II.
_By Salvator Rosa's intervention Antonio Scacciati attains to a highhonour. Antonio discloses the cause of his persistent trouble toSalvator, who consoles him and promises to help him._
And Antonio's words proved true. The simple but salutary remedies ofFather Boniface, the careful nursing of good Dame Caterina and herdaughters, the warmer weather which now came--all co-operated so welltogether with Salvator's naturally robust constitution that he soonfelt sufficiently well to think about work again; first of all hedesigned a few sketches which he thought of working out afterwards.
Antonio scarcely ever left Salvator's room; he was all eyes when thepainter drew out his sketches; whilst his judgment in respect to manypoints showed that he must have been initiated into the secrets of art.
"See here," said Salvator to him one day, "see here, Antonio, youunderstand art matters so well that I believe you have not merelycultivated your excellent judgment as a critic, but must have wieldedthe brush as well."
"You will remember," rejoined Antonio, "how I told you, my dear sir,when you were just about coming to yourself again after your longunconsciousness, that I had several things to tell you which lay heavyon my mind. Now is the time for me to unfold all my heart to you. Youmust know then, that though I am called Antonio Scacciati, thechirurgeon, who opened the vein in your arm for you, I belong alsoentirely to art--to the art which, after bidding eternal farewell to myhateful trade, I intend to devote myself for once and for all."
"Ho! ho!" exclaimed Salvator, "Ho! ho! Antonio, weigh well what you areabout to do. You are a clever chirurgeon, and perhaps will never beanything more than a bungling painter all your life long; for, withyour permission, as young as you are, you are decidedly too old tobegin to use the charcoal now. Believe me, a man's whole lifetime isscarce long enough to acquire a knowledge of the True--still less thepractical ability to represent it."
"Ah! but, my dear sir," replied Antonio, smiling blandly, "don'timagine that I should now have come to entertain the foolish idea oftaking up the difficult art of painting had I not practised it alreadyon every possible occasion from my very childhood. In spite of the factthat my father obstinately kept me away from everything connected withart, yet Heaven was graciously pleased to throw me in the way of somecelebrated artists. I must tell you that the great Annibal[2.1]interested himself in the orphan boy, and also that I may with justicecall myself Guido Reni's[2.2] pupil."
"Well then," said Salvator somewhat sharply, a way of speaking hesometimes had, "well then, my good Antonio, you have indeed had greatmasters, and so it cannot fail but that, without detriment to yoursurgical practice, you must have been a great pupil. Only I don'tunderstand how you, a faithful disciple of the gentle, elegant Guido,whom you perhaps outdo in elegance in your own pictures--for pupils dodo those sort of things in their enthusiasm--how you can find anypleasure in my productions, and can really regard me as a master in theArt."
At these words, which indeed sounded a good deal like derisive mockery,the hot blood rushed into the young man's face.
"Oh, let me lay aside all the diffidence which generally keeps my lipsclosed," he said, "and let me frankly lay bare the thoughts I have inmy mind. I tell you, Salvator, I have never honoured any master fromthe depths of my soul as I do you. What I am amazed at in your works isthe sublime greatness of conception which is often revealed You graspthe deepest secrets of Nature: you comprehend the mysterioushieroglyphics of her rocks, of her trees, and of her waterfalls, youhear her sacred voice, you understand her language, and possess thepower to write down what she has said to you. Verily I can call yourbold free style of painting nothing else than writing down. Man aloneand his doings does not suffice you; you behold him only in the midstof Nature, and in so far as his essential character is conditioned bynatural phenomena; and in these facts I see the reason why you are onlytruly great in landscapes, Salvator, with their wonderful figures.Historical painting confines you within limits which clog yourimagination to the detriment of your genius for reproducing your higherintuitions of Nature."
"That's talk you've picked up from envious historical painters," saidSalvator, interrupting his young companion; "like them, Antonio, youthrow me the choice bone of landscape-painting that I may gnaw away atit, and so spare their own good flesh. Perhaps I do understand thehuman figure and all that is dependent upon it. But this senselessrepetition of others' words"----
"Don't be angry," continued Antonio, "don't be angry, my good sir; I amnot blindly repeating anybody's words, and I should not for a momentthink of trusting to the judgment of our painters here in Rome at anyrate. Who can help greatly admiring the bold draughtsmanship, thepowerful expression, but above all the living movement of your fingers?It's plain to see that you don't work from a stiff, inflexible model,or even from a dead skeleton form; it is evident that you yourself areyour own breathing, living model, and that when you sketch or paint,you have the figure you want to put on your canvas reflected in a greatmirror opposite to you."
"The devil! Antonio," exclaimed Salvator, laughing, "I believe you mustoften have had a peep into my studio when I was not aware of it, sinceyou have such an accurate knowledge of what goes on within."
"Perhaps I may," replied Antonio; "but let me go on. I am not by a longway so anxious to classify, the pictures which your powerful mindsuggests to you as are those pedantic critics who take such great painsin this line. In fact, I think that the word 'landscape,' as generallyemployed, has but an indifferent application to your productions; Ishould prefer to call them historical representations in the highestsense of the word. If we fancy that this or the other rock or this orthe other tree is gazing at us like a gigantic being with thoughtfulearnest eyes, so again, on the other hand, this or the other group offantastically attired men resembles some remarkable stone which hasbeen endowed with life; all Nature, breathing and moving in harmoniousunity, lends accents to the sublime thought which leapt into existencein your mind. This is the spirit in which I have studied your pictures,and so in this way it is, my grand and noble master, that I owe to youmy truer perceptions in matters of art. But pray don't imagine that Ihave fallen into childish imitation. However much I would like topossess the free bold pencil that you possess, I do not attempt toconceal the fact that Nature's colours appear to me different from whatI see them in your pictures. Although it is useful, I think, for thesake of acquiring technique, for the pupil to imitate the style of thisor that master, yet, so soon as he comes to stand in any sense on hisown feet, he ought to aim at representing Nature as he himself seesher. Nothing but this true method of perception, this unity withoneself, can give rise to character and truth. Guido shared thesesentiments; and that fiery man Preti,[2.3] who, as you are aware, iscalled _Il Calabrese_--a painter who certainly, more than any otherman, has reflected upon his art--also warned me against all imitation.Now you know, Salvator, why I so much respect you, without imitatingyou."
Whilst the young man had been speaking, Salvator had kept his eyesfixed unchangeably upon him; he now clasped him tumultuously to hisheart.
"Antonio," he then said, "what you have just now said are wise andthoughtful words. Young as you are, you are nevertheless, so far as thetrue perception of art is concerned, a long way ahead of many of ourold and much vaunted masters, who have a good deal of stupid foolishtwaddle about their painting, but never get at the true root of thematter. Body alive, man! When you were talking about my pictures, Ithen began to understand myself for the first time, I believe; andbecause you do not imitate my style,--do not, like a good many others,take a tube of black paint in your hand, or dab on a few glaringcolours, or even make two or three crippled figures with repulsivefaces look up from the midst of filth and dirt, and then say, 'There'sa Salvator for you!'--just for these very reasons I think a good dealof you. I tell you, my lad, you'll not find a more faithful friend thanI am--that I can promise you with all my heart and soul."
