After this they sat down on the grass, among the twisted olive roots, Ragna with her back against a distorted trunk, Angelescu stretched at full length beside her, his elbow on a root, his head supported by his hand. Dreamily happy, silent, like two people to whom the gates of Paradise have suddenly been set ajar, they gazed out over the valley below, where the shining reaches of the Arno reflected the sky. The pink-tiled roofs of the city trailed out like the embroidered hem of a robe from beyond Monte alle Croci, one could see up the valley as far as Ponte a Sieve and the green peaks of Vallombrosa. The sky was that deep, soft blue shading to amethyst on the horizon, that seems peculiar to Italy, and against it the slender olive leaves, shivering in the gentle breeze, stood out in delicate gold-illumined tracery.
Angelescu heaved a deep sigh of contentment, and Ragna echoed it; her wild exuberance of spirits had fallen and it was now the marvel of it, the beautiful tender mystery of this love, the only real love she had ever known, that dominated her. It seemed to her that all she had been through, the pain, the humiliation, the brutal servitude had been but a preparation for this, but the stony path leading to this summit of perfect happiness, whence she looked out and secure in her bliss, saw the whole of the world beneath her feet. "Stay, fleeting moment!" she half-whispered—and smiled, why should not the fleeting moment be eternal, was it not to be her life hence forward? Had not her path at last led her out of the shadow into the sunshine? Oh, perfect day that had broken her bondage! But even as she looked, the soft plum-coloured shadows lengthened in the valley, the sunlight mellowed with the waning day.
It was Angelescu who first broke the silence, there was still so much to be said, so much to be arranged. He leaned forward and took her hand which was idly playing with a bee-orchid she had plucked.
"Ragna dear, we must come back to earth again and consider what we are to do."
She started almost resentfully, so far adrift had she been on the happy sea of her realized day-dream that she had lost sight of all other considerations. It seemed to her that thus must she float on and on, from day to day, lapped in the sweetness of her new found love and exalted above all mundane concerns. She turned to him impulsively,
"Oh, why can't we live in dreamland just a little longer?"
He smiled.
"All our life is to be one long dream, darling, from which there will be no awakening,—but we have yet to make it ours."
"Are we not together? Is that not enough?"
"Yes, darling, and you are coming away with me to a new life,—but we must prepare that new life."
She sat up, throwing off her childish unreasonableness, even as she put back the disordered locks of her hair and straightened her hat.
"Tell me what I am to do,—I am all yours, dear, you shall decide for me."
"Have you a friend with whom you can spend the night? I do not like the idea of your going back for even so few hours to—to your husband," he pronounced the word with an effort.
"No," said Ragna quickly, "not my husband. I no longer recognize his right to call himself by that title. You are my husband dear, you and you only!"
He thanked her with a smile.
"And the friend, have you such an one? We can't get away until to-morrow, and we must not give Valentini any occasion to guess our plans or interfere with them, before I get you safely away. A man like him would be capable of anything, out of spite, and we must not play into his hands. He must know nothing until you are well out of reach. But I do hate the thought,ma chérie, of your going back to his roof—is there no one you could go to? You could say you had quarreled with him,—anything—"
Ragna thought of Virginia Ferrati, but was afraid of facing her sharp eyes and keen questions.
"Yes, I have a friend, a good friend, but I should have to take her into my confidence, and somehow I don't like the idea. I think that until we get away the less anyone knows of our plans, the better. Besides, dear, what harm is there if I do go home? I can arrange things so as not to see my husband,—I can say I have a headache and lock myself into my room."
"I don't like the thought of you under his vile roof. You are mine, now, Ragna, do you hear? Mine!"
She turned her face flushed with pleasure, and her dewy glistening eyes to him.
"Ah, dear, what does it matter for a few hours more, since we know that we belong to each other? I have borne with it all for over five years,—" his gesture forbade reminiscence,—"now it is over and I am free, I am yours—What can a few hours more or less, matter? And then there are the children—I must see them once again, poor little souls!"
Her voice broke slightly as she said the last words; Mimmo's trusting little face rose before her eyes, but she thrust the vision away,—even he, for the moment was but a part of the hated past which she wished to blot out.
Angelescu's face took on an undefinable expression, part constraint, part displeasure, part pity. In spite of himself, a vague jealousy of these children, the living proofs of Ragna's past, the concrete, undeniable evidence of her relations with other men. He had even felt a sort of elation, when she had told him, in relating the scene of the morning, of Egidio's threat to keep Mimmo, should she leave her home, thus taking advantage of the rights the law conferred on him. Now that he had found Ragna again, he wanted her all to himself; the past could not be helped and he was ready to accept it in the abstract, and to put it away from them both. But a sense of shame came over him, he seemed to be matching himself against the slender strength of a child. Still somebody must suffer, and after all it was Valentini's fault and not his as he was ready to accept the child as part of the burden he assumed, and do his conscientious best by it. Ragna's manner when she had talked to him of Beppino had showed him how evidently she considered the child a part of his father as distinct from herself, and he had been glad of it, for while he could bring himself to accept Mimmo, the other, the child of the hated oppressor of the woman he loved would be a burden beyond his endurance. Beppino had thus been eliminated from the question from the very beginning, and as it seemed, he was to be spared the presence of Mimmo also; Ragna and he were to be free to begin their life on a new basis, unencumbered by the evidences of past bondage. He let his thoughts dwell on these considerations, but was not able to still entirely the pricking of his conscience. It was, perhaps, more to ease this than for any other reason that he gave his consent to Ragna's returning to her home for this one last night.
"Certainly you must see the children again," he assented gravely.
