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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/2708-0.txt b/2708-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4a9b3fb --- /dev/null +++ b/2708-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5926 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Columba, by Prosper Merimee + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Columba + +Author: Prosper Merimee + +Release Date: March 28, 2006 [EBook #2708] +Last Updated: October 25, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK COLUMBA *** + + + + +Produced by Dagny; Emma Dudding; John Bickers + + + + + +COLOMBA + +By Prosper Merimee + + + + +Translated By The Lady Mary Loyd + + + + +CHAPTER I + + + “Pe far la to vendetta, + Sta sigur’, vasta anche ella.” + + --Vocero du Niolo. + + +Early in the month of October, 181-, Colonel Sir Thomas Nevil, a +distinguished Irish officer of the English army, alighted with his +daughter at the Hotel Beauveau, Marseilles, on their return from a +tour in Italy. The perpetual and universal admiration of enthusiastic +travellers has produced a sort of reaction, and many tourists, in their +desire to appear singular, now take the _nil admirari_ of Horace for +their motto. To this dissatisfied class the colonel’s only daughter, +Miss Lydia, belonged. “The Transfiguration” has seemed to her mediocre, +and Vesuvius in eruption an effect not greatly superior to that produced +by the Birmingham factory chimneys. Her great objection to Italy, on +the whole, was its lack of local colour and character. My readers must +discover the sense of these expressions as best they may. A few years +ago I understood them very well myself, but at the present time I can +make nothing of them. At first, Miss Lydia had flattered herself she had +found things on the other side of the Alps which nobody had ever before +seen, about which she could converse _avec les honnetes gens_, as M. +Jourdain calls them. But soon, anticipated in every direction by her +countrymen, she despaired of making any fresh discoveries, and went over +to the party of the opposition. It is really very tiresome not to be +able to talk abut the wonders of Italy without hearing somebody say “Of +course you know the Raphael in the Palazzo---- at ----? It is the finest +thing in Italy!” and just the thing _you_ happen to have overlooked! +As it would take too long to see everything, the simplest course is to +resort to deliberate and universal censure. + +At the Hotel Beauveau Miss Lydia met with a bitter disappointment. She +had brought back a pretty sketch of the Pelasgic or Cyclopean Gate +at Segni, which, as she believed, all other artists had completely +overlooked. Now, at Marseilles, she met Lady Frances Fenwick, who showed +her her album, in which appeared, between a sonnet and a dried flower, +the very gate in question, brilliantly touched in with sienna. Miss +Lydia gave her drawing to her maid--and lost all admiration for Pelasgic +structures. + +This unhappy frame of mind was shared by Colonel Nevil, who, since the +death of his wife, looked at everything through his daughter’s eyes. In +his estimation, Italy had committed the unpardonable sin of boring his +child, and was, in consequence, the most wearisome country on the face +of the earth. He had no fault to find, indeed, with the pictures and +statues, but he was in a position to assert that Italian sport was +utterly wretched, and that he had been obliged to tramp ten leagues +over the Roman Campagna, under a burning sun, to kill a few worthless +red-legged partridges. + +The morning after his arrival at Marseilles he invited Captain +Ellis--his former adjutant, who had just been spending six weeks in +Corsica--to dine with him. The captain told Miss Lydia a story about +bandits, which had the advantage of bearing no resemblance to the robber +tales with which she had been so frequently regaled, on the road between +Naples and Rome, and he told it well. At dessert, the two men, left +alone over their claret, talked of hunting--and the colonel learned that +nowhere is there more excellent sport, or game more varied and abundant, +than in Corsica. “There are plenty of wild boars,” said Captain Ellis. +“And you have to learn to distinguish them from the domestic pigs, which +are astonishingly like them. For if you kill a pig, you find yourself in +difficulties with the swine-herds. They rush out of the thickets (which +they call _maquis_) armed to the teeth, make you pay for their beasts, +and laugh at you besides. Then there is the mouflon, a strange animal, +which you will not find anywhere else--splendid game, but hard to +get--and stags, deer, pheasants, and partridges--it would be impossible +to enumerate all the kinds with which Corsica swarms. If you want +shooting, colonel, go to Corsica! There, as one of my entertainers +said to me, you can get a shot at every imaginable kind of game, from a +thrush to a man!” + +At tea, the captain once more delighted Lydia with the tale of a +_vendetta transversale_ (A vendetta in which vengeance falls on a more +or less distant relation of the author of the original offence.), +even more strange than his first story, and he thoroughly stirred +her enthusiasm by his descriptions of the strange wild beauty of the +country, the peculiarities of its inhabitants, and their primitive +hospitality and customs. Finally, he offered her a pretty little +stiletto, less remarkable for its shape and copper mounting than for its +origin. A famous bandit had given it to Captain Ellis, and had assured +him it had been buried in four human bodies. Miss Lydia thrust it +through her girdle, laid it on the table beside her bed, and unsheathed +it twice over before she fell asleep. Her father meanwhile was dreaming +he had slain a mouflon, and that its owner insisted on his paying for +it, a demand to which he gladly acceded, seeing it was a most curious +creature, like a boar, with stag’s horns and a pheasant’s tail. + +“Ellis tells me there’s splendid shooting in Corsica,” said the colonel, +as he sat at breakfast, alone with his daughter. “If it hadn’t been for +the distance, I should like to spend a fortnight there.” + +“Well,” replied Miss Lydia, “why shouldn’t we go to Corsica? While you +are hunting I can sketch--I should love to have that grotto Captain +Ellis talked about, where Napoleon used to go and study when he was a +child, in my album.” + +It was the first time, probably, that any wish expressed by the +colonel had won his daughter’s approbation. Delighted as he was by the +unexpected harmony on their opinions, he was nevertheless wise enough +to put forward various objections, calculated to sharpen Miss Lydia’s +welcome whim. In vain did he dwell on the wildness of the country, and +the difficulties of travel there for a lady. Nothing frightened her; she +liked travelling on horseback of all things; she delighted in the idea +of bivouacking in the open; she even threatened to go as far as Asia +Minor--in short, she found an answer to everything. No Englishwoman had +ever been to Corsica; therefore she must go. What a pleasure it would +be, when she got back to St. James’s Place, to exhibit her album! “But, +my dear creature, why do you pass over that delightful drawing?” “That’s +only a trifle--just a sketch I made of a famous Corsican bandit who was +our guide.” “What! you don’t mean to say you have been to Corsica?” + +As there were no steamboats between France and Corsica, in those days, +inquiries were made for some ship about to sail for the island Miss +Lydia proposed to discover. That very day the colonel wrote to Paris, +to countermand his order for the suite of apartments in which he was +to have made some stay, and bargained with the skipper of a Corsican +schooner, just about to set sail for Ajaccio, for two poor cabins, but +the best that could be had. Provisions were sent on board, the skipper +swore that one of his sailors was an excellent cook, and had not +his equal for _bouilleabaisse_; he promised mademoiselle should be +comfortable, and have a fair wind and a calm sea. + +The colonel further stipulated, in obedience to his daughter’s wishes, +that no other passenger should be taken on board, and that the captain +should skirt the coast of the island, so that Miss Lydia might enjoy the +view of the mountains. + + + +CHAPTER II + +On the day of their departure everything was packed and sent on board +early in the morning. The schooner was to sail with the evening +breeze. Meanwhile, as the colonel and his daughter were walking on the +Canebiere, the skipper addressed them, and craved permission to take on +board one of his relations, his eldest son’s godfather’s second +cousin, who was going back to Corsica, his native country, on important +business, and could not find any ship to take him over. + +“He’s a charming fellow,” added Captain Mattei, “a soldier, an officer +in the Infantry of the Guard, and would have been a colonel already if +_the other_ (meaning Napoleon) had still been emperor!” + +“As he is a soldier,” began the colonel--he was about to add, “I shall +be very glad he should come with us,” when Miss Lydia exclaimed in +English: + +“An infantry officer!” (Her father had been in the cavalry, and she +consequently looked down on every other branch of the service.) “An +uneducated man, very likely, who would be sea-sick, and spoil all the +pleasure of our trip!” + +The captain did not understand a word of English, but he seemed to catch +what Miss Lydia was saying by the pursing up of her pretty mouth, and +immediately entered upon an elaborate panegyric of his relative, which +he wound up by declaring him to be a gentleman, belonging to a family of +_corporals_, and that he would not be in the very least in the colonel’s +way, for that he, the skipper, would undertake to stow him in some +corner, where they should not be aware of his presence. + +The colonel and Miss Nevil thought it peculiar that there should be +Corsican families in which the dignity of corporal was handed down from +father to son. But, as they really believed the individual in question +to be some infantry corporal, they concluded he was some poor devil +whom the skipper desired to take out of pure charity. If he had been an +officer, they would have been obliged to speak to him and live with +him; but there was no reason why they should put themselves out for a +corporal--who is a person of no consequence unless his detachment is +also at hand, with bayonets fixed, ready to convey a person to a place +to which he would rather not be taken. + +“Is your kinsman ever sea-sick?” demanded Miss Nevil sharply. + +“Never, mademoiselle, he is as steady as a rock, either on sea or land!” + +“Very good then, you can take him,” said she. + +“You can take him!” echoed the colonel, and they passed on their way. + +Toward five o’clock in the evening Captain Mattei came to escort them +on board the schooner. On the jetty, near the captain’s gig, they met a +tall young man wearing a blue frock-coat, buttoned up to his chin; his +face was tanned, his eyes were black, brilliant, wide open, his whole +appearance intelligent and frank. His shoulders, well thrown back, and +his little twisted mustache clearly revealed the soldier--for at that +period mustaches were by no means common, and the National Guard had not +carried the habits and appearance of the guard-room into the bosom of +every family. + +When the young man saw the colonel he doffed his cap, and thanked him in +excellent language, and without the slightest shyness, for the service +he was rendering him. + +“Delighted to be of use to you, my good fellow!” said the colonel, with +a friendly nod, and he stepped into the gig. + +“He’s not very ceremonious, this Englishman of yours,” said the young +man in Italian, and in an undertone, to the captain. + +The skipper laid his forefinger under his left eye, and pulled down the +corners of his mouth. To a man acquainted with the language of signs, +this meant that the Englishman understood Italian, and was an oddity +into the bargain. The young man smiled slightly and touched his +forehead, in answer to Mattei’s sign, as though to indicate that every +Englishman had a bee in his bonnet. Then he sat down beside them, and +began to look very attentively, though not impertinently, at his pretty +fellow-traveller. + +“These French soldiers all have a good appearance,” remarked the +colonel in English to his daughter, “and so it is easy to turn them into +officers.” Then addressing the young man in French, he said, “Tell me, +my good man, what regiment have you served in?” The young man nudged his +second cousin’s godson’s father gently with his elbow, and suppressing +an ironic smile, replied that he had served in the Infantry of the +Guard, and that he had just quitted the Seventh Regiment of Light +Infantry. + +“Were you at Waterloo? You are very young!” + +“I beg your pardon, colonel, that was my only campaign.” + +“It counts as two,” said the colonel. + +The young Corsican bit his lips. + +“Papa,” said Miss Lydia in English, “do ask him if the Corsicans are +very fond of their Buonaparte.” + +Before the colonel could translate her question into French, the young +man answered in fairly good English, though with a marked accent: + +“You know, mademoiselle, that no man is ever a prophet in his own +country. We, who are Napoleon’s fellow-countrymen, are perhaps less +attached to him than the French. As for myself, though my family was +formerly at enmity with his, I both love and admire him.” + +“You speak English!” exclaimed the colonel. + +“Very ill, as you may perceive!” + +Miss Lydia, though somewhat shocked by the young man’s easy tone, could +not help laughing at the idea of a personal enmity between a corporal +and an emperor. She took this as a foretaste of Corsican peculiarities, +and made up her mind to note it down in her journal. + +“Perhaps you were a prisoner in England?” asked the colonel. + +“No, colonel, I learned English in France, when I was very young, from a +prisoner of your nation.” + +Then, addressing Miss Nevil: + +“Mattei tells me you have just come back from Italy. No doubt, +mademoiselle, you speak the purest Tuscan--I fear you’ll find it +somewhat difficult to understand our dialect.” + +“My daughter understands every Italian dialect,” said the colonel. “She +has the gift of languages. She doesn’t get it from me.” + +“Would mademoiselle understand, for instance, these lines from one of +our Corsican songs in which a shepherd says to his