Antonio was beside himself with joy at the
kind way in which the greatpainter thus testified to his interest in him. Salvator expressed anearnest desire to see his pictures. Antonio took him there and then tohis studio.
Salvator had in truth expected to find something fairly good from theyoung man who spoke so intelligently about art, and who, it appeared,had a good deal in him; but nevertheless he was greatly surprised atthe sight of Antonio's fine pictures. Everywhere he found boldness inconception, and correctness in drawing; and the freshness of thecolouring, the good taste in the arrangement of the drapery, theuncommon delicacy of the extremities, the exquisite grace of the heads,were all so many evidences that he was no unworthy pupil of the greatReni. But Antonio had avoided this master's besetting sin of anendeavour, only too conspicuous, to sacrifice expression to beauty. Itwas plain that Antonio was aiming to reach Annibal's strength, withouthaving as yet succeeded.
Salvator spent some considerable time of thoughtful silence in theexamination of each of the pictures. Then he said, "Listen, Antonio: itis indeed undeniable that you were born to follow the noble art ofpainting. For not only has Nature endowed you with the creative spiritfrom which the finest thoughts pour forth in an inexhaustible stream,but she has also granted you the rare ability to surmount in a shortspace of time the difficulties of technique. It would only be falseflattery if I were to tell you that you had yet advanced to the levelof your masters, that you are yet equal to Guido's exquisite grace orto Annibal's strength; but certain I am that you excel by a long wayall the painters who hold up their heads so proudly in the Academy ofSt. Luke[2.4] here--Tiarini,[2.5] Gessi,[2.6] Sementa,[2.7] and allthe rest of them, not even excepting Lanfranco[2.8] himself, for heonly understands fresco-painting. And yet, Antonio, and yet, if I werein your place, I should deliberate awhile before throwing away thelancet altogether, and confining myself entirely to the pencil Thatsounds rather strange, but listen to me. Art seems to be having a badtime of it just now, or rather the devil seems to be very busy amongstour painters now-a-days, bravely setting them together by the ears. Ifyou cannot make up your mind to put up with all sorts of annoyances, toendure more and more scorn and contumely in proportion as you advancein art, and as your fame spreads to meet with malicious scoundrelseverywhere, who with a friendly face will force themselves upon you inorder to ruin you the more surely afterwards,--if you cannot, I say,make up your mind to endure all this--let painting alone. Think of thefate of your teacher, the great Annibal, whom a rascally band of rivalsmalignantly persecuted in Naples, so that he did not receive one singlecommission for a great work, being everywhere rejected with contempt;and this is said to have been instrumental in bringing about his earlydeath. Think of what happened to Domenichino[2.9] when he was paintingthe dome of the chapel of St. Januarius. Didn't the villains ofpainters--I won't mention a single name, not even the rascalsBelisario[2.10] and Ribera[2.11]--didn't they bribe Domenichino'sservant to strew ashes in the lime? So the plaster wouldn't stick faston the walls, and the painting had no stability. Think of all that, andexamine yourself well whether your spirit is strong enough to endurethings like that, for if not, your artistic power will be broken, andalong with the resolute courage for work you will also lose yourability."
"But, Salvator," replied Antonio, "it would hardly be possible for meto have more scorn and contumely to endure, supposing I took uppainting entirely and exclusively, then I have already endured whilstmerely a chirurgeon. You have been pleased with my pictures, you haveindeed! and at the same time declared from inner conviction that I amcapable of doing better things than several of our painters of theAcademy. But these are just the men who turn up their noses at all thatI have industriously produced, and say contemptuously, 'Do look, here'sour chirurgeon wants to be a painter!' And for this very reason myresolve is only the more unshaken; I will sever myself from a tradethat grows with every day more hateful. Upon you, my honoured master, Inow stake all my hopes. Your word is powerful; if you would speak agood word for me, you might overthrow my envious persecutors at asingle blow, and put me in the place where I ought to be."
"You repose great confidence in me," rejoined Salvator. "But now thatwe thoroughly understand each other's views on painting, and I haveseen your works, I don't really know that there is anybody for whom Iwould rather take up the cudgels than for you."
Salvator once more inspected Antonio's pictures, and stopped before onerepresenting a "Magdalene at the Saviour's feet," which he especiallypraised.
"In this Magdalene," he said, "you have deviated from the usual mode ofrepresentation. Your Magdalene is not a thoughtful virgin, but a lovelyartless child rather, and yet she is such a marvellous child thathardly anybody else but Guido could have painted her. There is a uniquecharm in her dainty figure; you must have painted with inspiration;and, if I mistake not, the original of this Magdalene is alive and tobe found in Rome. Come, confess, Antonio, you are in love!"
Antonio's eyes sought the ground, whilst he said in a low shy voice,"Nothing escapes your penetration, my dear sir; perhaps it is as yousay, but do not blame me for it. That picture I set the highest storeby, and hitherto I have guarded it as a holy secret from all men'seyes."
"What do you say?" interrupted Salvator. "None of the painters herehave seen your picture?"
"No, not one," was Antonio's reply.
"All right then, Antonio," continued Salvator, his eyes sparkling withdelight "Very well then, you may rely upon it, I will overwhelm yourenvious overweening persecutors, and get you the honour you deserve.Intrust your picture to me; bring it to my studio secretly by night,and then leave all the rest to me. Will you do so?"
"Gladly, with all my heart," replied Antonio. "And now I should verymuch like to talk to you about my love-troubles as well; but I feel asif I ought not to do so to-day, after we have opened our minds to eachother on the subject of art. I also entreat you to grant me yourassistance both in word and deed later on in this matter of my love."
"I am at your service," said Salvator, "for both, both when and whereyou require me." Then as he was going away, he once more turned roundand said, smiling, "See here, Antonio, when you disclosed to me thefact that you were a painter, I was very sorry that I had spoken aboutyour resemblance to Sanzio. I took it for granted that you were assilly as most of our young folk, who, if they bear but the slightestresemblance in the face to any great master, at once trim their beardor hair as he does, and from this cause fancy it is their business toimitate the style of the master in their art achievements, even thoughit is a manifest violation of their natural talents to do so. Neitherof us has mentioned Raphael's name, but I assure you that I havediscerned in your pictures clear indications that you have grasped thefull significance of the inimitable thoughts which are reflected in theworks of this the greatest of the painters of the age. You understandRaphael, and would give me a different answer from what Velasquez[2.12]did when I asked him not long ago what he thought of Sanzio. 'Titian,'he replied, 'is the greatest painter; Raphael knows nothing aboutcarnation.' This Spaniard, methinks, understands flesh but notcriticism; and yet these men in St. Luke elevate him to the cloudsbecause he once painted cherries which the sparrows picked at."[2.13]
It happened not many days afterwards that the Academicians of St. Lukemet together in their church to prove the works which had beenannounced for exhibition. There too Salvator had sent Scacciati's finepicture. In spite of themselves the painters were greatly struck withits grace and power; and from all lips there was heard nothing but themost extravagant praise when Salvator informed them that he had broughtthe picture with him from Naples, as the legacy of a young painter whohad been cut off in the pride of his days.