Ragna glanced at him, her eyes narrowed under thoughtful brows. The constraint of his manner was clearly apparent to her, as was, of course, the cause of it. Would it be the same with this man, as it had been with Egidio? For she recognized the fact that one of the principal reasons of the unhappiness of their marriage, had been the unwelcome presence of Mimmo. Angelescu met her look openly and squarely, he even smiled into her anxious eyes. Ah, she knew, she could not help but see that this man was as far removed from Egidio as the North Pole from the South! However he might suffer, however hard the weight of accepted responsibility might bear on him she would never see the slightest evidence of it, in so far as it should lie in his power to hide it. And his strength lay not only in resolve, but in his power of calmly accepting existing conditions with no looking backward or moody repining; all his energies would be directed towards the future. This much his steadfast eyes told Ragna, and she marvelled anew, as she recognized in this higher more disciplined form the same simplicity of mental attitude towards life as she had envied in Carolina. Still she could not help wondering if the very resolve on his part to accept the past and put it behind them both would not gradually raise a barrier of silence between them, and she saw their ship of happiness wrecked on the reef of the forbidden subject.
Angelescu rose to his feet and held out his hands to Ragna.
"Come, dear, we must be going. We will talk over the rest on the way back. You must not stop out so late as to arouse suspicions."
She took his outstretched hands and sprang up lightly; he drew her to him and kissed her long and tenderly, then, slowly and in silence, they walked hand in hand up the slope.
On the stone steps Ragna paused and turned for a last look down across the olive plantation to the valley; Angelescu's eyes followed hers, it was as though they were unconsciously bidding farewell to the place. Ragna voiced the vague feeling that possessed them both.
"We have been happy here,—we can never be happier than we have been to-day," she said in a low vibrant voice.
Angelescu raised her hand to his lips.
"No happier, perhaps,—I think too, that it would be impossible, but just as happy, dear!"
She stooped and plucked two small ferns growing in a crevice, one she gave to him, the other she laid in her card-case, saying softly,
"See, they are green—that is for hope."
In the little piazza above they found thefiaccheraioasleep on a stone bench, a straw protruding from his mouth, his rusty hat pulled over his eyes. The horse munched at the oats in his nose-bag, in great contentment, as he slouched between the shafts. On being hailed, the man sat up, rubbing his eyes with grimy knuckles.
"Scusino, Signori," he said, "schiacciavo un sonnellino. I did not think the Signori would be ready to leave so soon.Quando si e giovini—when one is young,—" he gave a broad wink. "Do the Signori wish to return by the same way as we came?"
"No," said Ragna, "go round the other way by the Villa Fensi and the Barriera S. Niccolo."
"Benone!" said the Jehu, as he stowed the nose-bag under the seat. He scrambled to the box with an agility astounding in one of his bulk, and with a crack of his whip they were off.
The road wound sharply down away from the church, past whitefattorieand peasant-farmers' houses. The hill above cast a soft purple shadow over the road and down into the valley.
"Now, darling," said Angelescu, "I have been thinking about how we are to get away. There is a train to-morrow afternoon at three,—before midnight we can be in Switzerland, out of reach. I shall not try to see you in the morning, it is better to be prudent, but I shall be at the railway station at half past two. I shall wait for you in the first classSala d'aspetto. You must arrange things so that your absence will not be noticed before we shall have crossed the frontier—after thatje ne crains pas le diable en personne!" he ended gaily.
Ragna smiled up into his face.
"Bien, I understand. The first class waiting room at half past two or a quarter to three."
"You must take with you only what you can't do without for a day or two," he added, "just a dressing case, if you can get it out unnoticed. We will get everything else you need."
She saw that he wished her to leave behind all that she owed to Valentini's grudging liberality. And he, reading her unspoken answer to her thought, said,
"I am not a rich man, darling, but I have enough for us both—and I can't bear to think of you dressed in the clothes that—"
"I shall wear nothing in future but what you give me," she answered gravely.
There was a pause, then Ragna said, harking back to the moment on the steps below the church,
"This afternoon has been like a foretaste of Heaven. It has been the most perfect happiness I have ever known."
Angelescu slipped his arm behind her, and drew her close to him; her head sank to his shoulder.
"Ah, darling," he answered, "and to think that we have waited so long for it—that so much has happened that was unnecessary."
"No," she returned slowly, the words falling from her lips as the thoughts took definite shape in her mind, "it is best as it is. I am sincere at this moment, when I say to you that I regret nothing—nothing. If I had not learned what it is to suffer, I should not know how to love you as I do. I see now that it has all been a preparation—for this. If I had gone to you then, I,—we—I think we might not have been so happy. I was too ignorant, I was too hurt and suspicious to appreciate—And I had no real understanding of love. First I had thought it was romance, sentiment,—then I thought I knew it to be passion,—afterwards I thought it must be affection, friendship, esteem. Now I know."
"What is it then?" he asked.
"I don't know that I can explain in words, it is all I have said and more too, it is the feeling I have for you; it is all myself, the essence of my soul, the best that is in me."
There was a short silence, and she continued,
"I said before that I had grown hard and cynical, but I know now that it is not true. Pain has purified me, and I feel, I know—" she drew herself up proudly and turned her face to his, "that I am infinitely more worthy of your love than I was five years ago,—than I was even before Prince Mirko—I was nothing but a silly, vain girl, then, now I am a woman; I know what life is and what I give you I give consciously, in the full knowledge of what it is, of what it means to you, to me, to our life. Yes, I am a better woman."
"Dear!" said Angelescu and his eyes adored her.
He knew that she spoke the truth, that the harsh discipline had unconsciously prepared her for this glorious bursting into bloom, as the cold rains and snows of winter prepare the earth for the flowering of spring, still in his heart of hearts, manlike, he could not help wishing that she might have been his without having been subjected to the bitterness of life. He wished that he might have claimed her, young, innocent, unsuspicious of the evil in the world; he thought that without any experience of the darker side of existence, his love and the happiness she would have found in it, would have sufficed to bring her nature to its perfection of flowering. Unconsciously he resented any influence but his own in the development of the woman he loved. This was his instinct, his reason told him that Ragna was right, and he was thankful, nay, consummately happy, that she should come to him at last, by whatever road, and above all that she should thus surrender herself to him, fully, unreservedly and consciously.
They looked into each other's eyes and their souls met and mingled, even as they had when their lips met under the olives. An ecstasy of joy possessed them but it was no longer the exuberant joy of two hours earlier, rather a joy so deep in its passionate intensity as to confine on the borders of pain. It held them body and soul, in a state of exquisite torture, penetrating every fibre of their united being, throbbing in every particle, drawing them into communion with the pulsating ether about them, absorbing them into the vibrant Universe, their joint soul into the All-Soul. They felt their entire unity, one with the other and with the whole of the Creation. For an instant Life in its entirety was epitomized in their life, Eternity itself concentrated in the immeasurable pause, the innermost secret of existence lay bare before their reverent eyes.