shepherdess: + + “S’entrassi ‘ndru paradisu santu, santu, + E nun truvassi a tia, mi n’escriria.” + + (“If I entered the holy land of paradise + and found thee not, I would depart!”) + + --_Serenata di Zicavo_. + +Miss Lydia did understand. She thought the quotation bold, and the look +which accompanied it still bolder, and replied, with a blush, “Capisco.” + +“And are you going back to your own country on furlough?” inquired the +colonel. + +“No, colonel, they have put me on half-pay, because I was at Waterloo, +probably, and because I am Napoleon’s fellow-countryman. I am going +home, as the song says, low in hope and low in purse,” and he looked up +to the sky and sighed. + +The colonel slipped his hand into his pocket, and tried to think of some +civil phrase with which he might slip the gold coin he was fingering +into the palm of his unfortunate enemy. + +“And I too,” he said good-humouredly, “have been put on half-pay, +but your half-pay can hardly give you enough to buy tobacco! Here, +corporal!” and he tried to force the gold coin into the young man’s +closed hand, which rested on the gunwale of the gig. + +The young Corsican reddened, drew himself up, bit his lips, and seemed, +for a moment, on the brink of some angry reply. Then suddenly his +expression changed and he burst out laughing. The colonel, grasping his +gold piece still in his hand, sat staring at him. + +“Colonel,” said the young man, when he had recovered his gravity, “allow +me to offer you two pieces of advice--the first is never to offer money +to a Corsican, for some of my fellow-countrymen would be rude enough to +throw it back in your face; the second is not to give people titles +they do not claim. You call me ‘corporal,’ and I am a lieutenant--the +difference is not very great, no doubt, still----” + +“Lieutenant! Lieutenant!” exclaimed Sir Thomas. “But the skipper told me +you were a corporal, and that your father and all your family had been +corporals before you!” + +At these words the young man threw himself back and laughed louder than +ever, so merrily that the skipper and his two sailors joined the chorus. + +“Forgive me, colonel!” he cried at last. “The mistake is so comical, and +I have only just realized it. It is quite true that my family glories in +the fact that it can reckon many corporals among its ancestors--but our +Corsican corporals never wore stripes upon their sleeves! Toward the +year of grace 1100 certain villages revolted against the tyranny of the +great mountain nobles, and chose leaders of their own, whom they called +_corporals_. In our island we think a great deal of being descended from +these tribunes.” + +“I beg your pardon, sir,” exclaimed the colonel, “I beg your pardon a +thousand times! As you understand the cause of my mistake, I hope you +will do me the kindness of forgiving it!” and he held out his hand. + +“It is the just punishment of my petty pride,” said the young man, still +laughing, and cordially shaking the Englishman’s hand. “I am not at all +offended. As my friend Mattei has introduced me so unsuccessfully, allow +me to introduce myself. My name is Orso della Rebbia; I am a lieutenant +on half-pay; and if, as the sight of those two fine dogs of yours leads +me to believe, you are coming to Corsica to hunt, I shall be very proud +to do you the honours of our mountains and our _maquis_--if, indeed, I +have not forgotten them altogether!” he added, with a sigh. + +At this moment the gig came alongside the schooner, the lieutenant +offered his hand to Miss Lydia, and then helped the colonel to swing +himself up on deck. Once there, Sir Thomas, who was still very much +ashamed of his blunder, and at a loss to know what he had better do to +make the man whose ancestry dated from the year 1100 forget it, invited +him to supper, without waiting for his daughter’s consent, and with many +fresh apologies and handshakes. Miss Lydia frowned a little, but, after +all, she was not sorry to know what a corporal really was. She rather +liked there guest, and was even beginning to fancy there was something +aristocratic about him--only she thought him too frank and merry for a +hero of romance. + +“Lieutenant della Rebbia,” said the colonel, bowing to him, English +fashion, over a glass of Madeira, “I met a great many of your countrymen +in Spain--they were splendid sharp-shooters.” + +“Yes, and a great many of them have stayed in Spain,” replied the young +lieutenant gravely. + +“I shall never forget the behaviour of a Corsican battalion at the +Battle of Vittoria,” said the colonel; “I have good reason to remember +it, indeed,” he added, rubbing his chest. “All day long they had been +skirmishing in the gardens, behind the hedges, and had killed I don’t +know how many of our horses and men. When the retreat was sounded, they +rallied and made off at a great pace. We had hoped to take our revenge +on them in the open plain, but the scoundrels--I beg your pardon, +lieutenant; the brave fellows, I should have said--had formed a square, +and there was no breaking it. In the middle of the square--I fancy I can +see him still--rode an officer on a little black horse. He kept close +beside the standard, smoking his cigar as coolly as if he had been in a +café. Every now and then their bugles played a flourish, as if to defy +us. I sent my two leading squadrons at them. Whew! Instead of breaking +the front of the square, my dragoons passed along the sides, wheeled, +and came back in great disorder, and with several riderless horses--and +all the time those cursed bugles went on playing. When the smoke which +had hung over the battalion cleared away, I saw the officer still +puffing at his cigar beside his eagle. I was furious, and led a final +charge myself. Their muskets, foul with continual firing, would not go +off, but the men had drawn up, six deep, with their bayonets pointed +at the noses of our horses; you might have taken them for a wall. I was +shouting, urging on my dragoons, and spurring my horse forward, when the +officer I have mentioned, at length throwing away his cigar, pointed me +out to one of his men, and I heard him say something like _‘Al capello +bianco!’_--I wore a white plume. Then I did not hear any more, for a +bullet passed through my chest. That was a splendid battalion, M. della +Rebbia, that first battalion of the Eighteenth--all of them Corsicans, +as I was afterward told!” + +“Yes,” said Orso, whose eyes had shone as he listened to the story. +“They covered the retreat, and brought back their eagle. Two thirds of +those brave fellows are sleeping now on the plains of Vittoria!” + +“And, perhaps, you can tell me the name of the officer in command?” + +“It was my father--he was then a major in the Eighteenth, and was +promoted colonel for his conduct on that terrible day.” + +“Your father! Upon my word, he was a brave man! I should be glad to see +him again, and I am certain I should recognise him. Is he still alive?” + +“No, colonel,” said the young man, turning slightly pale. + +“Was he at Waterloo?” + +“Yes, colonel; but he had not the happiness of dying on the field of +battle. He died in Corsica two years ago. How beautiful the sea is! It +is ten years since I have seen the Mediterranean! Don’t you think the +Mediterranean much more beautiful than