few friends, was in the habit of going to the market at Lugano, or rather to the tavern called "del Lordo," in order to vary the daily wine of Grimelli by a weekly gla.s.s of an undiluted vintage, and he often came home in an affectionate and communicative frame of mind. It would therefore be better to call upon him late in the day, say between four and five. In fancy Pasotti was already holding him in his hand, and managing him as he liked. With a malicious smile he raised his fingers from the snuff-box, shook the pinch to the proper dimensions by means of a few gentle, even raps, enjoyed it at his leisure, and then his wife having given him his handkerchief, he rewarded her by mumbling with a benign expression of countenance, as he rolled the handkerchief into a ball: "Poor woman! poor creature!"

When, after half an hour's labour he had put on and b.u.t.toned up his coat, he exclaimed, seriously: "What d---- hard work!" and went to the gla.s.s. Then his wife ventured to edge cautiously towards the door, saying very timidly--

"Can I go now?"