It was not long before all Rome was crowding to see and admire thepicture of the young unknown painter who had died so young; it wasunanimously agreed that no such work had been done since Guido Reni'stime; some even went so far in their just enthusiasm as to place thisexquisitely lovely Magdalene before Guido's creations of a similarkind. Amongst the crowd of people who were always gathered roundS
cacciati's picture, Salvator one day observed a man who, besidespresenting a most extraordinary appearance, behaved as if he werecrazy. Well advanced in years, he was tall, thin as a spindle, with apale face, a long sharp nose, a chin equally as long, ending moreoverin a little pointed beard, and with grey, gleaming eyes. On the top ofhis light sand-coloured wig he had set a high hat with a magnificentfeather; he wore a short dark red mantle or cape with many brightbuttons, a sky-blue doublet slashed in the Spanish style, immenseleather gauntlets with silver fringes, a long rapier at his side, lightgrey stockings drawn up above his bony knees and gartered with yellowribbons, whilst he had bows of the same sort of yellow ribbon on hisshoes.
This remarkable figure was standing before the picture like oneenraptured: he raised himself on tiptoe; he stooped down till he becamequite small; then he jumped up with both feet at once, heaved deepsighs, groaned, nipped his eyes so close together that the tears beganto trickle down his cheeks, opened them wide again, fixed his gazeimmovably upon the charming Magdalene, sighed again, lisped in a thin,querulous, mutilated voice, "_Ah! carissima--benedettissima! Ah!Marianna--Mariannina--bellissima_," &c. ("Oh! dearest--most adored! Ah!Marianna--sweet Marianna! my most beautiful!") Salvator, who had a madfancy for such oddities, drew near to the old fellow, intending toengage him in conversation about Scacciati's work, which seemed toafford him so much exquisite delight Without paying any particular heedto Salvator, the old gentleman stood cursing his poverty, because hecould not give a million sequins for the picture, and place it underlock and key where nobody could set their infernal eyes upon it. Then,hopping up and down again, he blessed the Virgin and all the holysaints that the reprobate artist who had painted the heavenly picturewhich was driving him to despair and madness was dead.
Salvator concluded that the man either was out of his mind, or was anAcademician of St. Luke with whom he was unacquainted.
All Rome was full of Scacciati's wonderful picture; people couldscarcely talk about anything else, and this of course was convincingproof of the excellence of the work. And when the painters were againassembled in the church of St. Luke, to decide about the admission ofcertain other pictures which had been announced for exhibition,Salvator Rosa all at once asked, whether the painter of the "Magdaleneat the Saviour's Feet" was not worthy of being admitted a member of theAcademy. They all with one accord, including even that hairsplitter incriticism, Baron Josepin,[2.14] declared that such a great artist wouldhave been an ornament to the Academy, and expressed their sorrow at hisdeath in the choicest phrases, although, like the crazy old man, theywere praising Heaven in their hearts that he was dead. Still more, theywere so far carried away by their enthusiasm that they passed aresolution to the effect that the admirable young painter whom deathhad snatched away from art so early should be nominated a member of theAcademy in his grave, and that masses should be read for the benefit ofhis soul in the church of St. Luke. They therefore begged Salvator toinform them what was the full name of the deceased, the date of hisbirth, the place where he was born, &c.
Then Salvator rose and said in a loud voice, "Signors, the honour youare anxious to render to a dead man you can more easily bestow upon aliving man who walks in your midst. Learn that the 'Magdalene at theSaviour's Feet'--the picture which you so justly exalt above all otherartistic productions that the last few years have given us, is not thework of a dead Neapolitan painter as I pretended (this I did simply toget an unbiassed judgment from you); that painting, that masterpiece,which all Rome is admiring, is from the hand of Signor AntonioScacciati, the chirurgeon."
The painters sat staring at Salvator as if suddenly thunderstruck,incapable of either moving or uttering a single sound. He, however,after quietly exulting over their embarrassment for some minutes,continued, "Well now, signors, you would not tolerate the worthyAntonio amongst you because he is a chirurgeon; but I think that theillustrious Academy of St. Luke has great need of a surgeon to set thelimbs of the many crippled figures which emerge from the studios of agood many amongst your number. But of course you will no longer scrupleto do what you ought to have done long ago, namely, elect thatexcellent painter Antonio Scacciati a member of the Academy."
The Academicians, swallowing Salvator's bitter pill, feigned to behighly delighted that Antonio had in this way given such incontestableproofs of his talent, and with all due ceremony nominated him a memberof the Academy.
As soon as it became known in Rome that Antonio was the author of thewonderful picture he was overwhelmed with congratulations, and evenwith commissions for great works, which poured in upon him from allsides. Thus by Salvator's shrewd and cunning stratagem the young manemerged all at once out of his obscurity, and with the first real stephe took on his artistic career rose to great honour.
Antonio revelled in ecstasies of delight. So much the more thereforedid Salvator wonder to see him, some days later, appear with his facepale and distorted, utterly miserable and woebegone. "Ah! Salvator!"said Antonio, "what advantage has it been to me that you have helped meto rise to a level far beyond my expectations, that I am nowoverwhelmed with praise and honour, that the prospect of a mostsuccessful artistic career is opening out before me? Oh! I am utterlymiserable, for the picture to which, next to you, my dear sir, I owe mygreat triumph, has proved the source of my lasting misfortune."
"Stop!" replied Salvator, "don't sin against either your art or yourpicture. I don't believe a word about the terrible misfortune which,you say, has befallen you. You are in love, and I presume you can't getall your wishes gratified at once, on the spur of the moment; that'sall it is. Lovers are like children; they scream and cry if anybodyonly just touches their doll. Have done, I pray you, with thatlamentation, for I tell you I can't do with it. Come now, sit yourselfdown there and quietly tell me all about your fair Magdalene, and giveme the history of your love affair, and let me know what are the stonesof offence that we have to remove, for I promise you my helpbeforehand. The more adventurous the schemes are which we shall have toundertake, the more I shall like them. In fact, my blood is coursinghotly in my veins again, and my regimen requires that I engage in a fewwild pranks. But go on with your story, Antonio, and as I said, let'shave it quietly without any sighs and lamentations, without any Ohs!and Ahs!"
