The Patriot Part 14

CHAPTER I

FISHERMEN

Dr. Francesco Zerboli, Imperial and Royal Commissary of Porlezza, landed at the Imperial and Royal _Ricevitoria_--the custom-house--at Oria, on the tenth day of September, 1854, just as a truly imperial and royal sun was rising above the ponderous bastions of Galbiga, glorifying the little pink custom-house and the oleanders and beans of Signora Peppina Bianconi, and summoning to his office, in accordance with the regulations, Signor Carlo Bianconi, her husband, that same Receiver of Customs who had scented conspiracy in ma.n.u.script music. Bianconi, whom his wife called _el me Carlascia_,--"my big Charley"--and the people, _el Biancon_, a tall man, fat and solid, with a clean-shaven chin, a grey moustache, and the large dull eyes of a faithful mastiff, went down to meet that other clean-shaven Imperial and Royal one, of higher rank.

There was no resemblance between the two, save in the Austrian nudity of their chins. Zerboli, dressed in black and carefully gloved, was short and stout, and wore a pair of fair moustaches flattened against his sallow face, out of which peered two small, sarcastic, and scornful sparks of eyes. His hair grew so low on his forehead that he was in the habit of shaving off a strip, and at times a shade showed there, that gave him the appearance of some strange beast. Quick in his movements, in his glance, in his speech, he spoke, with easy courtesy, a nasal Italian, having the modulations of the province of Trento. He now informed the Receiver that he had come to hold a _convocato_--the communal council of those days--at Castello, and that he had preferred to come early and climb the hill while it was cool, from Oria rather than from Casarico or Albogasio, that he might have the pleasure of greeting the Receiver.

The big, faithful mastiff did not at once understand that the Commissary had a second end in view, and poured forth his thanks in a medley of obsequious phrases, and short, silly laughs, rubbing his hands and offering coffee, milk, eggs, and the open air of the little garden. The other accepted the coffee, but declined the open air with a motion of his head and a wink so eloquent, that Carlascia, after shouting upstairs, "Peppina!" ushered him into the office where, feeling himself transformed (such was his double nature) from a receiver of customs into a police-officer, he composed himself, and put on an expression of austerity, as if about to enter into a sacramental union with the monarch himself. This office was a miserable hole on the ground floor, with iron gratings at the two small windows; an infectious and primitive cell, that already stunk of the great empire. The Commissary seated himself in the middle of the room, looking at the closed door that led from the landing-stage to the ante-room, the one leading from the ante-room to the office having been left open by his orders.

"Tell me something of Signor Maironi," said he.

"He is still watched," Bianconi answered, and continued in the Italian of Porta Tosa. "By the way--wait a moment--I have a report here that is nearly finished." And he began hunting and fumbling among his papers, in search of the report and of his gla.s.ses.

"You will send it in, you will send it in!" exclaimed the Commissary, who had a dread of the big mastiff's prose.

"Meanwhile speak. Tell me everything."

"He is as ill-intentioned as ever. We knew before he was ill-intentioned, but now it is very evident," the eloquent Receiver continued. "He has begun to wear that beard--you know--that midget--that _moschetta_--that pointed tuft, that filthy----"[I]

"Pardon me," said the Commissary, "you see I am new to the place. I have my instructions and I have received some information, but as yet I have no exact knowledge of the man and his family. You must describe them to me as minutely as you can. Let us begin with him."

"He is a proud man, violent and overbearing. He has quarrelled here at least fifty times over questions of duty. He will never give in, and he wants to teach me and the guard also. His eyes flash as if he were going to eat the custom-house. But it is no use being overbearing with me, even if he----For indeed he knows almost everything, and that is a fact!

He knows law, finance, music, flowers, fish, and the devil knows what all else."

"And she?"

"She? Oh, she is a sly puss, but when she shows her claws they are worse than his; much worse! When he is angry he turns red and makes a great row, she turns pale and is devilish insolent. Of course I never tolerate her insolence, but--well, you understand. She is a talented woman, I can tell you. My Peppina is devoted to her. She is a woman who makes friends everywhere. Here in Oria they often send for her instead of sending for the doctor. If there is a quarrel in a family, they send for her. If an animal has the stomach-ache, she must come. All the children run after her, and she even makes little dolls for them at Carnival time. You know, those little puppets. Moreover this woman can play on the spinet, and knows French and German. I am so unfortunate as not to speak German, so I have been to her several times to get German doc.u.ments explained, when such come to the office."

"Ah! So you go to the Maironis' house?"

"Yes, sometimes, for that purpose."

In truth the big mastiff also went there to get Franco to explain certain enigmatical pa.s.sages in the customs-tariff to him, but he did not say so.

The Commissary continued his examination.

"And how is the house furnished?"

"Well, very well. Fine Venetian floorings, painted ceilings, sofas heavily draped, a spinet, a splendid dining-room all hung with portraits."

"And the Engineer-in-Chief?"

"The engineer is a jolly, old-fashioned, kind man; he resembles me, though he is older. But he is not here much. He comes for two weeks about this time of the year, and two weeks more in the Spring, and he pays a few short visits in between. Just leave him alone, and let him have his milk in the morning, his milk at night, his flask of Modena for dinner, his game of _tarocchi_, and his _Milan Gazette_, and Engineer Ribera is perfectly happy. But to return to Signor Maironi's beard.

There is something even worse! I discovered yesterday that the gentleman has planted a jasmine in a wooden box painted red!"[J]

The Commissary, a man of parts, and probably in his secret heart, indifferent to all colours save that of his own complexion and his own tongue, could not refrain from slightly shrugging his shoulders.