They were driving now through a little valley, a cleft in the hills; the road was bordered by high walls over which hung tangles of banksia rose and jasmine. The still evening air held the fragrance till it seemed almost unbearable to the senses through its very sweetness, and the new consciousness of happiness in their hearts was like the perfume in the air. It was one of those moments when it seems that the soul can bear no more, that the very perfection of bliss bears in it the seed of its own decay, poor human nature being unable to sustain the pitch of perfection. Something must snap, something must give way, the wayfarer cannot breathe long the rarefied air of the heights, his stumbling feet bear him of their own accord to the valley.
The carriage stopped suddenly amid the objurgations of the driver, which were echoed with equal violence from the road where appeared suddenly the form of a burlybarocciaioprecipitated from his slumbers and also from his perch, where he had been indulging in a nap, by the sudden swerve of his horse at a touch of thefiaccheraio'swhip. Loud and long was the altercation studded with violent invective in purestfiorentinaccio, the reputations of the female relatives of both contestants being the chief point of attack. A small cream-coloured Pomeranian rushed frantically to and fro on the top of the ladenbaroccio, adding his shrill barking to the general uproar. Thus rudely startled from their dream, Ragna and Angelescu looked on, almost dazed.
"Imbecile!" shouted thefiaccheraio, "Bestia!Why don't you have an eye to your horse and keep to your side of the road, instead of drinking yourself stupid?Ubbriaccone!"
The neck of a fiasco protruding from the straw of thebarocciogave point to the accusation.
"Ubbriacconeyourself!Mascalzone!" shrieked the carter. "Have an eye yourself to what you meet on the road! Because you drive aristocrats and imbecileforestieriabout, do you think you can throw honest working-men into the dust? I'll drag you before the tribunals! You say I am drunk, you lie! You whipped my beast, I saw you!"
"Socialista!Anarchico!Figlio d'un prete!Assassino!" screamed thefiaccheraio.
"Figlio d'una—!" yelled thebarocciaio.
"Here now," said Angelescu authoritatively, thinking they had gone quite far enough and annoyed by the uproar, "stop that bawling or I'll give you both in charge. You were on the wrong side of the road and you were asleep," he said to the loweringbarocciaio, "so if you fell off it was your own fault. However, here's a lira for you, and now pull aside and let us pass."
He tossed a silver coin to the man whose ill-humour disappeared as though by magic, he even touched his cap and wished the "Signori" a "Buona passeggiata" as he led his horse by. The little dog had stopped barking and sat on his haunches regarding them with bright intelligent eyes, his fluffy ears pointed forward, a tip of his pink tongue showing under his truffle-like muzzle.
Thefiaccheraioshook his head apologetically.
"He vuole, Signore, those people have no education, they will make a bad end. Did you hear what he said about aristocrats? But that is nothing, you should hear what they say in their socialistic meetings! They will end like that Brescia who murdered our good King. It is a bad thing for people of no education to talk too much.Madonna dé fiaccherai!to think that suchfarabuttishould take the bread from honest men's mouths!"
"You are hard on them," said Angelescu.
"Ah, Signore mio, you do not know ourbeceri, and what they are capable of! It is a bad world and one must work hard for atozzo di paneand a glass ofvin nero—and thesemerliwish to live without working, and that is a thing which has never been since the world began. They say to us others, 'aha,minchioni, we will live on your shoulders!'"
Angelescu amused, continued to draw the old man out; the shrewd mother-wit and quaint phrases of the old Florentine were a source of delight to him. Ragna leaned back, indifferent, lost in the pleasant labyrinth of her day-dreams.
The road came to a sharp turn and the driver instinctively drew rein. Before them, beyond an indeterminate fore-ground of shadow, rose the city, bathed in the rays of the setting sun. Towers pierced the glowing haze, fairest of all the tower of Palazzo Vecchio, slender and tall like some stately lily, and floating bubble-like on the gold, the wonderful airy cupola of the Duomo. The long level mellow rays of sunset gave the scene an unreal aspect; it seemed that as way-worn pilgrims they had come suddenly upon the golden dream city of their desire, a city called up magically before their eyes, a glorious vision evoked by the power and wonder of their love. Above the dome and the towers, pearly clouds merging into amethyst floated in the gold-pink sky. The sound of many church-bells mellowed by the distance to a suggestion of heavenly music floated to their ears. Both felt instinctively that this was the fit ending to their perfect afternoon. In these last few hours they had attained to the apex of human happiness—whatever the future might hold in store for them, nothing could ever mar the transcendent beauty of this day, nor could they ever hope to surpass the joy, the glory of it.
The door was opened to Ragna by Nando—Valentini had never permitted her to keep a latchkey—the anxiety of whose countenance was changed to relief at sight of her.
"Meno male, Signora, that you have come at last!"
"Why, Nando, what has happened?"
"The Signorini are crying for you, Signora,—the Sor Padrone found them in mischief and beat them,—beat them as though to break their poor little bones—"
But Ragna stayed for no more, her heart in her mouth she sped up the stairs to the room shared by the children.
What had happened was this: while Carolina saw to the preparation of theirgoûter, they had wandered in search of amusement and finding the door of Egidio's studio open,—a most unusual occurrence, as he generally kept the key in his pocket when not at work, had strayed in. On the large upright easel near the window stood the portrait of a lady, all but finished, a tall beautiful lady whose white dress and long scarlet scarf threw into relief the dark beauty of her head and the slender grace of her figure. The palette with its sheaf of brushes thrust into the thumb-hole lay carelessly in the box of the easel, as Egidio had left it on going to luncheon.
The boys stood hand-in-hand, gazing open-mouthed at the canvas which was lowered to the last notch, as Egidio had been working on the hair and shoulder-drapery.
"What a beautiful lady," said Mimmo in awed tones, "she must be a princess!"
