CHAPTER XIII. A CONTRACT
I am not certain that a great 'Impressario' of Paris or London wouldhave deemed the document which bound Gerald to his new master a veryformal instrument. But there was a document. It was written on afly-leaf of old Babbo's Breviary, and set forth duly that for certainservices to be afterward detailed, '_un certo Gherardi_'--so was hecalled--was to eat, and drink, and be clothed; always providing thatthere was meat, and drink, and wearables to give him; with certainbenefices--small contingent remainders--to accrue when times wereprosperous and patrons generous, and all this for the term of atwelvemonth. Donna Gaetana stoutly fought for five years, then three,and then two: but she was beaten in all her amendments, though sheargued her case ably. She showed, with a force derived from greatexperience, that theirs was a profession wherein there was much tolearn; that the initial stages developed very few of those gifts whichwon popular applause; that, consequently, the neophyte was anything buta profitable colleague; and it was only when his education was perfectedthat he could be expected to repay the cost of his early instruction.'At the end of a year,' to borrow her own forcible language, 'he 'llhave smashed a dozen basins and broken twenty poles, and he 'll just beas stiff in the back as you see him today.'
'He 'll have had enough of a weary life ere that,' muttered the Babbo.
'What have _you_ to complain of, I 'd like to know?' asked she fiercely;'you that sit there all day like a prince on a throne, never so much asgiving a blast of a horn or a beat on the drum; but pulling a few cordsfor your puppets, and making them patter about the stage while you tellover the self-same story I heard forty years ago. Ah, if it was Pierno!that was something indeed to hear! He came out with something new everyevening--droll fellow that he was--and could make the people laugh tillthe Piazza rung again.'
'Well, well,' sighed Babbo, 'his drollery has cost him something. He cuta jest upon the Cardinal Balfi, and they sent him to Molo di Gaeta, towork at the galleys. My pulcinello may be stupid, but will not make mefinish my days in chains.'
Whether Marietta feared the effect these domestic discussions mightproduce upon Gerald, newly come as he was among them, or that shedesired to talk with him more at her ease, she strolled away into thewood, giving one lingering glance as she left the place to bid himfollow. The youth was not loth to accept the hint, and soon overtookher.
'And so,' said she, taking his hand between both her own, 'you _will_stay?'
'I have promised it,' replied Gerald.
'All for me, all for me, as the little song says.'
'I never heard it. Will you sing it, Marietta?' said he, placing his armaround her waist.
'I 'll go and fetch my guitar, then,' said she, and bounding away, wassoon once more beside him, sweeping her fingers over the cords as shecame.
'It's nothing of a song, either words or music; but I picked it up atCapri, and it reminds me of that sweet spot.' So saying, and after alittle prelude, she sang the canzonette, of which the following wordsare a rude version:
'I know a bark on a moonlit sea, Pescator! Pescator! There's one in that bark a-thinking of me, Oh, Pescator! And while his light boat steals along, Pescator! Pescator! He murmurs my name in his evening song, Oh, Pescator! He prays the Madonna above my head, Pescator! Pescator! To bring sweet dreams around my bed, Oh, Pescator! And when the morning breaks on shore, I'll kneel and pray for my Pescator, Who ventures alone on the stormy sea, All for me! all for me!'!!!!
Simple as were the words, the wild beauty of the little air thrilledthrough Gerald's heart, and twice did he make her repeat it.
'Oh, if you like barcarolles,' said she, 'I'll sing you hundreds ofthem, and teach you, besides, to sing them with me. We shall be sohappy, _Gherardi mio_, living thus together.
'And not regret Chico?' said Gerald gravely.
'Chico was very clever, but he was cruel. He would beat me when I wouldnot learn quickly; and my life was very sad when he was with us. See,'said she, drawing down her sleeve from her shoulder, 'these stripes wereof his giving.'
'_Briccone!_' muttered Gerald, 'if I had him here.'
'Ah, he was so treacherous! He 'd have stabbed you at the altar-footrather than let a vengeance escape him. He was a Corsican.'
'And are they so treacherous always?'
'Are they?' cried she. '_Per Dio_, I believe they are.'
