Chương Chương 9 · Chapter Nine

Fabrizio's soul was exalted by the old man's speech, by his own keen

attention to it, and by his extreme exhaustion. He had great difficulty

in getting to sleep, and his slumber was disturbed by dreams, presages

perhaps of the future; in the morning, at ten o'clock, he was awakened

by the whole belfry's beginning to shake; an alarming noise seemed to

come from outside. He rose in bewilderment and at first imagined that

the end of the world had come; then he thought that he was in prison; it

took him some time to recognise the sound of the big bell, which forty

peasants were setting in motion in honour of the great San Giovita; ten

would have been enough.

Fabrizio looked for a convenient place from which to see without being

seen; he discovered that from this great height his gaze swept the

gardens, and even the inner courtyard of his father's castle. He had

forgotten this. The idea of that father arriving at the ultimate bourne

of life altered all his feelings. He could even make out the sparrows

that were hopping in search of crumbs upon the wide balcony of the

dining-room. "They are the descendants of the ones I used to tame long

ago," he said to himself. This balcony, like every balcony in the

mansion, was decorated with a large number of orange trees in

earthenware tubs, of different sizes: this sight melted his heart; the

view of that inner courtyard thus decorated, with its sharply defined

shadows outlined by a radiant sun, was truly majestic.

The thought of his father's failing health came back to his mind. "But

it is really singular," he said to himself, "my father is only

thirty-five years older than I am; thirty-five and twenty-three make

only fifty-eight!" His eyes, fixed on the windows of the bedroom of that

stern man who had never loved him, filled with tears. He shivered, and a

sudden chill ran through his veins when he thought he saw his father

crossing a terrace planted with orange trees which was on a level with

his room; but it was only one of the servants. Close underneath the

_campanile_ a number of girls dressed in white and split up into

different bands were occupied in tracing patterns with red, blue and

yellow flowers on the pavement of the streets through which the

procession was to pass. But there was a spectacle which spoke with a

more living voice to Fabrizio's soul: from the _campanile_ his gaze shot

down to the two branches of the lake, at a distance of several leagues,

and this sublime view soon made him forget all the others; it awakened

in him the most lofty sentiments. All the memories of his childhood came

crowding to besiege his mind; and this day which he spent imprisoned in

a belfry was perhaps one of the happiest days of his life.

Happiness carried him to an exaltation of mind quite foreign to his

nature; he considered the incidents of life, he, still so young, as if

already he had arrived at its farthest goal. "I must admit that, since I

came to Parma," he said to himself at length after several hours of

delicious musings, "I have known no tranquil and perfect joy such as I

used to find at Naples in galloping over the roads of Vomero or pacing

the shores of Miseno. All the complicated interests of that nasty little

court have made me nasty also. . . . I even believe that it would be a

sorry happiness for me to humiliate my enemies if I had any; but I have

no enemy. . . . Stop a moment!" he suddenly interjected, "I have got an

enemy, Giletti. . . . And here is a curious thing," he said to himself,

"the pleasure that I should feel in seeing such an ugly fellow go to all

the devils in hell has survived the very slight fancy that I had for

little Marietta. . . . She does not come within a mile of the Duchessa

d'A----, to whom I was obliged to make love at Naples, after I had told

her that I was in love with her. Good God, how bored I have been during

the long assignations which that fair Duchessa used to accord me; never

anything like that in the tumble-down bedroom, serving as a kitchen as

well, in which little Marietta received me twice, and for two minutes on

each occasion.

_THE CAMPANILE_

"Oh, good God, what on earth can those people have to eat? They make one

pity them! . . . I ought to have settled on her and the _mammaccia_ a

pension of three beefsteaks, payable daily. . . . Little Marietta," he

went on, "used to distract me from the evil thoughts which the proximity

of that court put in my mind.