"Yeth, a fairy princeth," agreed Beppino, on whom his mother's fairy tales had made a deep if confused impression.
"I wonder whybabbonever lets us come into this nice house?" queried Mimmo, looking about him—to his childish eyes it seemed a Paradise of delight.
The model's throne was covered by a Persian carpet on which stood a carved armchair of the Bargello pattern, and behind, on a screen, hung a curtain of old blue-green brocade, the same that formed a background to the beautiful lady. At one end of the long, high-ceilinged room, an old black-walnut press, square and massive supported some vases of Capodimonte and old Ginori ware, and above it was a picture of the Padre Eterno enthroned on clouds, through which the Dove sent golden beams, while a demon leered from a cave in the lower left hand corner. Armchairs andsgabelliof various patterns stood about, over some of them were flung long pieces of drapery, brocades and velvets in soft old shades, some of them ragged and torn, but all a delight to the eye. At the other end of the room an old paintedcorredo-chest, the lid turned up, displayed a tumbled heap of costumes within, over it a panoply of armour flanked by two racks of small arms, decorated the wall. On a large round table paint-brushes and tubes of colour made an untidy litter about a Renaissance jewel-casket of steel damascened with gold, and an ivory crucifix on an ebony stand. A deep recess held a stack of half finished portraits, studies, background sketches, bare stretchers and rolls of canvas. A corresponding recess on the other side of the door had been turned into a dressing-room for the model. On the door-lintel stood a smallécorché, in plaster, and a few heads, hands, feet and anatomical casts. A lay figure on a divan in the corner, emerged wildly from a trail of drapery.
The children wandered about exploring it all with fearful delight, ready to fly at the sound of their father's footstep, for this was forbidden ground, even to Ragna. As time passed and no alarm came, they grew bolder, and presently found themselves standing before the portrait, drawn by its irresistible charm. They stood gazing up at it until suddenly a brilliant idea occurred to Beppino.
"Let'th helpbabbo," he said.
"Babbo will be angry if we touch his things," objected Mimmo, but Beppino was obstinate.
"Me going to helpbabbo," he declared and seized a brush. It happened to be charged with scarlet colour, and left a broad wavering trail over the lady's white skirt. It was too much for Mimmo; he also seized a brush and clambered to the stool Egidio used to sit on when painting.
"You do the dress, Beppino, and I'll do the face! It's too dry, give me that bottle,—I've seen babbo stick his brush in it."
Beppino handed up the desired bottle, and a hard brush dipped in turpentine, gripped firmly in the child's fist was presently scrubbing diligently backwards and forwards over the freshly painted surface. Oily streams ran down from the eyes over cheeks and chin, gobs of impasto spread themselves impartially over the blurred features, the dark of the hair ran down into the face. Face? It was no longer distinguishable as such, and under Beppino's vigorous efforts the white satin of the skirt looked like a Scottish tartan in delirium tremens.
"Beppino," said Mimmo suddenly, in an awed whisper, "her face is coming off!"
It was at this moment that Egidio entered the studio; he saw the children and sprang forward. Beppino, waving his brush, called joyfully,—fear lost in the glory of achievement.
"Babbo! Babbo! we's helping 'oo!"
"Helping indeed!" His eyes roved over the devastated canvas, on which were spread the ruins of his labour of love and a blind fury gripped him.
"Accidento a voi!" he yelled, and the children shrank from his blazing eyes and congested face. He seized the two small culprits by their Van Dyck collars and dragged them over to the side of the room where the armour was. The children, too frightened to cry, struggled, but he held them easily with his left hand while he looked about him for an instrument of punishment; seeing a foil in the rack, he took it down. The first blow brought an agonized scream from both boys, a scream that Carolina heard in the dining-room, where she had just finished laying the table for theirgoûter; and that brought her breathless and with flying feet to the studio door. There she stood a second, horrified by the sight that met her eyes. Egidio, his face distorted like that of a fiend, stood slashing at the children indiscriminately and mercilessly; the poor little things had put up their arms instinctively to shield their faces, and each whistling stroke wrung from them a fresh scream, as it descended. Mimmo's golden curls tossed wildly as he shook in the grasp of the madman—for Egidio at that moment was mad—his lace collar was torn, and on his poor little wrist were cruel marks from which red drops trickled. Being the bigger of the two he partially masked Beppino.
Carolina paused but for the taking in of a breath, then she sprang forward and seized in mid-air the hand wielding the foil. Egidio turned on her with a snarl, infuriated by the interruption.
"Go, woman!" he yelled, "how dare you come here?"
"Stop it!" she answered, "let the children go!"
"I shall punish them as I see fit, I—their father. They have ruined my work, do you hear? My work of weeks! Look!"
She glanced at the portrait and saw that it was smeared but her untutored mind could not grasp the extent of the disaster. The sight of it maddened Valentini again and he made an effort to wrench his hand from her hold.
"Signore," she pleaded, "remember that they are little, they are only babies, they did not know."
"Little are they? They are big enough to ruin my work!Dio santo, they shall smart for it!"
Again he tugged at her restraining hands.
"Be careful girl—when I am through with them you shall have your turn—who do you think you are to interfere with your master?"
He wrenched his arm free with a force that sent her reeling and once more the foil descended.
She flew at him again, her face blanched, her eyes blazing, a new note in her voice.
"Have a care yourself!" she shrieked. "Murderer! Assassin! Help! Help! Murder!"
"Stop that, you fool!" he snarled, but she cried the louder, and he dropped the children to choke her cries.
The white scared faces of Nando and Assunta peering in at the door brought him to his senses and he flung the girl off.
"You pack of fools!" he growled, "take that hysterical idiot away and leave this room! How dare you come here without my orders?"
But Assunta was already by Carolina's side, bending over the children, whose loud sobbing filled the room.
"Take your silly face from that door, Nando!Dio mi strabenedicaif I don't throw the whole crew of you into the street! Am I to have no peace in my own home?"
A sound of steps was heard in the passage; Nando felt a hand on his shoulder thrusting him aside, and Enrico Ferrati entered, glancing about him in astonishment at the scene before him.