Antonio took his seat on the stool which Salvator had pushed up to theeasel at which he was working, and began as follows:--
"There is a high house in the Via Ripetta,[2.15] with a balcony whichprojects far over the street so as at once to strike the eye of any oneentering through the Porta del Popolo, and there dwells perhaps themost whimsical oddity in all Rome,--an old bachelor with every faultthat belongs to that class of persons--avaricious, vain, anxious toappear young, amorous, foppish. He is tall, as thin as a switch, wearsa gay Spanish costume, a sandy wig, a conical hat, leather gauntlets, arapier at his side"----
"Stop, stop!" cried Salvator, interrupting him, "excuse me a minute ortwo, Antonio." Then, turning about the picture at which he waspainting, he seized his charcoal and in a few free bold strokessketched on the back side of the canvas the eccentric old gentlemanwhom he had seen behaving like a crazed man in front of Antonio'spicture.
"By all the saints!" cried Antonio, as he leapt to his feet, and,forgetful of his unhappiness, burst out into a loud laugh, "by all thesaints! that's he! That's Signor Pasquale Capuzzi, whom I was justdescribing, that's he to the very T."
"So you see," said Salvator calmly, "that I am already acquainted withthe worthy gentleman who most probably is your bitter enemy. But goon."
"Signor Pasquale Capuzzi," continued Antonio, "is as rich as Cr[oe]sus,but at the same time, as I just told you, a sordid miser and anincurable coxcomb. The best thing about him is that he loves art,particularly music and painting; but he mixes up so much folly with itall that even in these things there's no getting on with him. Heconsiders himself the greatest musical composer in the world, and thatthere's not a singer in the Papal choir who can at all approach him.Accordingly he looks down upon our old Frescoba
ldi[2.16] with contempt;and when the Romans talk about the wonderful charm of Ceccarelli'svoice, he informs them that Ceccarelli knows as much about singing as apair of top-boots, and that he, Capuzzi, knows which is the right wayto fascinate the public. But as the first singer of the Pope bears theproud name of Signor Odoardo Ceccarelli di Merania, so our Capuzzi isgreatly delighted when anybody calls him Signor Pasquale Capuzzi diSenigaglia; for it was in Senigaglia[2.17] that he was born, and thepopular rumour goes that his mother, being startled at sight of asea-dog (seal) suddenly rising to the surface, gave birth to him in afisherman's boat, and that accounts, it is said, for a good deal of thesea-cur in his nature. Several years ago he brought out an opera on thestage, which was fearfully hissed; but that hasn't cured him of hismania for writing execrable music. Indeed, when he heard FrancescoCavalli's[2.18] opera _Le Nozze di Feti e di Peleo_, he swore that thecomposer had filched the sublimest of the thoughts from his ownimmortal works, for which he was near being thrashed and even stabbed.He still has a craze for singing arias, and accompanies his hideoussqualling on a wretched jarring, jangling guitar, all out of tune. Hisfaithful Pylades is an ill-bred dwarfish eunuch, whom the Romans callPitichinaccio. There is a third member of the company--guess who itis?--Why, none other than the Pyramid Doctor, who kicks up a noise likea melancholy ass and yet fancies he's singing an excellent bass, quiteas good as Martinelli of the Papal choir. Now these three estimablepeople are in the habit of meeting in the evening on the balcony ofCapuzzi's house, where they sing Carissimi's[2.19] motets, until allthe dogs and cats in the neighbourhood round break out into dirges ofmiawing and howling, and all their neighbours heartily wish the devilwould run away with all the blessed three.
"With this whimsical old fellow, Signor Pasquale Capuzzi, of whom mydescription will have enabled you to form a tolerably adequate idea, myfather lived on terms of intimacy, since he trimmed his wig and beard.When my father died, I undertook this business; and Capuzzi was in thehighest degree satisfied with me, because, as he once affirmed, I knewbetter than anybody else how to give his moustaches a bold upwardtwirl; but the real reason was because I was satisfied with the fewpence with which he rewarded me for my pains. But he firmly believedthat he more than richly indemnified me, since, whilst I was trimminghis beard, he always closed his eyes and croaked through an aria fromhis own compositions, which, however, almost split my ears; and yet theold fellow's crazy gestures afforded me a good deal of amusement, sothat I continued to attend him. One day when I went, I quietly ascendedthe stairs, knocked at the door, and opened it, when lo, there was agirl--an angel of light, who came to meet me. You know my Magdalene; itwas she. I stood stock still, rooted to the spot. No, Salvator, youshall have no Ohs! and Ahs! Well, the first sight of this, the mostlovely maiden of her sex, enkindled in me the most ardent passionatelove. The old man informed me with a smirk that the young lady was thedaughter of his brother Pietro, who had died at Senigaglia, that hername was Marianna, and that she was quite an orphan; being her uncleand guardian, he had taken her into his house. You can easily imaginethat henceforward Capuzzi's house was my Paradise. But no matterwhat devices I had recourse to, I could never succeed in getting a_tete-a-tete_ with Marianna, even for a single moment. Her glances,however, and many a stolen sigh, and many a soft pressure of the hand,resolved all doubts as to my good fortune. The old man divined what Iwas after,--which was not a very difficult thing for him to do. Heinformed me that my behaviour towards his niece was not such as toplease him altogether, and he asked me what was the real purport of myattentions. Then I frankly confessed that I loved Marianna with all myheart, and that the greatest earthly happiness I could conceive was aunion with her. Whereupon Capuzzi, after measuring me from top to toe,burst out in a guffaw of contempt, and declared that he never had anyidea that such lofty thoughts could haunt the brain of a paltry barber.I was almost boiling with rage; I said he knew very well that I was nopaltry barber but rather a good surgeon, and, moreover, in so far asconcerned the noble art of painting, a faithful pupil of the greatAnnibal Caracci and of the unrivalled Guido Reni. But the infamousCapuzzi only replied by a still louder guffaw of laughter, and in hishorrible falsetto squeaked, 'See here, my sweet Signor barber, myexcellent Signor surgeon, my honoured Annibal Caracci, my beloved GuidoReni, be off to the devil, and don't ever show yourself here again, ifyou don't want your legs broken.' Therewith the cranky, knock-kneed oldfool laid hold of me with no less an intention than to kick me out ofthe room, and hurl me down the stairs. But that, you know, was pasteverything. With ungovernable fury I seized the old fellow and trippedhim up, so that his legs stuck uppermost in the air; and there I lefthim screaming aloud, whilst I ran down the stairs and out of thehouse-door; which, I need hardly say, has been closed to me ever since.