"I should perhaps have done well to adopt the _caffè_ life, as the

Duchessa said; she seemed to incline in that direction, and she has far

more intelligence than I. Thanks to her generosity, or indeed merely

with that pension of 4,000 francs and that fund of 40,000 invested at

Lyons, which my mother intends for me, I should always have a horse and

a few scudi to spend on digging and collecting a cabinet. Since it

appears that I am not to know the taste of love, there will always be

those other interests to be my great sources of happiness; I should

like, before I die, to go back to visit the battlefield of Waterloo and

try to identify the meadow where I was so neatly lifted from my horse

and left sitting on the ground. That pilgrimage accomplished, I should

return constantly to this sublime lake; nothing else as beautiful is to

be seen in the world, for my heart at least. Why go so far afield in

search of happiness? It is there, beneath my eyes!

"Ah," said Fabrizio to himself, "there is this objection: the police

drive me away from the Lake of Como, but I am younger than the people

who are setting those police on my track. Here," he added with a smile,

"I should certainly not find a Duchessa d'A----, but I should find one

of those little girls down there who are strewing flowers on the

pavement, and, to tell the truth, I should care for her just as much.

Hypocrisy freezes me, even in love, and our great ladies aim at effects

that are too sublime. Napoleon has given them new ideas as to conduct

and constancy.

"The devil!" he suddenly exclaimed, drawing back his head from the

window, as though he had been afraid of being recognised despite the

screen of the enormous wooden shutter which protected the bells from

rain, "here comes a troop of police in full dress." And indeed, ten

policemen, of whom four were non-commissioned officers, had come into

sight at the top of the village street. The serjeant distributed them at

intervals of a hundred yards along the course which the procession was

to take. "Everyone knows me here; if they see me, I shall make but one

bound from the shores of the Lake of Como to the Spielberg, where they

will fasten to each of my legs a chain weighing a hundred and ten

pounds: and what a grief for the Duchessa!"

It took Fabrizio two or three minutes to realise that, for one thing, he

was stationed at a height of more than eighty feet, that the place in

which he stood was comparatively dark, that the eyes of the people who

might be looking up at him were blinded by a dazzling sun, in addition

to which they were walking about, their eyes wide open, in streets all

the houses of which had just been whitewashed with lime, in honour of

the _festa_ of San Giovita. Despite all these clear and obvious reasons,

Fabrizio's Italian nature would not have been in a state, from that

moment, to enjoy any pleasure in the spectacle, had he not interposed

between himself and the policemen a strip of old cloth which he nailed

to the frame of the window, piercing a couple of holes in it for his

eyes.

The bells had been making the air throb for ten minutes, the procession

was coming out of the church, the _mortaretti_ started to bang. Fabrizio

turned his head and recognised that little terrace, adorned with a

parapet and overlooking the lake, where so often, when he was a boy, he

had risked his life to watch the _mortaretti_ go off between his legs,

with the result that on the mornings of public holidays his mother liked

to see him by her side.

It should be explained that the _mortaretti_ (or little mortars) are

nothing else than gun-barrels which are sawn through so as to leave them

only four inches long; that is why the peasants greedily collect all the

gun-barrels which, since 1796, European policy has been sowing broadcast

over the plains of Lombardy. Once they have been reduced to a length of

four inches, these little guns are loaded to the muzzle, they are

planted in the ground in a vertical position, and a train of powder is

laid from one to the next; they are drawn up in three lines like a

battalion, and to the number of two or three hundred, in some suitable

emplacement near the route along which the procession is to pass. When

the Blessed Sacrament approaches, a match is put to the train of powder,

and then begins a running fire of sharp explosions, utterly irregular

and quite ridiculous; the women are wild with joy. Nothing is so gay as

the sound of these _mortaretti_, heard at a distance on the lake, and

softened by the rocking of the water; this curious sound, which had so

often been the delight of his boyhood, banished the somewhat too solemn

thoughts by which our hero was being besieged; he went to find the

Priore's big astronomical telescope, and recognised the majority of the

men and women who were following the procession. A number of charming

little girls, whom Fabrizio had last seen at the age of eleven or

twelve, were now superb women in the full flower of the most vigorous

youth; they made our hero's courage revive, and to speak to them he

would readily have braved the police.