"My God, Egidio! What does this mean? What has happened to the children?"
Carolina raised her tear-stained face.
"Ah, Signor Dottore! The good God himself has sent you! Look at these poor innocents, murdered by their father!"
He was kneeling beside them in an instant, examining the welts and cuts on their little necks and hands, feeling them cautiously over—fortunately no bones were broken.
"Take them to their room, my good girl, undress them and put them to bed. I shall come presently—you can put some compresses on these bruises, and wash the cuts with the solution in the big green bottle on the Signora's dressing table. Go, Mimmo caro, go, Beppino mio, Zio Rico is here and will come to you. There now, don't cry! There is nothing to be afraid of, it is all over!"
Carolina took Mimmo in her arms and staggering a little under his weight, led the way, Assunta following with Beppino.
"Go also, my friend," said the Doctor to Nando, "I shall ring if you are wanted."
Nando slunk off in his turn, casting many curious backward glances.
Ferrati waited till the last footstep had died away then he raised his eyes from the foil he had picked up and was fingering.
"And now will you tell me what all this means, Egidio?" he asked quietly.
Valentini shrugged his shoulders sulkily.
"I was merely giving the children a little richly deserved punishment."
"Punishment! They are covered with cuts and welts and bruises! Thank Heaven they are still wearing their thick winter clothes—You might have killed them, Egidio, you would have, if you had not been stopped in time. As it is, it is a miracle that they are not maimed for life! Are you mad to think of touching the tender body of a child with a thing like this?" He bent the flexible blade of the foil, "I tell you that if their clothes had not protected them, you would have cut the flesh of those babies to ribbons!"
"But look, Rico," Valentini burst forth passionately, "look what they have done! I come in here and I find they have ruined my work, the picture that was to make my reputation—and that I shall have no chance to do again, if I could, for she has gone away!"
He wheeled the easel about, and Ferrati gazed aghast on the havoc wrought.
"My God, Egidio," he exclaimed, "this is awful!"
"And yet you blame me for punishing—" he said bitterly, but Ferrati interrupted him.
"You had provocation, I will admit; this is a terrible disappointment. But you are a man, Egidio, and to allow your rage to get the better of you to the extent that you would have murdered—yes,murderedis the word—those innocent children—"
"Innocent!"
"Yes, certainly, innocent. Can you suppose for a minute that a child of that age would be capable of a deliberate act of malice such as this? Think man, think how easily you might have killed them, and how would you have met your wife with their blood on your hands?"
"Oh, Ragna!" said Egidio sneeringly.
"Where is she?"
"I suppose she is gadding about somewhere, as usual."
Valentini looked at him keenly.
"That is another thing, in fact it was that I was coming to you about when I heard Carolina's screams of 'murder'. You are not treating your wife as you should, Egidio, and as I was partly responsible for the marriage, I cannot stand aside and let things go on as they have been doing. As your friend, as the friend of both of you, I feel that I can be silent no longer."
"So she has been to you with her complaints!"
"She has done nothing of the sort; Ragna is not the woman to complain of her husband to anyone—you should know your wife better by this time."
He paused, but Valentini his eyes sulkily fixed on the carpet, merely shrugged his shoulders.
"No, I speak only of what Virginia and I have seen with our own eyes and heard with our own ears. You speak slightingly to Ragna and of her, in public; you humiliate her and make her life unbearable. What you say and do in private I have no means of knowing, but I can see that your wife both fears and hates you."
"She has an impossible character," said Egidio petulantly, like a child taken to task. Ferrati seemed always to have this mysterious power of domination over him, the result, perhaps, of the man's clear-eyed honesty.
"She is pretentious, rebellious against my authority; she is ungrateful for all I have done for her, she lies; I tell you she is impossible."
"Let us talk this over," said Ferrati glad to have at last something definite to take hold of. "I will take you up point by point, and we will find out how much foundation there is for what you say. I believe it is all a misunderstanding."
"It is not, I can't be deceived about my own wife, I know her better than she knows herself."
"There is where you are wrong. Your wife is not perfect—no human being is, but you wilfully blind yourself to her good qualities and exaggerate her defects. Now take this, you call her pretentious," he flung his arms round Valentini's shoulders and forced him to pace slowly up and down the room—"I do not think her so. She is a beautiful woman, she is clever—I have read her publications and they are excellent,—she may have a little weakness for titled friends."
"She fills my house with knaves and fools. She continues to receive people I have forbidden her to see, I won't have it! She—"
"Sh! let me continue, when I have finished you shall say what you have to say. I repeat, you call her pretentious, my opinion and that of everyone who knows her is that she is modest and unassuming. As for her friends—" he wheeled suddenly looking Egidio in the eyes, "what right have you to object to them? Do you suppose your escapades, the way you spend your evenings, to be unknown? This woman, the original of this portrait, what right had you, knowing her for what she is, standing to her in the relation in which you did—what right had you, I say, to bring her here, into the house where your wife lives?"
His voice was like a trumpet-call, and Egidio's eyes fell.
"You say that she rebels against your authority—but if that authority is a tyranny? She is not a child, she is a responsible woman and the day has gone by when a husband's word was law. In virtue of what superior powers do you arrogate to yourself the right to guide and control your wife as though she were a minor child? But if obedience is what you require you must be moderate in your commands, lighten your yoke, fit it to the neck that is to wear it. I don't wonder that Ragna finds your exercise of authority unreasonable. Now for the ingratitude—in what way is she ungrateful? And after all, my dear friend, why should she be grateful, what more have you done for her than she has done for you?" Egidio's jaw dropped. "Your marriage was a contract entered into on both sides with full knowledge of the circumstances. You knew her condition, you knew, for she told you, that she did not love you—you offered her your name and protection in exchange for the advantage of her society. Well, has she not fulfilled her part of the contract? Has she not been a model wife and mother, faithful, true to you in word and deed? Has she not given you a son of whom any man might be proud? What more could you expect of her? Granted that Mimmo—that his presence in the house must be hard at times, but he is a dear affectionate child, whom no one could help loving—and you knew beforehand what you were undertaking. Remember, the child was never foisted on you, as seems sometimes to be your conviction. Here are three of your points disposed of—frankly I cannot see that you have a leg to stand on!"