'Well, let's talk of him no more. I only mentioned his name because Ifeared you loved him, Marietta.'
'And if I had!' asked she, with a half-malicious drollery in her darkeyes.
'Then I 'd have hated him all the more--hated _you_, perhaps, too.'
'_Poverino!_' said she, with a sigh which ended in a laugh.
And now they walked along, side by side, while she told Gerald all abouther life, her companions, their humours, their habits, and their ways.She liked Babbo. He was kind-hearted and affectionate; but Donna Gaetanawas all that was cruel and unfeeling. Chico, indeed, had always resistedher tyranny, and she counselled Gerald to do the same. 'As for me,'added she sorrowfully, 'I am but a girl, and must bear with her.'
'But I'll stand by you, Marietta,' cried Gerald boldly. 'We 'll see ifthe world won't go better with each of us as we meet it thus,' and hedrew her arm around his waist, while he clasped hers with his own.
And what a happy hour was that as thus they rambled along under theleafy shade, no sound but the wild wood-pigeon's cry to break thesilence! for often they were silent with thoughts deeper than wordscould render. She, full of that future where Gerald was to be thecompanion of all her games; he, too, ranging in fancy over adventureswherein, as her protector and defender, he confronted perilsunceasingly. Then he bethought him how strangely destiny should havethus brought them together, two forsaken, friendless creatures.
One falls in love at eighteen, at eight-and-twenty, and ateight-and-forty, with very different reasons for the process. Silkyhair, and long eye-lashes, and pearly teeth get jostled as we go onthrough life, with thoughts of good connections and the three percents., and a strange compromise is effected between inclination andself-interest. To know, however, the true ecstasy of the passion, tofeel it in all its impulsive force, and in the full strength of itsirresponsibility, be very young and very poor--young enough to doubt ofnothing, not even yourself; poor enough to despise riches most heartily.
Gerald was young and poor. His mind, charged with deep stores ofsentiment, was eagerly seeking where to invest its wealth. The tenderpathos of St. Pierre, the more dangerous promptings of Rousseau, were inhis heart, and he yearned for one to whom he could speak of the feelingsthat struggled within him. As for Marietta, to listen to him wasecstasy. The glowing language of poetry, its brilliant imagery, itsmelting softness, came upon her like refreshing rain upon some aridsoil, scorched and sun-stricken: her spirit, half-crushed beneath dailyhardships, rose at once to the magic touch of ennobling sentiment. Oh!what a new world was that which now opened before them: how beautiful,how bright, how full of tenderness, how rich in generous emotions!
'Only think,' said she, looking into his eyes, 'but this very morningwe had not known each other, and now we are bound together for ever andever. Is it not so, _Gherardi mio?_'
'So swear I!' cried Gerald, as he pressed her to his heart; and then,in the full current of his warm eloquence, he poured forth a hundredschemes for their future career. They would seek out some sweet spot ofearth, far away and secluded, like that wherein they rambled then, onlymore beautiful in verdure, and more picturesque, and build themselves ahut; there they would live together a life of bliss.
It was only by earnest persuasion she could turn him from at onceputting the project into execution. 'Why not now?' cried he. 'Here weare free, beyond the wood; you cross a little stream, and we are inTuscany. I saw the frontier from the mountain-top this morning.'
'And then,' said the girl, 'how are we to live?' We shall neither havethe Babbo nor Donna Gaeta
na; I cannot dance without her music, nor haveyou learned anything as yet to do. _Mio Gherardi_, we must wait andstudy hard; you must learn to be Paolo, and to declaim "Antonio," too.I'll teach you these; besides, the Babbo has a volume full of thingswould suit you. Our songs, too, we have not practised them together;and in the towns where we are going, the public, they say, are harder toplease than in these mountain villages.' And then she pictured fortha life of artistic triumph--success dear to her humble heart, the verymemory of which brought tears of joy to her eyes. These she was longingto display before him, and to make him share in. Thus talking, theyreturned to the encampment, where, as the heat was past, the Babbo wasnow preparing to set out on his journey.
Gerald Fitzgerald, the Chevalier: A Novel Page 13