the ocean, mademoiselle?” + +“I think it too blue, and its waves lack grandeur.” + +“You like wild beauty then, mademoiselle! In that case, I am sure you +will be delighted with Corsica.” + +“My daughter,” said the colonel, “delights in everything that is out of +the common, and for that reason she did not care much for Italy.” + +“The only place in Italy that I know,” said Orso, “is Pisa, where I was +at school for some time. But I can not think, without admiration, of +the Campo-Santo, the Duomo, and the Leaning Tower--especially of the +Campo-Santo. Do you remember Orcagna’s ‘Death’? I think I could draw +every line of it--it is so graven on my memory.” + +Miss Lydia was afraid the lieutenant was going to deliver an +enthusiastic tirade. + +“It is very pretty,” she said, with a yawn. “Excuse me, papa, my head +aches a little; I am going down to my cabin.” + +She kissed her father on the forehead, inclined her head majestically +to Orso, and disappeared. Then the two men talked about hunting and +war. They discovered that at Waterloo they had been posted opposite +each other, and had no doubt exchanged many a bullet. This knowledge +strengthened their good understanding. Turning about, they criticised +Napoleon, Wellington, and Blucher, and then they hunted buck, boar, and +mountain sheep in company. At last, when night was far advanced, and +the last bottle of claret had been emptied, the colonel wrung the +lieutenant’s hand once more and wished him good-night, expressing his +hope that an acquaintance, which had begun in such ridiculous fashion, +might be continued. They parted, and each went to bed. + + + +CHAPTER III + +It was a lovely night. The moonlight was dancing on the waves, the ship +glided smoothly on before a gentle breeze. Miss Lydia was not sleepy, +and nothing but the presence of an unpoetical person had prevented her +from enjoying those emotions which every human being possessing a touch +of poetry must experience at sea by moonlight. When she felt sure the +young lieutenant must be sound asleep, like the prosaic creature he was, +she got up, took her cloak, woke her maid, and went on deck. Nobody +was to be seen except the sailor at the helm, who was singing a sort of +dirge in the Corsican dialect, to some wild and monotonous tune. In the +silence of the night this strange music had its charm. Unluckily Miss +Lydia did not understand perfectly what the sailor was singing. Amid +a good deal that was commonplace, a passionate line would occasionally +excite her liveliest curiosity. But just at the most important moment +some words of _patois_ would occur, the sense of which utterly escaped +her. Yet she did make out that the subject was connected with a murder. +Curses against the assassin, threats of vengeance, praise of the dead +were all mingled confusedly. She remembered some of the lines. I will +endeavour to translate them here. + +. . . “Neither cannon nor bayonets . . . Brought pallor to his +brow. . . As serene on the battlefield . . . as a summer sky. He was the +falcon--the eagle’s friend . . . Honey of the sand to his friends . . . +To his enemies, a tempestuous sea. . . . . . . Prouder than the sun +. . . gentler than the moon . . . He for whom the enemies of France +. . . never waited . . . Murderers in his own land . . . struck him from +behind . . . As Vittolo slew Sampiero Corso . . . Never would they have +dared to look him in The face . . . Set up on the wall Before my bed +. . . my well-earned cross of honour . . . red is its ribbon . . . redder +is my shirt! . . . For my son, my son in a far country . . . keep my cross +and my blood-stained shirt! . . . + +“. . . He will see two holes in it . . . For each hole a hole in another +shirt! . . . But will that accomplish the vengeance? . . . I must have +the hand that fired, the eye that aimed . . . the heart that +planned!” . . . + +Suddenly the sailor stopped short. + +“Why don’t you go on, my good man?” inquired Miss Nevil. + +The sailor, with a jerk of his head, pointed to a figure appearing +through the main hatchway of the schooner: it was Orso, coming up to +enjoy the moonlight. “Pray finish your song,” said Miss Lydia. “It +interests me greatly!” + +The sailor leaned toward her, and said, in a very low tone, “I don’t +give the _rimbecco_ to anybody!” + +“The what?” + +The sailor, without replying, began to whistle. + +“I have caught you admiring our Mediterranean, Miss Nevil,” said Orso, +coming toward her. “You must allow you never see a moon like this +anywhere else!” + +“I was not looking at it, I was altogether occupied in studying +Corsican. That sailor, who has been singing a most tragic dirge, stopped +short at the most interesting point.” + +The sailor bent down, as if to see the compass more clearly, and tugged +sharply at Miss Nevil’s fur cloak. It was quite evident his lament could +not be sung before Lieutenant Orso. + +“What were you singing, Paolo France?” said Orso. “Was it a _ballata_ +or a _vocero_? Mademoiselle understands you, and would like to hear the +end.” + +“I have forgotten it, Ors’ Anton’,” said the sailor. + +And instantly he began a hymn to the Virgin, at the top of his voice. + +Miss Lydia listened absent-mindedly to the hymn, and did not press the +singer any further--though she was quite resolved, in her own mind, to +find out the meaning of the riddle later. But her maid, who, being a +Florentine, could not understand the Corsican dialect any better than +her mistress, was as eager as Miss Lydia for information, and, turning +to Orso, before the English lady could warn her by a nudge, she said: +“Captain what does _giving the rimbecco_ mean?” + +“The rimbecco!” said Orso. “Why, it’s the most deadly insult that can be +offered to a Corsican. It means reproaching him with not having avenged +his wrong. Who mentioned the rimbecco to you?” + +“Yesterday, at Marseilles,” replied Miss Lydia hurriedly, “the captain +of the schooner used the word.” + +“And whom was he talking about?” inquired Orso eagerly. + +“Oh, he was telling us some odd story about the time--yes, I think it +was about Vannina d’Ornano.” + +“I suppose, mademoiselle, that Vannina’s death has not inspired you with +any great love for our national hero, the brave Sampiero?” + +“But do you think his conduct was so very heroic?” + +“The excuse for his crime lies in the savage customs of the period. And +then Sampiero was waging deadly war against the Genoese. What confidence +could his fellow-countrymen have felt in him if he had not punished his +wife, who tried to treat with Genoa?” + +“Vannina,” said the sailor, “had started off without her husband’s +leave. Sampiero did quite right to wring her neck!” + +“But,” said Miss Lydia, “it was to save her husband, it was out of love +for him, that she was going to ask his pardon from the Genoese.” + +“To ask his pardon was to degrade him!” exclaimed Orso. + +“And then to kill her himself!” said Miss Lydia. “What a monster he must +have been!” + +“You know she begged as a favour that she might die by his hand. What +about Othello, mademoiselle, do you look on him, too, as a monster?” + +“There is a difference; he was jealous. Sampiero was only vain!” + +“And after all is not jealousy a kind of vanity? It is the vanity of +love; will you not excuse it on