"And that's how matters stood when you came to Rome and when Heaveninspired Father Boniface with the happy idea of bringing me to you.Then so soon as your clever trick had brought me the success for whichI had so long been vainly striving, that is, when I was accepted by theAcademy of St. Luke, and all Rome was heaping up praise and honour uponme to a lavish extent, I went straightway to the old gentleman andsuddenly presented myself before him in his own room, like athreatening apparition. Such at least he must have thought me, for hegrew as pale as a corpse, and retreated behind a great table, tremblingin every limb. And in a firm and earnest way I represented to him thatit was not now a paltry barber or a surgeon, but a celebrated painterand Academician of St. Luke, Antonio Scacciati, to whom he would not, Thoped, refuse the hand of his niece Marianna. You should have seen intowhat a passion the old fellow flew. He screamed; he flourished his armsabout like one possessed of devils; he yelled that I, a ruffianlymurderer, was seeking his life, that I had stolen his Marianna from himsince I had portrayed her in my picture, and it was driving him mad,driving him to despair, for all the world, all the world, were fixingtheir covetous, lustful eyes upon his Marianna, his life, his hope, hisall; but I had better take care, he would burn my house over my head,and me and my picture in it. And therewith he kicked up such a din,shouting, 'Fire! Murder! Thieves! Help!' that I was perfectlyconfounded, and only thought of making the best of my way out of thehouse.
"The crackbrained old fool is over head and ears in love with hisniece; he keeps her under lock and key; and as soon as he succeeds ingetting dispensation from the Pope, he will compel her to a shamefulalliance with himself. All hope for me is lost!"
"Nay, nay, not quite," said Salvator, laughing, "I am of opinion thatthings could not be in a better form for you, Marianna loves you, ofthat you are convinced; and all we have to do is to get her out of thepower of that fantastic old gentleman, Signor Pasquale Capuzzi. Ishould like to know what there is to hinder a couple of stoutenterprising fellows like you and me from accomplishing this. Pluck upyour courage, Antonio. Instead of bewailing, and sighing, and faintinglike a lovesick swain, it would be better to set to work to think outsome plan for rescuing your Marianna. You just wait and see, Antonio,how finely we'll circumvent the old dotard; in such like emprises, thewildest extravagance hardly seems to me wild enough. I'll set about itat once, and learn what I can about the old man, and about his usualhabits of life. But you must not be seen in this affair, Antonio. Goaway quietly home, and come back to me early to-morrow morning, thenwe'll consider our first plan of attack."
Herewith Salvator shook the paint out of his brush, threw on hismantle, and hurried to the Corso, whilst Antonio betook himself home asSalvator had bidden him--his heart comforted and full of lusty hopeagain.
* * * * * *
III.
_Signor Pasquale Capuzzi turns up at Salvator Rosa's studio. What takesplace there. The cunning scheme which Rosa and Scacciati carry out, andthe consequences of the same._
Next morning Salvator, having in the meantime inquired into Capuzzi'shabits of life, very greatly surprised Antonio by a description ofthem, even down to the minutest details.
"Poor Marianna," said Salvator, "leads a sad life of it with the crazyold fellow. There he sits sighing and ogling the whole day long, and,what is worse still, in order to soften her heart towards him, he singsher all and sundry love ditties that he has ever composed or intends tocompose. At the same time he is so monstrously jealous that he will noteven permit the poor young girl to have the usual female attendance,for fear of intrigues and amours, which the maid might be induced toengage in. Instead, a hideous little apparition with hollow eyes andpale flabby cheeks appears every morning and evening to perform forsweet Marianna the services of a tiring-maid. And this littleapparition is nobody else but that tiny Tomb Thumb of a Pitichinaccio,who has to don female attire. Capuzzi, whenever he leaves home,carefully locks and bolts every door; besides which there is always aconfounded fellow keeping watch below, who was formerly a bravo, andthen a gendarme, and now lives under Capuzzi's rooms. It seems,therefore, a matter almost impossible to effect an entrance into hishouse, but nevertheless I promise you, Antonio, that this very nightyou shall be in Capuzzi's own room and shall see your Marianna, thoughthis time it will only be in Capuzzi's presence."
"What do you say?" cried Antonio, quite excited; "what do you say? Weshall manage it to-night? I thought it was impossible."
"There, there," continued Salvator, "keep still, Antonio, and let usquietly consider how we may with safety carry out the plan which I haveconceived. But in the first place I must tell you that I have alreadyscraped an acquaintance with Signor Pasquale Capuzzi without knowingit. That wretched spinet, which stands in the comer there, belongs tothe old fellow, and he wants me to pay him the preposterous sum of tenducats[3.1] for it. When I was convalescent I longed for some music,which always comforts me and does me a deal of good, so I begged mylandlady to get me some such an instrument as that Dame Caterina soonascertained that there was an old gentleman living in the Via Ripettawho had a fine spinet to sell I got the instrument brought here. I didnot trouble myself either about the price or about the owner. It wasonly yesterday evening that I learned quite by chance that thegentleman who intended to cheat me with this rickety old thing wasSignor Pasquale Capuzzi. Dame Caterina had enlisted the services of anacquaintance living in the same house, and indeed on the same floor asCapuzzi,--and now you can easily guess whence I have got all my budgetof news."
"Yes," replied Antonio, "then the way to get in is found; yourlandlady"----
"I know very well, Antonio," said Salvator, cutting him short, "I knowwhat you're going to say. You think you can find a way to your Mariannathrough Dame Caterina. But you'll find that we can't do anything ofthat sort; the good dame is far too talkative; she can't keep the leastsecret, and so we can't for a single moment think of employing her inthis business. Now just quietly listen to me. Every evening when it'sdark Signor Pasquale, although it's very hard work for him owing to hisbeing knock-kneed, carries his little friend the eunuch home in hisarms, as soon as he has finished his duties as maid. Nothing in theworld could induce the timid Pitichinaccio to set foot on the pavementat that time of night. So that when"----
At this moment somebody knocked at Salvator's door, and to theconsternation of both, Signor Pasquale stepped in in all the splendourof his gala attire. On catching sight of Scacciati he stood stock stillas if paralysed, and then, opening his eyes wide, he gasped for air asthough he had some difficulty in breathing. But Salvator hastily ran tomeet him, and took him by both hands, saying, "My dear Signor Pasquale,your presence in my humble dwelling is, I feel, a very great honour.May I presume that it is your love for art which brings you to me? Youwish to see the newest things I have done, perchance to give me acommission for some work. Pray in what, my dear Signor Pasquale, can Iserve you?"
"I have a word or two to say to you, my dear Signor Salvator,"stammered Capuzzi painfully, "but--alone--when you are alone. With yourleave I will withdraw and come again at a more seasonable time."
"By no means," said Salvator, holding the old gentleman fast, "by nomeans, my dear sir. You need not stir a step; you could not have comeat a more seasonable time, for, since you are a great admirer of thenoble art of painting, and the patron of all good painters, I am sureyou will be greatly pleased for me to introduce to you AntonioScacciati here, the first painter of our time, whose glorious work--thewonderful 'Magdalene at the Saviour's Feet'--has excited throughout allRome the most enthusiastic admiration. _You_ too, I need hardly say,have also formed a high opinion of the work, and must be very anxiousto know the great artist himself."