Egidio opened his mouth to protest but closed it again; indeed what could he say without letting his friend see that it was the loss of Ragna's expected fortune, in hopes of which he had married her, that lay at the root of his grievance. He had so often proclaimed his disinterestedness that he could not very well abandon the position; and more than this he feared Ferrati's condemnation and wished to keep his good opinion. Anything he could say would but put himself in a most unflattering light. Seeing he had no answer to make, Ferrati continued.
"You accuse her of lying—how and when does she lie? I have held her, ever since I first knew her, for the personification of truth."
"Well," said Egidio uneasily, his arraignment of Ragna seemed hard to substantiate, somehow, before this stern judge, "she says she has no housekeeping money when I know she must have. She saves and pinches, to send my money to her pauper family; she gives away the presents I have made her."
"If she chooses to stint herself in order to help her family, and in such a way that the household does not suffer by it, I do not see what you have to complain of. Is it not natural for her to wish to help her own kith and kin? Would not you do the same? And why do you oblige her to ask you for everycentesimo? Why do you insist on even buying her clothes for her instead of letting her do it herself? If you tyrannize over her you must expect that she will develop a slave's vices—but I can still see no evidence of a direct lie on her part; at most, she may be guilty of an occasional, and considering your conduct, most excusable equivocation! Now, my friend, you have come to a turning-point, you must realize that yourself. By your own fault, I don't say consciously—but still by your own actions, you have come to this pass, that the relations between you and your wife, are, by your own admission, impossible—and that you are both of you miserable, and but for outside intervention you would be standing here now a murderer, as a result of your ungovernable temper—the murderer of the children you really love better than anything else in the world. Pull up man! For God's sake, pull up and start out afresh! I know Ragna will meet you half-way. Can't you see where you are going, at this rate?"
Valentini fairly squirmed under his friend's kindly hand. The indictment was terribly severe; it was the first time in his life that anyone had dared speak to him so openly and so authoritatively. It found him unprepared, bereft of his usual armour of carefully arranged appearances. The incident of the children had shaken him more than he cared to admit. If he had but little affection for Mimmo, Beppino was the very apple of his eye; but he would not willingly have done physical harm even to Mimmo. He, in common with many so-called "bad" men, had an instinctive love of children and animals and in spite of his violent temper nearly always won their affection. He was shocked to think to what his violence had led him—so much so that he could hardly believe it. Indeed had there been no witnesses he would have denied his action and in a short time would positively have persuaded himself that no such thing had taken place. He was not a man, however, to acknowledge himself in the wrong and Ferrati knew him well enough, not to expect it of him; it was enough that he should answer, as he presently did:
"My life, certainly, is anything but happy. A man generally looks forward to finding at least peace in his own home, but that has not been my lot—although if ever a man slaved from morning to night and gave up everything for his family, I am that man!"
It was quite true that he worked hard, but he would have worked equally hard with no family to provide for, industry was in the nature of the man.
"However, ungrateful though they be,Ishall keep on. I was a fool to get married, I see that now, if it had not been for that attack of typhoid—but I shall keep on sacrificing myself, I can't help it, I am never happy unless I am doing something for others. What do I care for money for myself?"
He threw out his arms in a noble gesture, at which Ferrati could not help smiling.
"I must think of the future of the children! By the way," he added almost shamefacedly, taking Ferrati's arm, "let us go to them and see that they have taken no harm—you see I don't bear malice—"
"Let us finish all that there is to say first," said Ferrati, anxious to wring some concession for Ragna from this unusually promising occasion. "We were talking of your wife."
"Oh, well, yes, Ragna. She was most insolent to me last night, mad with jealousy and perfectly insufferable—you don't know what it is, Rico, to have a jealous wife! just think, she imagined some perfectly ridiculous thing between me and that slattern, Carolina. It seems impossible to have so littlecriterio. You wouldn't believe, Rico, the things she said! She almost got the better of my patience!" Ferrati smiled grimly. "We had more words this morning and in a fit of rage she said she would leave me, and I told her to go—a quel paese.Peggio per lei!"
His voice rose as he found a vent for his repressed feelings, he almost forgot Ferrati's presence in the joy of shifting to other shoulders the blame which in his heart he knew to be his. He paused, drawn to his full height, his eyes burning.
"It is always the same story 'put a beggar on horseback and he'll ride to the Devil!' I married her out of the gutter—"
"I beg your pardon, Egidio," broke in Ferrati's stern voice, "you did no such thing and if you set any value on my friendship, you will never repeat those words."
Valentini cast a furtive side glance at him.
"Oh, well, have it as you will. I married hercolla camicia—it amounts to the same—she has nothing of her own, so the worse for her if she goes off, as she will soon find out. Then she will beg to be taken back and I won't, I swear I won't."
"What!" cried Ferrati horrified, "do you mean to say you have actually driven away your wife, the mother of your child?"
"If she went it was of her own accord."
"Then she has gone?"
Had he come too late? Had Ragna actually found courage to throw off her bondage?
"When I came in, Assunta told me that the padrona had Nando call her a carriage just after luncheon, and she has not come back yet."
Suddenly he flung himself on a chair by the table, his fingers clutching his hair, prey to a violent fit of self-pity.
"Oh, Rico, I am the unhappiest man on the earth! My wife, the woman for whom I sacrificed my whole life, has deserted me! The base ingratitude, the heartlessness of it! Think of a woman deserting her husband and children! My head will burst with the strain of it all. Oh, why was I such a fool as to marry? And a woman like that! All my life is sorrow and disappointment andgratta-capi."
He was thoroughly unstrung. He had never thought that Ragna would take him at his word when he bade her begone, but by now he had thoroughly convinced himself that she was gone, and his little world rocked on its foundations. Most of all, he was sorry for himself, he felt ill-used and sore.
Ferrati seated himself, facing Valentini across the table; he spoke, and his voice was incisive and authoritative.