account of its motive?” + +Miss Lydia looked at him with an air of great dignity, and turning to +the sailor, inquired when the schooner would reach port. + +“The day after to-morrow,” said he, “if the wind holds.” + +“I wish Ajaccio were in sight already, for I am sick of this ship.” + She rose, took her maid’s arm, and walked a few paces on the deck. Orso +stood motionless beside the helm, not knowing whether he had better walk +beside her, or end a conversation which seemed displeasing to her. + +“Blood of the Madonna, what a handsome girl!” said the sailor. “If every +flea in my bed were like her, I shouldn’t complain of their biting me!” + +Miss Lydia may possibly have overheard this artless praise of her beauty +and been startled by it; for she went below almost immediately. Shortly +after Orso also retired. As soon as he had left the deck the maid +reappeared, and, having cross-questioned the sailor, carried back the +following information to her mistress. The _ballata_ which had been +broken off on Orso’s appearance had been composed on the occasion of +the death of his father, Colonel della Rebbia, who had been murdered two +years previously. The sailor had no doubt at all that Orso was coming +back to Corsica _per fare la vendetta_, such was his expression, and he +affirmed that before long there would be _fresh meat_ to be seen in +the village of Pietranera. This national expression, being interpreted, +meant that Signor Orso proposed to murder two or three individuals +suspected of having assassinated his father--individuals who had, +indeed, been prosecuted on that account, but had come out of the trial +as white as snow, for they were hand and glove with the judges, lawyers, +prefect, and gendarmes. + +“There is no justice in Corsica,” added the sailor, “and I put much more +faith in a good gun than in a judge of the Royal Court. If a man has +an enemy he must choose one of the three S’s.” (A national expression +meaning _schioppetto_, _stiletto_, _strada_--that is, _gun_, _dagger_, +or _flight_.) + +These interesting pieces of information wrought a notable change in Miss +Lydia’s manner and feeling with regard to Lieutenant della Rebbia. +From that moment he became a person of importance in the romantic +Englishwoman’s eyes. + +His careless air, his frank and good humour, which had at first +impressed her so unfavourably, now seemed to her an additional merit, +as being proofs of the deep dissimulation of a strong nature, which will +not allow any inner feeling to appear upon the surface. Orso seemed to +her a sort of Fieschi, who hid mighty designs under an appearance of +frivolity, and, though it is less noble to kill a few rascals than to +free one’s country, still a fine deed of vengeance is a fine thing, and +besides, women are rather glad to find their hero is not a politician. +Then Miss Nevil remarked for the first time that the young lieutenant +had large eyes, white teeth, an elegant figure, that he was +well-educated, and possessed the habits of good society. During the +following day she talked to him frequently, and found his conversation +interesting. He was asked many questions about his own country, and +described it well. Corsica, which he had left when young, to go first +to college, and then to the Ecole militaire, had remained in his +imagination surrounded with poetic associations. When he talked of its +mountains, its forests, and the quaint customs of its inhabitants +he grew eager and animated. As may be imagined, the word _vengeance_ +occurred more than once in the stories he told--for it is impossible +to speak of the Corsicans without either attacking or justifying their +proverbial passion. Orso somewhat surprised Miss Nevil by his general +condemnation of the undying hatreds nursed by his fellow-countrymen. +As regarded the peasants, however, he endeavoured to excuse them, and +claimed that the _vendetta_ is the poor man’s duel. “So true is this,” + he said, “that no assassination takes place till a formal challenge +has been delivered. ‘Be on your guard yourself, I am on mine!’ are the +sacramental words exchanged, from time immemorial, between two enemies, +before they begin to lie in wait for each other. There are more +assassinations among us,” he added, “than anywhere else. But you will +never discover an ignoble cause for any of these crimes. We have many +murderers, it is true, but not a single thief.” + +When he spoke about vengeance and murder Miss Lydia looked at him +closely, but she could not detect the slightest trace of emotion on +his features. As she had made up her mind, however, that he possessed +sufficient strength of mind to be able to hide his thoughts from every +eye (her own, of course, excepted), she continued in her firm belief +that Colonel della Rebbia’s shade would not have to wait long for the +atonement it claimed. + +The schooner was already within sight of Corsica. The captain pointed +out the principal features of the coast, and, though all of these +were absolutely unknown to Miss Lydia, she found a certain pleasure +in hearing their names; nothing is more tiresome than an anonymous +landscape. From time to time the colonel’s telescope revealed to her +the form of some islander clad in brown cloth, armed with a long gun, +bestriding a small horse, and galloping down steep slopes. In each of +these Miss Lydia believed she beheld either a brigand or a son going +forth to avenge his father’s death. But Orso always declared it was some +peaceful denizen of a neighbouring village travelling on business, +and that he carried a gun less from necessity than because it was the +fashion, just as no dandy ever takes a walk without an elegant cane. +Though a gun is a less noble and poetic weapon than a stiletto, Miss +Lydia thought it much more stylish for a man than any cane, and she +remembered that all Lord Byron’s heroes died by a bullet, and not by the +classic poniard. + +After three days’ sailing, the ship reached Les Sanguinaires (The +Bloody Islands), and the magnificent panorama of the Gulf of Ajaccio was +unrolled before our travellers’ eyes. It is compared, with justice, to +the Bay of Naples, and just as the schooner was entering the harbour +a burning _maquis_, which covered the Punta di Girato, brought back +memories of Vesuvius and heightened the resemblance. To make it quite +complete, Naples should be seen after one of Attila’s armies had +devastated its suburbs--for round Ajaccio everything looks dead and +deserted. Instead of the handsome buildings observable on every +side from Castellamare to Cape Misena, nothing is to be seen in the +neighbourhood of the Gulf of Ajaccio but gloomy _maquis_ with bare +mountains rising behind them. Not a villa, not a dwelling of any +kind--only here and there, on the heights about the town, a few isolated +white structures stand out against a background of green. These are +mortuary chapels or family tombs. Everything in this landscape is +gravely and sadly beautiful. + +The appearance of the town, at that period especially, deepened the +impression caused by the loneliness of its surroundings. There was +no stir in the streets, where only a few listless idlers--always the +same--were to be seen; no women at all, except an odd peasant come in to +sell her produce; no