After the procession had passed and had re-entered the church by a side

door which was out of Fabrizio's sight, the heat soon became intense

even up in the belfry; the inhabitants returned to their homes, and a

great silence fell upon the village. Several boats took on board loads

of _contadini_ returning to Bellagio, Menaggio and other villages

situated on the lake; Fabrizio could distinguish the sound of each

stroke of the oars: so simple a detail as this sent him into an ecstasy;

his present joy was composed of all the unhappiness, all the irritation

that he found in the complicated life of a court. How happy he would

have been at this moment to be sailing for a league over that beautiful

lake which looked so calm and reflected so clearly the depth of the sky

above! He heard the door at the foot of the _campanile_ opened: it was

the Priore's old servant who brought in a great hamper, and he had all

the difficulty in the world in restraining himself from speaking to her.

"She is almost as fond of me as her master," he said to himself, "and

besides, I am leaving to-night at nine o'clock; would she not keep the

oath of secrecy I should make her swear, if only for a few hours? But,"

Fabrizio reminded himself, "I should be vexing my friend! I might get

him into trouble with the police!" and he let Ghita go without speaking

to her. He made an excellent dinner, then settled himself down to sleep

for a few minutes; he did not awake until half-past eight in the

evening; the Priore Blanès was shaking him by the arm, it was dark.

Blanès was extremely tired, and looked fifty years older than the night

before. He said nothing more about serious matters, sitting in his

wooden armchair. "Embrace me," he said to Fabrizio. He clasped him again

and again in his arms. "Death," he said at last, "which is coming to put

an end to this long life, will have nothing about it so painful as this

separation. I have a purse which I shall leave in Ghita's custody, with

orders to draw on it for her own needs, but to hand over to you what is

left, should you ever come to ask for it. I know her; after those

instructions, she is capable, from economy on your behalf, of not buying

meat four times in the year, if you do not give her quite definite

orders. You may yourself be reduced to penury, and the obol of your aged

friend will be of service to you. Expect nothing from your brother but

atrocious behaviour, and try to earn money by some work which will make

you useful to society. I foresee strange storms; perhaps, in fifty years'

time, the world will have no more room for idlers! Your mother and

aunt may fail you, your sisters will have to obey their husbands. . . .

Away with you, away with you, fly!" exclaimed Blanès urgently; he

had just heard a little sound in the clock which warned him that ten was

about to strike, and he would not even allow Fabrizio to give him a

farewell embrace.

"Hurry, hurry!" he cried to him; "it will take you at least a minute to

get down the stair; take care not to fall, that would be a terrible

omen." Fabrizio dashed down the staircase and emerging on to the

_piazza_ began to run. He had scarcely arrived opposite his father's

castle when the bell sounded ten times; each stroke reverberated in his

bosom, where it left a singular sense of disturbance. He stopped to

think, or rather to give himself up to the passionate feelings inspired

in him by the contemplation of that majestic edifice which he had judged

so coldly the night before. He was recalled from his musings by the

sound of footsteps; he looked up and found himself surrounded by four

constables. He had a brace of excellent pistols, the priming of which he

had renewed while he dined; the slight sound that he made in cocking

them attracted the attention of one of the constables, and he was within

an inch of being arrested. He saw the danger he ran, and decided to fire

the first shot; he would be justified in doing so, for this was the sole

method open to him of resisting four well armed men. Fortunately, the

constables, who were going round to clear the _osterie_, had not shown

themselves altogether irresponsive to the hospitality that they had

received in several of those sociable resorts; they did not make up

their minds quickly enough to do their duty. Fabrizio took to his heels

and ran. The constables went a few yards, running also, and shouting

"Stop! Stop!" then everything relapsed into silence. After every three

hundred yards Fabrizio halted to recover his breath. "The sound of my

pistols nearly made me get caught; this is just the sort of thing that

would make the Duchessa tell me, should it ever be granted me to see her

lovely eyes again, that my mind finds pleasure in contemplating what is

going to happen in ten years' time, and forgets to look-out for what is

actually happening beneath my nose."

Fabrizio shuddered at the thought of the danger he had just escaped; he

increased his pace, and presently found himself impelled to run, which

was not over-prudent, as it attracted the attention of several

_contadini_ who were going back to their homes. He could not bring

himself to stop until he had reached the mountain, more than a league

from Grianta, and even when he had stopped, he broke into a cold sweat

at the thought of the Spielberg.