The old man was seized with a violent trembling; he shook as if he hada shivering fit of the ague, and shot fiery wrathful looks at poorAntonio. He however approached the old gentleman, and, bowing withpolished courtesy, assured him that he esteemed himself happy atmeeting in such an unexpected way with Signor Pasquale Capuzzi, whosegreat learning in music as well as in painting was a theme for wondernot only in Rome but throughout all Italy, and he concluded byrequesting the honour of his patronage.
This behaviour of Antonio, in pretending to meet the old gentleman forthe first time in his life, and in addressing him in such flatteringphrases, soon brought him round again. He forced his features into asimpering smile, and, as Salvator now let his hands loose, gave hismoustache an elegant upward curl, at the same time stammering out a fewunintelligible words. Then, turning to Salvator, he requested paymentof the ten ducats for the spinet he had sold him.
"Oh! that trifling little matter we can settle afterwards, my goodsir," was Salvator's answer. "First have the goodness to look at thissketch of a picture which I have drawn, and drink a glass of goodSyracuse whilst you do so." Salvator meanwhile placed his sketch on theeasel and moved up a chair for the old gentleman, and then, when he hadtaken his seat, he presented him with a large and handsome wine-cupfull of good Syracuse--the little pearl-like bubbles rising gaily tothe top.
Signor Pasquale was very fond of a glass of good wine--when he hadnothing to pay for it; and now he ought to have been in an especiallyhappy frame of mind, for, besides nourishing his heart with the hope ofgetting ten ducats for a rotten, worn-out spinet, he was sitting beforea splendid, boldly-designed picture, the rare beauty of which he wasquite capable of estimating at its full worth. And that he was in thishappy frame of mind he evidenced in divers way; he simpered mostcharmingly; he half closed his little eyes; he assiduously stroked hischin and moustache; and lisped time after time, "Splendid! delicious!"but they did not know to which he was referring, the picture or thewine.
When he had thus worked himself round into a quiet cheerful humour,Salvator suddenly began--"They tell me, my dear sir, that you have amost beautiful and amiable niece, named Marianna--is it so? All theyoung men of the city are so smitten with love that they stupidly donothing but run up and down the Via Ripetta, almost dislocating theirnecks in their efforts to look up at your balcony for a sight of yoursweet Marianna, to snatch a single glance from her heavenly eyes."
Suddenly all the charming simpers, all the good humour which had beencalled up into the old gentleman's face by the good wine, were gone.Looking gloomily before him, he said sharply, "Ah! that's an instanceof the corruption of our abandoned young men. They fix their infernaleyes, there probate seducers, upon mere children. For I tell you, mygood sir, that my niece Marianna is quite a child, quite a child, onlyjust outgrown her nurse's care."
Salvator turned the conversation upon something else; the old gentlemanrecovered himself. But just as he, his face again radiant withsunshine, was on the point of putting the full wine-cup to his lips,Salvator began anew. "But pray tell me, my dear sir, if it is indeedtrue that your niece, with her sixteen summers, really has suchbeautiful auburn hair, and eyes so full of heaven's own loveliness andjoy, as has Antonio's 'Magdalene?' It is generally maintained that shehas."
"I don't know," replied the old gentleman, still more sharply thanbefore, "I don't know. But let us leave my niece in peace; rather letus exchange a few instructive words on the noble subject of art, asyour fine picture here of itself invi
tes me to do."
Always when Capuzzi raised the wine-cup to his lips to take a gooddraught, Salvator began anew to talk about the beautiful Marianna, sothat at last the old gentleman leapt from his chair in a perfectpassion, banged the cup down upon the table and almost broke it,screaming in a high shrill voice, "By the infernal pit of Pluto! by allthe furies! you will turn my wine into poison--into poison I tell you.But I see through you, you and your fine friend Signor Antonio, youthink to make sport of me. But you'll find yourselves deceived Pay methe ten ducats you owe me immediately, and then I will leave you andyour associate, that barber-fellow Antonio, to make your way to thedevil."
Salvator shouted, as if mastered by the most violent rage, "What! youhave the audacity to treat me in this way in my own house! Do you thinkI'm going to pay you ten ducats for that rotten box; the woodwormshave long ago eaten all the goodness and all the music out of it? Notten--not five--not three--not one ducat shall you have for it, it'sscarcely worth a farthing. Away with the tumbledown thing!" and hekicked over the little instrument again and again, till the stringswere all jarring and jangling together.
"Ha!" screeched Capuzzi, "justice is still to be had in Rome; I willhave you arrested, sir,--arrested and cast into the deepest dungeonthere is," and off he was rushing out of the room, blustering like ahailstorm. But Salvator took fast hold of him with both hands, and drewhim down into the chair again, softly murmuring in his ear, "My dearSignor Pasquale, don't you perceive that I was only jesting with you?You shall have for your spinet, not ten, but _thirty_ ducats cashdown." And he went on repeating, "thirty bright ducats in ready money,"until Capuzzi said in a faint and feeble voice, "What do you say, mydear sir? Thirty ducats for the spinet without its being repaired?"Then Salvator released his hold of the old gentleman, and assertedon his honour that within an hour the instrument should be worththirty--nay, forty ducats, and that Signor Pasquale should receive asmuch for it.
Taking in a fresh supply of breath, and sighing deeply, the oldgentleman murmured, "Thirty--forty ducats!" Then he began, "But youhave greatly offended me, Signor Salvator"---- "Thirty ducats,"repeated Salvator. Capuzzi simpered, but then began again, "But youhave grossly wounded my feelings, Signor Salvator"---- "Thirty ducats,"exclaimed Salvator, cutting him short; and he continued to repeat,"Thirty ducats! thirty ducats!" as long as the old gentleman continuedto sulk--till at length Capuzzi said, radiant with delight, "If youwill give me thirty,--I mean forty ducats for the spinet, all shall beforgiven and forgotten, my dear sir."
"But," began Salvator, "before I can fulfil my promise, I still haveone little condition to make, which you, my honoured Signor PasqualeCapuzzi di Senigaglia, can easily grant. You are the first musicalcomposer in all Italy, besides being the foremost singer of the day.When I heard in the opera _Le Nozze di Teti e Peleo_ the great scenewhich that shameless Francesco Cavalli has thievishly taken from yourworks, I was enraptured. If you would only sing me that aria whilst Iput the spinet to rights you would confer upon me a pleasure than whichI can conceive of none more enjoyable."
Puckering up his mouth into the most winning of smiles, and blinkinghis little grey eyes, the old gentleman replied, "I perceive, my goodsir, that you are yourself a clever musician, for you possess taste andknow how to value the deserving better than these ungrateful Romans.Listen--listen--to the aria of all arias."