loud talk, laughter, and singing, as in the Italian +towns. Sometimes, under the shade of a tree on the public promenade, a +dozen armed peasants will play at cards or watch each other play; they +never shout or wrangle; if they get hot over the game, pistol shots ring +out, and this always before the utterance of any threat. The Corsican +is grave and silent by nature. In the evening, a few persons come out to +enjoy the cool air, but the promenaders on the Corso are nearly all of +them foreigners; the islanders stay in front of their own doors; each +one seems on the watch, like a falcon over its nest. + + + +CHAPTER IV + +When Miss Lydia had visited the house in which Napoleon was born, and +had procured, by means more or less moral, a fragment of the wall-paper +belonging to it, she, within two days of her landing in Corsica, began +to feel that profound melancholy which must overcome every foreigner in +a country whose unsociable inhabitants appear to condemn him or her to a +condition of utter isolation. She was already regretting her headstrong +caprice; but to go back at once would have been to risk her reputation +as an intrepid traveller, so she made up her mind to be patient, and +kill time as best she could. With this noble resolution, she brought +out her crayons and colours, sketched views of the gulf, and did +the portrait of a sunburnt peasant, who sold melons, like any +market-gardener on the Continent, but who wore a long white beard, and +looked the fiercest rascal that had ever been seen. As all that was not +enough to amuse her, she determined to turn the head of the descendant +of the corporals, and this was no difficult matter, since, far from +being in a hurry to get back to his village, Orso seemed very happy at +Ajaccio, although he knew nobody there. Furthermore, Miss Lydia had a +lofty purpose in her mind; it was nothing less than to civilize this +mountain bear, and induce him to relinquish the sinister design which +had recalled him to his island. Since she had taken the trouble to study +the young man, she had told herself it would be a pity to let him +rush upon his ruin, and that it would be a glorious thing to convert a +Corsican. + +Our travellers spent the day in the following manner: Every morning the +colonel and Orso went out shooting. Miss Lydia sketched or wrote letters +to her friends, chiefly for the sake of dating them from Ajaccio. +Toward six o’clock the gentlemen came in, laden with game. Then followed +dinner. Miss Lydia sang, the colonel went to sleep, and the young people +sat talking till very late. + +Some formality or other, connected with his passports, had made it +necessary for Colonel Nevil to call on the prefect. This gentleman, +who, like most of his colleagues, found his life very dull, had been +delighted to hear of the arrival of an Englishman who was rich, a man of +the world, and the father of a pretty daughter. He had, therefore, given +him the most friendly reception, and overwhelmed him with offers of +service; further, within a very few days, he came to return his visit. +The colonel, who had just dined, was comfortably stretched out upon his +sofa, and very nearly asleep. His daughter was singing at a broken-down +piano; Orso was turning over the leaves of her music, and gazing at the +fair singer’s shoulders and golden hair. The prefect was announced, the +piano stopped, the colonel got up, rubbed his eyes, and introduced the +prefect to his daughter. + +“I do not introduce M. della Rebbia to you,” said he, “for no doubt you +know him already.” + +“Is this gentleman Colonel della Rebbia’s son?” said the prefect, +looking a trifle embarrassed. + +“Yes, monsieur,” replied Orso. + +“I had the honour of knowing your father.” + +The ordinary commonplaces of conversation were soon exhausted. The +colonel, in spite of himself, yawned pretty frequently. Orso, as a +liberal, did not care to converse with a satellite of the Government. +The burden of the conversation fell on Miss Lydia. The prefect, on his +side, did not let it drop, and it was clear that he found the greatest +pleasure in talking of Paris, and of the great world, to a woman who +was acquainted with all the foremost people in European society. As he +talked, he now and then glanced at Orso, with an expression of singular +curiosity. + +“Was it on the Continent that you made M. della Rebbia’s acquaintance?” + he inquired. + +Somewhat embarrassed, Miss Lydia replied that she had made his +acquaintance on the ship which had carried them to Corsica. + +“He is a very gentlemanly young fellow,” said the prefect, in an +undertone; “and has he told you,” he added, dropping his voice still +lower, “why he has returned to Corsica?” + +Miss Lydia put on her most majestic air and answered: + +“I have not asked him,” she said. “You may do so.” + +The prefect kept silence, but, an instant later, hearing Orso speak a +few words of English to the colonel, he said: + +“You seem to have travelled a great deal, monsieur. You must have +forgotten Corsica and Corsican habits.” + +“It is quite true that I was very young when I went away.” + +“You still belong to the army?” + +“I am on half-pay, monsieur.” + +“You have been too long in the French army not to have become a thorough +Frenchman, I have no doubt?” + +The last words of the sentence were spoken with marked emphasis. + +The Corsicans are not particularly flattered at being reminded that they +belong to the “Great Nations.” They claim to be a people apart, and so +well do they justify their claim that it may very well be granted them. + +Somewhat nettled, Orso replied: “Do you think, M. le Prefet, that +a Corsican must necessarily serve in the French army to become an +honourable man?” + +“No, indeed,” said the prefect, “that is not my idea at all; I am only +speaking of certain _customs_ belonging to this country, some of which +are not such as a Government official would like to see.” + +He emphasized the word _customs_, and put on as grave an expression +as his features could assume. Soon after he got up and took his leave, +bearing with him Miss Lydia’s promise that she would go and call on his +wife at the prefecture. + +When he had departed: “I had to come to Corsica,” said Miss Lydia, “to +find out what a prefect is like. This one strikes me as rather amiable.” + +“For my part,” said Orso, “I can’t say as much. He strikes me as a very +queer individual, with his airs of emphasis and mystery.” + +The colonel was extremely drowsy. Miss Lydia cast a glance in his +direction, and, lowering her voice: + +“And I,” she said, “do not think him so mysterious as you pretend; for I +believe I understood him!” + +“Then you are clear-sighted indeed, Miss Nevil. If you have seen any wit +in what he has just said you must certainly have put it there yourself.” + +“It is the Marquis de Mascarille, I think, who says that, M. +della Rebbia. But would you like me to give you a proof of my +clear-sightedness? I am something of a witch, and I can read the +thoughts of people I have seen only twice.” + +“Good heavens! you alarm me. If you really can read my thoughts I don’t +know whether I should be glad or sorry.” + +“M. della Rebbia,” went on Miss Lydia, with a blush, “we have only known +each other for a few days. But at sea, and in