"Do you realize what you have done? You have accused your wife of jealousy, but I know, and all Florence knows, Egidio, that she has good reason to be. However, she is patient and bears with it all until you outrage every sense of decency by running after her own maid in her own house—you need not deny it, I have seen the way you look at Carolina. Then because she dares reproach you with your conduct you drive her away, for that is what it amounts to. Do you realize what this means to you? Your wife is loved and respected here, and when the story of her leaving you comes out, as it surely will—what will the world say of you?"
He had deliberately touched the chord of Egidio's susceptibility to public opinion, the one to which he responded most readily.
"The world knows me, I am not afraid of the world—it is Ragna who will be condemned."
"Ah, there you are wrong, the world is not so easily hoodwinked as you choose to think; there are more whispers afloat as to your conduct than you dream of. There are a number of people already, who accept you only on your wife's account, and if that were not enough,Iam here," he drew himself up, his stern eyes fixed on Valentini, "if I am questioned, as I am sure to be, I shall answer the truth!"
Valentini bounded on his chair.
"I thought you were my friend—a nice one you are indeed! I have nourished a viper in my bosom—I—"
"I am your friend, Egidio, your best friend, if you only knew it, for I am the only one who dares speak the truth to you without fear or favour. But my friendship cannot compel me to deceit to an unworthy end. I shall tell the truth to the world, and you, Egidio, must make that truth such that it may be told without shame to yourself. You must persuade your wife to come back."
"Persuade her, humble myself to her? Never."
But Ferrati had seen the wavering in his eyes,
"Well, then, leave the 'persuasion' to me."
"You can tell her that I am willing to forgive her, if you like, that I am willing to consider that nothing has come between us—See, I am ready to make concessions, to add one more sacrifice—"
The battle was won, or at least as far as Valentini was concerned; the vague stirring of regret for his violence, the fear of his friend's judgment, the thought of his life without the comforts of a well-ordered home—even the thought of losing Ragna herself, although she had come to be but asouffre douleur, had undermined his obstinacy, and the threat of the condemnation of society had been the finishing touch. His declaration of his willingness to "forgive" his wife was, however, all that he could be brought to admit, as Ferrati well knew. It must be taken as the capitulation it signified, and acted upon without further discussion. Remained the problem of Ragna; where was she? Would she return? And, above all, could she be persuaded to resume the burden of Valentini's ill-humour? At least Ferrati intended that she should have the assurance of his friendship and his help in future, for now, after this revealing scene with Valentini he had the weapons for her protection ready to hand.
"Ebbene?" asked Valentini impatiently, anxious to put an end to the interview. "Are you or are you not going to see the children?"
"Of course!" said Ferrati, rising, "poor little things, I had almost forgotten them! But," he added, sharply, turning to the other who was preparing to accompany him, "you must stop here, the sight of you might throw them into convulsions. Wait here, Egidio, and I will come down and report to you when I have seen them."
"Oh, very well," growled Egidio, his mouth twitching with discomfiture, "have it your own way!"
He thrust his hands into his trousers' pockets and slouched moodily up and down the studio. It had been a most unpleasant day for him, the culminating point of many, and the worst of it was he had come out of it with anything but flying colours. The curious part of it was that he felt weak, back-boneless, his rage had burnt itself out—for the time. He could not understand it. He lit atoscanoand chewed it meditatively as he marched up and down. The fact was that the interview with Ferrati had cowed him; like all bullies he was a coward at heart and his friend's fearless condemnation had as effectually crushed him as physical chastisement would have done. He had met one stronger than himself, and was obliged to recognize the fact. In an astonishingly mild humour, he awaited events.
Ferrati found the children in bed, reeking of the arnica with which Carolina and Assunta had been bathing their bruises.
"Signor Dottore!" cried Carolina, as he entered, "their poor little bodies are striped like zebras! If the Santissima Madonna and Gesù Bambino had not protected them they would have been killed!"
Both children burst out sobbing at this rehearsal of their woes, and Ferrati had some ado to make himself heard.
"Now then! Now then!" he said, "there will be a treat to-morrow for good boys who don't cry! Be little men, don't let these women see you sobbing like babies!" He waved his hand laughingly "Who's my good boy? Let us see which of you can stop first!"
"I want my mammina!" sobbed Mimmo.
"I wants her too!" echoed Beppino.
"Ah, già, where is the Signora?" Ferrati asked turning to Assunta.
"Ma chi lo sa, Sor Dottore?" she answered in some confusion, busying herself about Beppino's cot. "She has gone out."
"But where?"
"How should I know? The Signora's affairs are not mine! Nando said she told thefiaccheraioto drive to the Grand Hotel, but more than that I do not know."
Ferrati knitted his brows—the Grand Hotel! She must have gone there to meet someone, for it was too expensive and fashionable a hostelry as well as too much in the public eye, for her to have chosen had she merely been seeking other lodgings than her husband's house. The children had ceased crying and were watching him intently as were also the women.
He set about bandaging the little wrists where they had been cut, still in silence. When he had finished he turned to Carolina:
"Keep the children quiet, you can go on with the arnica. In half an hour you can give them a bowl of milk each, or a little broth.Addio bimbi!" kissing them each in turn, "to-morrow Zia Virginia and I will bring you a treat if you are good."
"Zio Rico!" called Mimmo as Ferrati reached the door.
"Yes, caro?"
"You won't lethimcome up?"
"No, caro, he shan't come to-night."
"And Zio, I want my mammina."
"Cuor mio, I am going to look for your mammina now. When I find her I shall fetch her to you."
"That's right, as soon as she knows we want her she'll come, won't she, Zio?"
"Sicuro!" answered Ferrati cheerfully—Would he be able to find her though, and would it be in time?
It seemed that the two women read his thoughts for they exchanged a significant glance.
Ferrati, however, had not far to go, for as he descended the stairs he met Ragna coming up, alarm and anxiety writ large on her face, though her eyes were still starry and her cheeks aflame with the joy of the afternoon.
"Are they—tell me, are they—?" she gasped.
"They are not badly hurt," he said soothingly.
"Let me by, let me go to them!" her breath came in swift pants, her bosom heaved.
He took her arm firmly.
"Come now, Ragna, calm yourself. You can't go to them like this, you would excite them and do them harm; you must not!"