Therewith he rose to his feet, and, stretching himself up to his fullheight, spread out his arms and closed both eyes, so that he lookedlike a cock preparing to crow; and he at once began to screech in sucha way that the walls rang again, and Dame Caterina and her twodaughters soon came running in, fully under the impression that suchlamentable sounds must betoken some accident or other. At sight of thecrowing old gentleman they stopped on the threshold utterly astonished;and thus they formed the audience of the incomparable musician Capuzzi.
Meanwhile Salvator, having picked up the spinet and thrown back thelid, had taken his palette in hand, and in bold firm strokes had begunon the lid of the instrument the most remarkable piece of painting thatever was seen. The central idea was a scene from Cavalli's opera _LeNozze di Teti_, but there was a multitude of other personages mixed upwith it in the most fantastic way. Amongst them were the recognisablefeatures of Capuzzi, Antonio, Marianna (faithfully reproduced fromAntonio's picture), Salvator himself, Dame Caterina and her twodaughters,--and even the Pyramid Doctor was not wanting,--and allgrouped so intelligently, judiciously, and ingeniously, that Antoniocould not conceal his astonishment, both at the artist's intellectualpower as well as at his technique.
Meanwhile old Capuzzi had not been content with the aria which Salvatorhad requested him to give, but, carried away by his musical madness, hewent on singing or rather screeching without intermission, working hisway through the most awful recitatives from one execrable scene toanother. He must have been going on for nearly two hours when he sankback in his chair, breathless, and with his face as red as a cherry.And just at this same time also Salvator had so far worked out hissketch that the figures began to wear a look of vitality, and thewhole, viewed at a little distance, had the appearance of a finishedwork.
"I have kept my word with respect to the spinet, my dear SignerPasquale," breathed Salvator in the old man's ear. He started up as ifawakening out of a deep sleep. Immediately his glance fell upon thepainted instrument, which stood directly opposite him. Then, openinghis eyes wide as if he saw a miracle, and jauntily throwing his conicalhat on the top of his wig, he took his crutch-stick under his arm, madeone bound to the spinet, tore the lid off the hinges, and holding itabove his head, ran like a madman out of the room, down the stairs, andaway, away out of the house altogether, followed by the hearty laughterof Dame Caterina and both her daughters.
"The old miser," said Salvator, "knows very well that he has only totake yon painted lid to Count Colonna or to my friend Rossi and he willat once get forty ducats for it, or even more."
Salvator and Antonio then both deliberated how they should carry outthe plan of attack which was to be made when night came. We shall soonsee what the two adventurers resolved upon, and what success they hadin their adventure.
As soon as it was dark, Signer Pasquale, after locking and bolting thedoor of his house, carried the little monster of an eunuch home asusual. The whole way the little wretch was whining and growling,complaining that not only did he sing Capuzzi's arias till he gotcatarrh in the throat and burn his fingers cooking the macaroni, but hehad now to lend himself to duties which brought him nothing but sharpboxes of the ear and rough kicks, which Marianna lavishly distributedto him as soon as ever he came near her. Old Capuzzi consoled him aswell as he could, promising to provide him an ampler supply ofsweetmeats than he had hitherto done; indeed, as the little man wouldnohow cease his growling and querulous complaining, Pasquale even laidhimself under the obligation to get a natty abbot's coat made for thelittle torment out of an old black plush waistcoat which he (the dwarf)had often set covetous eyes upon. He demanded a wig and a sword aswell. Parleying upon these points they arrived at the Via Bergognona,for that was where Pitichinaccio dwelt, only four doors from Salvator.
The old man set the dwarf cautiously down and opened the street door;and then, the dwarf on in front, they both began to climb up the narrowstairs, which were more like a rickety ladder for hens and chickensthan steps for respectable people. But they had hardly mounted half wayup when a terrible racket began up above, and the coarse voice of somewild drunken fellow was heard cursing and swearing, and demanding to beshown the way out of the damned house. Pitichinaccio squeezed himselfclose to the wall, and entreated Capuzzi, in the name of all thesaints, to go on first. But before Capuzzi had ascended two steps, thefellow who was up above came tumbling headlong downstairs, caught holdof the old man, and whisked him away like a whirlwind out throughthe open door below into the middle of the street. There they bothlay,--Capuzzi at bottom and the drunken brute like a heavy sack on topof him. The old gentleman screamed piteously for help; two men came upat
once and with considerable difficulty freed him from the heavyweight lying upon him; the other fellow, as soon as he was lifted up,reeled away cursing.
"Good God! what's happened to you, Signor Pasquale? What are you doinghere at this time of night? What big quarrel have you been gettingmixed up in in that house there?" thus asked Salvator and Antonio, forthat is who the two men were.
"Oh, I shall die!" groaned Capuzzi; "that son of the devil has crushedall my limbs; I can't move."
"Let me look," said Antonio, feeling all over the old gentleman's body,and suddenly he pinched his right leg so sharply that Capuzzi screamedout aloud.
"By all the saints!" cried Antonio in consternation, "by all thesaints! my dear Signer Pasquale, you've broken your right leg in themost dangerous place. If you don't get speedy help you will within ashort time be a dead man, or at any rate be lame all your life long."
A terrible scream escaped the old man's breast. "Calm yourself, my dearsir," continued Antonio, "although I'm now a painter, I haven'taltogether forgotten my surgical practice. We will carry you toSalvator's house and I will at once bind up"----
"My dear Signor Antonio," whined Capuzzi, "you nourish hostile feelingstowards me, I know." "But," broke in Salvator, "this is now no longerthe time to talk about enmity; you are in danger, and that is enoughfor honest Antonio to exert all his skill on your behalf. Lay hold,friend Antonio."
Gently and cautiously they lifted up the old man between them, himscreaming with the unspeakable pain caused by his broken leg, andcarried him to Salvator's dwelling.
Dame Caterina said that she had had a foreboding that something wasgoing to happen, and so she had not gone to bed. As soon as she caughtsight of the old gentleman and heard what had befallen him, she beganto heap reproaches upon him for his bad conduct. "I know," she said, "Iknow very well, Signor Pasquale, who you've been taking home again. Nowthat you've got your beautiful niece Marianna in the house with you,you think you've no further call to have women-folk about you, and youtreat that poor Pitichinaccio most shameful and infamous, putting himin petticoats. But look to it. _Ogni carne ha il suo osso_ (Every househas its skeleton). Why if you have a girl about you, don't you needwomen-folk? _Fate il passo secondo la gamba_ (Cut your clothesaccording to your cloth), and don't you require anything either more orless from your Marianna than what is right. Don't lock her up as if shewere a prisoner, nor make your house a dungeon. _Asino punto convienche trotti_ (If you are in the stream, you had better swim with it);you have a beautiful niece and you must alter your ways to suit her,that is, you must only do what she wants you to do. But you are anungallant and hard-hearted man, ay, and even in love, and jealous aswell, they say, which I hope at your years is not true. Your pardon fortelling you it all straight out, but _chi ha nel petto fiele non puosputar miele_ (when there's bile in the heart there can't be honey inthe mouth). So now, if you don't die of your broken leg, which at yourgreat age is not at all unlikely, let this be a warning to you; andleave your niece free to do what she likes, and let her marry the fineyoung gentleman as I know very well."