savage countries (you will +excuse me, I hope)--in savage countries friendships grow more quickly +than they do in society . . . so you must not be astonished if I speak +to you, as a friend, upon private matters, with which, perhaps, a +stranger ought not to interfere.” + +“Ah, do not say that word, Miss Nevil. I like the other far better.” + +“Well, then, monsieur, I must tell you that without having tried to find +out your secrets, I have learned some of them, and they grieve me. I +have heard, monsieur, of the misfortune which has overtaken your family. +A great deal has been said to me about the vindictive nature of your +fellow-countrymen, and the fashion in which they take their vengeance. +Was it not to that the prefect was alluding?” + +“Miss Lydia! Can you believe it!” and Orso turned deadly pale. + +“No, M. della Rebbia,” she said, interrupting him, “I know you to be a +most honourable gentleman. You have told me yourself that it was +only the common people in your country who still practised the +_vendetta_--which you are pleased to describe as a kind of duel.” + +“Do you, then, believe me capable of ever becoming a murderer?” + +“Since I have mentioned the subject at all, Monsieur Orso, you must +clearly see that I do not suspect you, and if I have spoken to you at +all,” she added, dropping her eyes, “it is because I have realized that +surrounded, it may be, by barbarous prejudices on your return home, you +will be glad to know that there is somebody who esteems you for having +the courage to resist them. Come!” said she, rising to her feet, “don’t +let us talk again of such horrid things, they make my head ache, and +besides it’s very late. You are not angry with me, are you? Let us say +good-night in the English fashion,” and she held out her hand. + +Orso pressed it, looking grave and deeply moved. + +“Mademoiselle,” he said, “do you know that there are moments when the +instincts of my country wake up within me. Sometimes, when I think of +my poor father, horrible thoughts assail me. Thanks to you, I am rid of +them forever. Thank you! thank you!” + +He would have continued, but Miss Lydia dropped a teaspoon, and the +noise woke up the colonel. + +“Della Rebbia, we’ll start at five o’clock to-morrow morning. Be +punctual!” + +“Yes, colonel.” + + + +CHAPTER V + +The next day, a short time before the sportsmen came back, Miss Nevil, +returning with her maid from a walk along the seashore, was just about +to enter the inn, when she noticed a young woman, dressed in black, +riding into the town on a small but strong horse. She was followed by a +sort of peasant, also on horseback, who wore a brown cloth jacket cut at +the elbows. A gourd was slung over his shoulder and a pistol was hanging +at his belt, his hand grasped a gun, the butt of which rested in a +leathern pocket fastened to his saddle-bow--in short, he wore the +complete costume of a brigand in a melodrama, or of the middle-class +Corsican on his travels. Miss Nevil’s attention was first attracted by +the woman’s remarkable beauty. She seemed about twenty years of age; she +was tall and pale, with dark blue eyes, red lips, and teeth like enamel. +In her expression pride, anxiety, and sadness were all legible. On her +head she wore a black silk veil called a _mezzaro_, which the Genoese +introduced into Corsica, and which is so becoming to women. Long braids +of chestnut hair formed a sort of turban round her head. Her dress was +neat, but simple in the extreme. + +Miss Nevil had plenty of time to observe her, for the lady in the +_mezzaro_ had halted in the street, and was questioning somebody on +a subject which, to judge from the expression of her eyes, must have +interested her exceedingly. Then, as soon as she received an answer, +she touched her mount with her riding-switch, and, breaking into a quick +trot, never halted till she reached the door of the hotel in which Sir +Thomas Nevil and Orso were staying. There, after exchanging a few words +with the host, the girl sprang nimbly from her saddle and seated herself +on a stone bench beside the entrance door, while her groom led the +horses away to the stable. Miss Lydia, in her Paris gown, passed close +beside the stranger, who did not raise her eyes. A quarter of an hour +later she opened her window, and saw the lady in the _mezzaro_ still +sitting in the same place and in the same attitude. Not long afterward +the colonel and Orso returned from hunting. Then the landlord said a few +words to the young lady in mourning, and pointed to della Rebbia with +his finger. She coloured deeply, rose eagerly, went a few paces forward, +and then stopped short, apparently much confused. Orso was quite close +to her, and was looking at her curiously. + +“Are you Orso Antonio della Rebbia?” said she in a tremulous voice. “I +am Colomba.” + +“Colomba!” cried Orso. + +And taking her in his arms he kissed her tenderly, somewhat to the +surprise of the colonel and his daughter--but in England people do not +kiss each other in the street. + +“Brother,” said Colomba, “you must forgive me for having come without +your permission. But I heard from our friends that you had arrived, and +it is such a great consolation to me to see you.” + +Again Orso kissed her. Then, turning to the colonel: + +“This is my sister,” said he, “whom I never should have recognised +if she had not told me her name--Colomba--Colonel Sir Thomas +Nevil--colonel, you will kindly excuse me, but I can not have the honour +of dining with you to-day. My sister--” + +“But, my dear fellow, where the devil do you expect to dine? You know +very well there is only one dinner in this infernal tavern, and we have +bespoken it. It will afford my daughter great pleasure if this young +lady will join us.” + +Colomba looked at her brother, who did not need much pressing, and they +all passed together into the largest room in the inn, which the colonel +used as his sitting and dining room. Mademoiselle della Rebbia, on being +introduced to Miss Nevil, made her a deep courtesy, but she did +not utter a single word. It was easy to see that she was very much +frightened at finding herself, perhaps for the first time in her life, +in the company of strangers belonging to the great world. Yet there was +nothing provincial in her manners. The novelty of her position excused +her awkwardness. Miss Nevil took a liking to her at once, and, as there +was no room disengaged in the hotel, the whole of which was occupied by +the colonel and his attendants, she offered, either out of condescension +or curiosity, to have a bed prepared in her own room for Mademoiselle +della Rebbia. + +Colomba stammered a few words of thanks, and hastened after Miss Nevil’s +maid, to make such changes in her toilet as were rendered necessary by a +journey on horseback in the dust and heat. + +When she re-entered the sitting-room, she paused in front of the +colonel’s guns, which the hunters had left in a corner. + +“What fine weapons,” said she. “Are they yours, brother?” + +“No, they are the colonel’s English guns--and they are as good as they +are handsome.” + +“How much I wish you had one like them!” said Colomba. + +“One of those three certainly does belong to della Rebbia,” exclaimed +the colonel. “He really shoots almost too well! To-day he fired