Nevertheless, he presently asked--

"Is the plant in blossom?"

"I don't know. I will ask the woman."

"Ask whom? Your wife? So your wife goes to Casa Maironi also?"

"Yes, from time to time."

Zerboli fixed his two little scornful eyes on Bianconi's face, and put the following question, enunciating every syllable very distinctly.

"Does she, or does she not, go there from good motives?"

"Well, as to that, it depends! She imagines she goes as a friend of Luisina's, to talk about the flowers, their sewing, and for little bits of gossip, and they chatter and chirp away as women will; you know the way. But I get out of her----"

"_Te ch, te ch!_ Behold, behold!" Signora Peppina Bianconi exclaimed in her Porta Ticinese dialect, as she came forward with the coffee, smiling pleasantly. "The Commissary! What a pleasure it is to see you! I am afraid the coffee isn't very good, but any way it is fresh made. It is a great nuisance not being able to have it from Lugano!"

"Tut, tut, tut!" grumbled her husband crossly.

"Well, what harm is that? I only said so in fun. You understood, didn't you, _Sur Commissari_? That blessed man there never understands anything. I never get any coffee for myself, anyway. I am taking mallow-water now for a dizzy head."

"Don't talk so much, don't talk so much!" her husband interpolated, and the Commissary, setting down the empty cup, told the good woman that he was coming to see her flowers presently, and this gallantry was like the act of one who, at a cafe, throws the money upon the tray, that the waiter may take it and be gone.

Signora Peppina understood, and awed by the ferocious eyes of her Carlascia, withdrew in haste.

"Listen, listen, listen," the Commissary exclaimed, covering his brow with his left hand, and pressing his temples. "Oh!" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, suddenly remembering, "I have it! I wanted to inquire if Engineer Ribera is in Oria at present."

"He is not here now, but I believe he is coming very shortly."

"Does Engineer Ribera spend much money on this Maironi family?"

"He certainly must spend a great deal. I don't believe Don Franco has more than three _svanziche_ a day of his own, and she----" The Receiver blew across the palm of his hand. "So you see----! They keep a servant.

They have a little girl about two years old, and so they must needs keep a maid to look after the child. They send away for flowers, books, music, and all sorts of things. Of an evening they play cards, and there is always a bottle of wine. It takes a good many _svanziche_ to live in this way, you know."

The Commissary reflected a moment with a clouded brow, and eyes rolled up to the ceiling, and then, in short, disjointed sentences that sounded like fragments of an oracle, he let it be understood that Engineer Ribera, an Imperial and Royal official, recently favoured by the Imperial and Royal government with a promotion _in loco_, should exert a better influence over his nephew's family. Then with further questionings and further observations touching the engineer's present weaknesses, he intimated to Bianconi that his paternal attention should be directed with special secrecy and delicacy towards their Imperial and Royal colleague, in order that--should this become necessary--they might be able to enlighten their Superiors concerning certain acts of tolerance which would be scandalous. He ended by inquiring if Bianconi was aware that the lawyer V. from Varenna and another individual from Loveno were in the habit of visiting the Maironis quite often. The Receiver knew this, and had learned from his Peppina that they came to make music. "I don't believe it," the Commissary announced, with sudden and unusual asperity. "Your wife does not understand at all. If you go on like this, my dear Bianconi, they will lead you by the nose. Those two are a couple of rascals, who would be better off at Kufstein.[K] You must seek for more information, and when you have obtained it, you will pa.s.s it on to me. And now let us go into the garden. By the way, when anything comes from Lugano for the Marchesa Maironi----" Zerboli finished the sentence with a gesture of amiable munificence, and started forward, followed by the deeply mortified mastiff.

Signora Peppina allowed them to find her in the garden watering the flowers aided by a small boy. The Commissary looked, admired, and found a means of giving the subaltern police-officer a little lesson. By praising her flowers he easily led Signora Bianconi to mention Franco, but, as if quite indifferent to that gentleman, he did not dwell a moment upon him, but stuck to the flowers, declaring that Maironi could not possibly have finer ones. Little cries, groans, and e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.ns broke from the humble Signora Peppina, who was really embarra.s.sed by such a comparison. But the Commissary insisted. How? Even the Casa Maironi fuchsias were finer? The heliotrope and the _pelargonia_ also?

How about the jasmine?

"The jasmine!" Signora Peppina exclaimed. "Why, Signor Maironi has the finest jasmine in the whole Valsolda, my dear sir!"

Thus, in the most natural way possible, did the Commissary presently discover that the famous jasmine had not yet blossomed. "I should like to see Don Franco's dahlias," said he. The ingenuous creature offered to accompany him to Casa Ribera that very day. "They will be so delighted!" But the Commissary expressed his desire to wait the coming of the Imperial and Royal Engineer-in-Chief, that he might have an opportunity of greeting him, whereupon Signora Peppina said approvingly: "That is right." Meanwhile the mastiff, humiliated by that superior skill, and wishing to show in some way that, at least, he was zealous, seized the boy with the watering-pot by the arm, and presented him:

"My nephew. Son of a sister of mine, married to an Imperial and Royal doorkeeper, at the police station in Bergamo. He has the honour to bear the names, _Francesco Giuseppe_--Francis Joseph--bestowed upon him by my express desire. Of course, you see, it would not be respectful to use these names ordinarily----"

"His mother calls him Rat, and his father calls him Ratu, fancy that!"

Aunt Peppina put in.