And so the stream went on uninterruptedly, whilst Salvator and Antoniocautiously undressed the old gentleman and put him to bed. DameCaterina's words were like knives cutting deeply into his breast; butwhenever he attempted to intervene, Antonio signed to him that allspeaking was dangerous, and so he had to swallow his bitter gall. Atlength Salvator sent Dame Caterina away, to fetch some ice-cold waterthat Antonio wanted.
Salvator and Antonio satisfied themselves that the fellow who had beensent to Pitichinaccio's house had done his duty well. Notwithstandingthe apparently terrible fall, Capuzzi had not received the slightestdamage beyond a slight bruise or two. Antonio put the old gentleman'sright foot in splints and bandaged it up so tight that he could notmove. Then they wrapped him up in cloths that had been soaked inice-cold water, as a precaution, they alleged, against inflammation, sothat the old gentleman shook as if with the ague.
"My good Signor Antonio," he groaned feebly, "tell me if it is all overwith me. Must I die?"
"Compose yourself," replied Antonio. "If you will only composeyourself, Signor Pasquale! As you have come through the first dressingwith so much nerve and without fainting, I think we may say that thedanger is past; but you will require the most attentive nursing. Atpresent we mustn't let you out of the doctor's sight."
"Oh! Antonio," whined the old gentleman, "you know how I like you,how highly I esteem your talents. Don't leave me. Give me your dearhand--so! You won't leave me, will you, my dear good Antonio?"
"Although I am now no longer a surgeon," said Antonio, "although I'vequite given up that hated trade, yet I will in your case, SignorPasquale, make an exception, and will undertake to attend you, forwhich I shall ask nothing except that you give me your friendship, yourconfidence again. You were a little hard upon me"----
"Say no more," lisped the old gentleman, "not another word, my dearAntonio"----
"Your niece will be half dead with anxiety," said Antonio again, "atyour not returning home. You are, considering your condition, brisk andstrong enough, and so as soon as day dawns we'll carry you home to yourown house. There I will again look at your bandage, and arrange yourbed as it ought to be, and give your niece her instructions, so thatyou may soon get well again."
The old gentleman heaved a deep sigh and closed his eyes, remainingsome minutes without speaking. Then, stretching out his hand towardsAntonio, he drew him down close beside him, and whispered, "It was onlya jest that you had with Marianna, was it not, my dear sir?--one ofthose merry conceits that young folks have"----
"Think no more about that, Signor Pasquale," replied Antonio. "Yourniece did, it is true, strike my fancy; but I have now quite differentthings in my head, and--to confess honestly to it--I am very pleasedthat you did return a sharp answer to my foolish suit. I thought I wasin love with your Marianna, but what I really saw in her was only afine model for my 'Magdalene.' And this probably explains how it isthat, now that my picture is finished, I feel quite indifferent towardsher."
"Antonio," cried the old man, in a strong voice, "Antonio, you gloriousfellow! What comfort you give me--what help--what consolation! Now thatyou don't love Marianna I feel as if all my pain had gone."
"Why, I declare, Signor Pasquale," said Salvator, "if we didn't knowyou to be a grave and sensible man, with a true perception of what isbecoming to your years, we might easily believe that you were yourselfby some infatuation in love with your niece of sixteen summers."
Again the old gentleman closed his eyes, and groaned and moaned at thehorrible pain, which now returned with redoubled violence.
The first red streaks of morning came shining in through the window.Antonio announced to the old gentleman that it was now time to take himto his own house in the Via Ripetta. Signor Pasquale's reply was a deepand piteous sigh. Salvator and Antonio lifted him out of bed andwrapped him in a wide mantle which had belonged to Dame Caterina'shusband, and which she lent them for this purpose. The old gentlemanimplored them by all the saints to take off the villainous coldbandages in which his bald head was swathed, and to give him his wigand plumed hat. And also, if it were possible, Antonio was to put hismoustache a little in order, that Marianna might not be too muchfrightened at sight of him.
Two porters with a litter were standing all ready before the door. DameCaterina, still storming at the old man, and mixing a great manyproverbs in her abuse, carried down the bed, in which they thencarefully packed him; and so, accompanied by Salvator and Antonio, hewas taken home to his own house.
No sooner did Marianna see her uncle in this wretched plight than shebegan to scream, whilst a torrent of tears gushed from her eyes;without noticing her lover, who had come along with him, she graspedthe old man's hands and pressed them to her lips, bewailing theterrible accident that had befallen him--so much pity had the goodchild for the old man who plagued and tormented her with his amorousfolly. Yet at this same moment the inherent nature of woman asserteditself in her; for i
t only required a few significant glances fromSalvator to put her in full possession of all the facts of the case.Now, for the first time, she stole a glance at the happy Antonio,blushing hotly as she did so; and a pretty sight it was to see how aroguish smile gradually routed and broke through her tears. Salvator,at any rate, despite the "Magdalene," had not expected to find thelittle maiden half so charming, or so sweetly pretty as he now reallydiscovered her to be; and, whilst almost feeling inclined to envyAntonio his good fortune, he felt that it was all the more necessary toget poor Marianna away from her hateful uncle, let the cost be what itmight.
Signor Pasquale forgot his trouble in being received so affectionatelyby his lovely niece, which was indeed more than he deserved. Hesimpered and pursed up his lips so that his moustache was all of atotter, and groaned and whined, not with pain, but simply and solelywith amorous longing.
Antonio arranged his bed professionally, and, after Capuzzi had beenlaid on it, tightened the bandage still more, at the same time somuffling up his left leg as well that he had to lay there motionlesslike a log of wood. Salvator withdrew and left the lovers alone withtheir happiness.
The old gentleman lay buried in cushions; moreover, as an extraprecaution, Antonio had bound a thick piece of cloth well steeped inwater round his head, so that he might not hear the lovers whisperingtogether. This was the first time they unburdened all their hearts toeach other, swearing eternal fidelity in the midst of tears andrapturous kisses. The old gentleman could have no idea of what wasgoing on, for Marianna ceased not, frequently from time to time, to askhim how he felt, and even permitted him to press her little white handto his lips.
When the morning began to be well advanced, Antonio hastened away toprocure, as he said, all the things that the old gentleman required,but in reality to invent some means for putting him, at any rate forsome hours, in a still more helpless condition, as well as to consultwith Salvator what further steps were then to be taken.
Weird Tales. Vol. I (of 2) Page 4