"Ah, but you don't know how nearly I—" she exclaimed, and wrenching her arm free sped up the stairs and into the nursery where she flung herself between the cots, sobbing convulsively.
Ferrati stood on the stair gazing after her a moment, then followed her slowly. He looked in through the nursery door and saw her, one arm across either cot, her face hidden, her shoulders shaking with sobs, her hat awry, and Mimmo patting her neck and stray locks of hair with his little bandaged hand, while Beppino on the other side, cuddled close to her protecting arm.
Carolina with fine intuition made a sign to Assunta, and they withdrew noiselessly, leaving their mistress alone with her children.
"We knowed 'oo would come," said Beppino contentedly.
A great wave of emotion had Ragna on its crest, carrying her on, unresisting. She felt dominant within her the powerful impulse of renunciation, it overwhelmed all else. Words Ferrati had spoken to her in Venice, long ago, rang in her ears. "Remember that you are not only a woman, you are a mother, your duty is towards your child, you have no right to cheat him of what should be his!" For the first time she actually realised that Beppino too was her child, bone of her bone and flesh of her flesh as was Mimmo. Hitherto she had always looked on him as altogether his father's, as remote from her personally, and her hatred of the father had been continued in indifference towards the child. Now as she felt the helpless little body lying close within her arm, as she heard the soft little voice lisp out words of confidence, her innermost being stirred at recognition of his oneness with her. But to renounce happiness, to renounce Angelescu! The dark waters of despair engulfed her, she sank down and down—it had been bad enough before, but what would be the torment of life now, without him? How could she give him up, just as she had found him? Her entire being, body and spirit, recoiled from the thought of re-entering that prison from which she had so lately thought to escape forever. For one wild moment the impulse seized her to wrap up the children and carry them off with her. Her fingers twitched feverishly at the bed-clothes. Then the recollection came to her of how Angelescu had involuntarily recoiled at mention of the children. He had not meant her to see it, she knew that, she knew also that he would be unfailingly kind and considerate—but at what cost to himself, to their love? Would she not be preparing a worse torment for both of them? A pale dawn broke on the night of her thoughts; she saw herself no longer as an individual, as a personality warring against circumstance, rebellious towards fate, but rather as an integral part of Fate, a particle of elementary force given in the service of these young lives for their guidance and protection. She saw her task as a mother as she had not yet understood it and in the light of the new vision stood prepared to strip herself of all selfish attributes, of pride and the desire for happiness. Yet she saw it without exaltation, her sacrifice stood in the cold light of the commonplace, a natural sequence of her enlarged understanding. The chill weight of the years before her settled down on her shoulders, but she accepted that weight, bent her neck consciously and consentingly to the unwelcome yoke. Unwelcome it would be, but no longer galling as in the past, she knew in her soul that in the instant of her renunciation, she had passed beyond Egidio's power to hurt her,—at least more than superficially, he had shrunk to insignificance. Never again would she be afraid of him, or stirred to anger on her own account by his vulgar insults.
Mimmo broke in upon her train of thought, she heard his sweet voice in her ear:
"Mammina you have come back to us, you will never leave us again?Di! mammina, mai più?"
She raised her head and kissing him, answered smiling:
"No,cuoricino mio, mai più."
She rose to her feet straightening her hat mechanically as she did so, then as she became conscious of its existence, drew out the long pins, folded up her veil, removed the hat and laid it on the table. There was a finality in her action that struck Ferrati, and when she turned towards him her face startled him, so pale was it, so calm, so stamped with thoughtful decision.
"Ah, you are there, my friend," she said.
"Yes," he answered simply, adding, "I am going home now."
"Ishedownstairs?"
"Yes, in the studio, very much subdued. I shall see him on my way out. Be as kind to him as you can—he is disposed to meet you half way."
A faint ironical smile crept over her face, then faded leaving it in its former marble like calm. She made no direct answer.
"After all life is a question of compromises."
He started—this from Ragna!
"You look surprised, my friend—I have grown older, and let us hope, wiser, since morning."
He made no comment, and turned to go.
"Wait a minute," she said, calling him back, "I should like you to leave a note for me at the Grand Hotel, if it is not out of your way."
The Grand Hotel!
"Not at all," he answered, "Command me in any way, I am entirely at your service."
The sincerity of the words pleased her, but she was past feeling much, for the moment. She signed to him to wait so he sat down and watched Carolina feeding the children with a bowl of milk she had just brought.
Presently Ragna returned and handed him an envelope; within were these words:—
"My Dear One,—"The children claim me, I cannot go,—if I were false to them I should be false to myself and to you. We were wrong to-day when we imagined that we could cut a path for ourselves in spite of circumstance. So we must part. I shall never see you again, but remember that as I was yours to-day, so shall I be throughout the years to come. Your love has set me free, the material world exists for me now but as a dream—I have achieved through you the ultimate emancipation, not death, but freedom from the material circumstances of life. What matters the fate of that charnel house, my body? My spirit is yours, nothing can prevent that. Good-bye, my soul, my life."Ragna."
"My Dear One,—
"The children claim me, I cannot go,—if I were false to them I should be false to myself and to you. We were wrong to-day when we imagined that we could cut a path for ourselves in spite of circumstance. So we must part. I shall never see you again, but remember that as I was yours to-day, so shall I be throughout the years to come. Your love has set me free, the material world exists for me now but as a dream—I have achieved through you the ultimate emancipation, not death, but freedom from the material circumstances of life. What matters the fate of that charnel house, my body? My spirit is yours, nothing can prevent that. Good-bye, my soul, my life.
"Ragna."
The envelope was addressed to Count Angelescu, Grand Hotel, Città.
Ferrati, taking the letter, glanced at the superscription; his instinct divined the truth, but like the wise man he was, he gave no sign. Only, he lifted Ragna's hand and pressed his lips upon it with the reverence he would have accorded a saint.
As he left the room he turned on the threshold, and the picture he saw: Ragna very pale but consummately calm, leaning on the foot of one of the cots, gazing down at the children, a faint smile parting her lips, her dark-circled eyes shaded by the long lashes, remained with him to the end of his life.