"There's a fine fright!" he said aloud: on hearing the sound of this

word, he was almost tempted to feel ashamed. "But does not my aunt tell

me that the thing I most need is to learn to make allowances for myself?

I am always comparing myself with a model of perfection, which cannot

exist. Very well, I forgive myself my fright, for, from another point of

view, I was quite prepared to defend my liberty, and certainly all four

of them would not have remained on their feet to carry me off to prison.

What I am doing at this moment," he went on, "is not military; instead

of retiring rapidly, after having attained my object, and perhaps given

the alarm to my enemies, I am amusing myself with a fancy more

ridiculous perhaps than all the good Priore's predictions."

_THE CHESTNUT TREE_

For indeed, instead of retiring along the shortest line, and gaining the

shore of Lake Maggiore, where his boat was awaiting him, he made an

enormous circuit to go and visit _his tree_. The reader may perhaps

remember the love that Fabrizio bore for a chestnut tree planted by his

mother twenty-three years earlier. "It would be quite worthy of my

brother," he said to himself, "to have had the tree cut down; but those

creatures are incapable of delicate shades of feeling; he will never

have thought of it. And besides, that would not be a bad augury," he

added with firmness. Two hours later he was shocked by what he saw;

mischief-makers or a storm had broken one of the main branches of the

young tree, which hung down withered; Fabrizio cut it off reverently,

using his dagger, and smoothed the cut carefully, so that the rain

should not get inside the trunk. Then, although time was highly precious

to him, for day was about to break, he spent a good hour in turning the

soil round his dear tree. All these acts of folly accomplished, he went

rapidly on his way towards Lake Maggiore. All things considered, he was

not at all sad; the tree was coming on well, was more vigorous than

ever, and in five years had almost doubled in height. The branch was

only an accident of no consequence; once it had been cut off, it did no

more harm to the tree, which indeed would grow all the better if its

spread began higher from the ground.

Fabrizio had not gone a league when a dazzling band of white indicated

to the east the peaks of the Resegon di Lee, a mountain famous

throughout the district. The road which he was following became thronged

with _contadini_; but, instead of adopting military tactics, Fabrizio

let himself be melted by the sublime or touching aspect of these forests

in the neighbourhood of Lake Como. They are perhaps the finest in the

world; I do not mean to say those that bring in most new money, as the

Swiss would say, but those that speak most eloquently to the soul. To

listen to this language in the position in which Fabrizio found himself,

an object for the attentions of the gentlemen of the Lombardo-Venetian

police, was really childish. "I am half a league from the frontier," he

reminded himself at length, "I am going to meet _doganieri_ and

constables making their morning rounds: this coat of fine cloth will

look suspicious, they will ask me for my passport; now that passport is

inscribed at full length with my name, which is marked down for prison;

so here I am under the regrettable necessity of committing a murder. If,

as is usual, the police are going about in pairs, I cannot wait quietly

to fire until one of them tries to take me by the collar; he has only to

clutch me for a moment while he falls, and off I go to the Spielberg."

Fabrizio, horrified most of all by the necessity of firing first,

possibly on an old soldier who had served under his uncle, Conte

Pietranera, ran to hide himself in the hollow trunk of an enormous

chestnut; he was renewing the priming of his pistols, when he heard a

man coming towards him through the wood, singing very well a delicious

air from _Mercadante_, which was popular at that time in Lombardy.

_THE FOREST_

"There is a good omen for me," he said to himself. This air, to which he

listened religiously, took from him the little spark of anger which was

finding its way into his reasonings. He scrutinised the high road

carefully, in both directions, and saw no one: "The singer must be

coming along some side road," he said to himself. Almost at that moment,

he saw a footman, very neatly dressed in the English style and mounted

on a hack, who was coming towards him at a walk, leading a fine

thoroughbred, which however was perhaps a little too thin.

"Ah! If I reasoned like Conte Mosca," thought Fabrizio, "when he assures

me that the risks a man runs are always the measure of his rights over

his neighbours, I should blow out this servant's brains with a

pistol-shot, and, once I was mounted on the thin horse, I should laugh

aloud at all the police in the world. As soon as I was safely in Parma,

I should send money to the man, or to his widow . . . but it would be a

horrible thing to do!"