fourteen +shots, and brought down fourteen head of game.” + +A friendly dispute at once ensued, in which Orso was vanquished, to +his sister’s great satisfaction, as it was easy to perceive from the +childish expression of delight which illumined her face, so serious a +moment before. + +“Choose, my dear fellow,” said the colonel; but Orso refused. + +“Very well, then. Your sister shall choose for you.” + +Colomba did not wait for a second invitation. She took up the plainest +of the guns, but it was a first-rate Manton of large calibre. + +“This one,” she said, “must carry a ball a long distance.” + +Her brother was growing quite confused in his expressions of gratitude, +when dinner appeared, very opportunely, to help him out of his +embarrassment. + +Miss Lydia was delighted to notice that Colomba, who had shown +considerable reluctance to sit down with them, and had yielded only at +a glance from her brother, crossed herself, like a good Catholic, before +she began to eat. + +“Good!” said she to herself, “that is primitive!” and she anticipated +acquiring many interesting facts by observing this youthful +representative of ancient Corsican manners. As for Orso, he was +evidently a trifle uneasy, fearing, doubtless, that his sister might +say or do something which savoured too much of her native village. But +Colomba watched him constantly, and regulated all her own movements by +his. Sometimes she looked at him fixedly, with a strange expression of +sadness, and then, if Orso’s eyes met hers, he was the first to turn +them away, as though he would evade some question which his sister was +mentally addressing to him, the sense of which he understood only +too well. Everybody talked French, for the colonel could only express +himself very badly in Italian. Colomba understood French, and +even pronounced the few words she was obliged to exchange with her +entertainers tolerably well. + +After dinner, the colonel, who had noticed the sort of constraint which +existed between the brother and sister, inquired of Orso, with +his customary frankness, whether he did not wish to be alone with +Mademoiselle Colomba, offering, in that case, to go into the next room +with his daughter. But Orso hastened to thank him, and to assure him +they would have plenty of time to talk at Pietranera--this was the name +of the village where he was to take up his abode. + +The colonel then resumed his customary position on the sofa, and Miss +Nevil, after attempting several subjects of conversation, gave up all +hope of inducing the fair Colomba to talk, and begged Orso to read her +a canto out of Dante, her favourite poet. Orso chose the canto of the +Inferno, containing the episode of Francesca da Rimini, and began to +read, as impressively as he was able, the glorious tiercets which so +admirably express the risk run by two young persons who venture to read +a love-story together. As he read on Colomba drew nearer to the table, +and raised her head, which she had kept lowered. Her wide-open eyes, +shone with extraordinary fire, she grew red and pale by turns, and +stirred convulsively in her chair. How admirable is the Italian +organization, which can understand poetry without needing a pedant to +explain its beauties! + +When the canto was finished: + +“How beautiful that is!” she exclaimed. “Who wrote it, brother?” + +Orso was a little disconcerted, and Miss Lydia answered with a smile +that it was written by a Florentine poet, who had been dead for +centuries. + +“You shall read Dante,” said Orso, “when you are at Pietranera.” + +“Good heavens, how beautiful it is!” said Colomba again, and she +repeated three or four tiercets which she had remembered, speaking at +first in an undertone; then, growing excited, she declaimed them aloud, +with far more expression than her brother had put into his reading. + +Miss Lydia was very much astonished. + +“You seem very fond of poetry,” she said. “How I envy you the delight +you will find in reading Dante for the first time!” + +“You see, Miss Nevil,” said Orso, “what a power Dante’s lines must have, +when they so move a wild young savage who knows nothing but her _Pater_. +But I am mistaken! I recollect now that Colomba belongs to the guild. +Even when she was quite a little child she used to try her hand at +verse-making, and my father used to write me word that she was the best +_voceratrice_ in Pietranera, and for two leagues round about.” + +Colomba cast an imploring glance at her brother. Miss Nevil had heard +of the Corsican _improvisatrici_, and was dying to hear one. She begged +Colomba, then, to give her a specimen of her powers. Very much vexed +now at having made any mention of his sister’s poetic gifts, Orso +interposed. In vain did he protest that nothing was so insipid as a +Corsican _ballata_, and that to recite the Corsican verses after those +of Dante was like betraying his country. All he did was to stimulate +Miss Nevil’s curiosity, and at last he was obliged to say to his sister: + +“Well! well! improvise something--but let it be short!” + +Colomba heaved a sigh, looked fixedly for a moment, first at the +table-cloth, and then at the rafters of the ceiling; at last, covering +her eyes with her hand like those birds that gather courage, and fancy +they are not seen when they no longer see themselves, she sang, or +rather declaimed, in an unsteady voice, the following _serenata_: + + + +“THE MAIDEN AND THE TURTLE-DOVE + +“In the valley, far away among the mountains, the sun only shines for +an hour every day. In the valley there stands a gloomy house, and grass +grows on its threshold. Doors and windows are always shut. No smoke +rises from the roof. But at noon, when the sunshine falls, a window +opens, and the orphan girl sits spinning at her wheel. She spins, and +as she works, she sings--a song of sadness. But no other song comes to +answer hers! One day--a day in spring-time--a turtle-dove settled on a +tree hard by, and heard the maiden’s song. ‘Maiden,’ it said, ‘thou +art not the only mourner! A cruel hawk has snatched my mate from me!’ +‘Turtle-dove, show me that cruel hawk; were it to soar higher than the +clouds I would soon bring it down to earth! But who will restore to me, +unhappy that I am, my brother, now in a far country?’ ‘Maiden, tell me, +where thy brother is, and my wings shall bear me to him.’” + + + +“A well-bred turtle-dove, indeed!” exclaimed Orso, and the emotion with +which he kissed his sister contrasted strongly with the jesting tone in +which he spoke. + +“Your song is delightful,” said Miss Lydia. “You must write it in my +album; I’ll translate it into English, and have it set to music.” + +The worthy colonel, who had not understood a single word, added his +compliments to his daughter’s and added: “Is this dove you speak of the +bird we ate broiled at dinner to-day?” + +Miss Nevil fetched her album, and was not a little surprised to see the +_improvisatrice_ write down her song, with so much care in the matter of +economizing space. + +The lines, instead of being separate, were all run together, as far as +the breadth of the paper would permit, so that they did not agree with +the accepted definition of poetic composition--“short lines of unequal +length, with a margin on each side of them.” Mademoiselle Colomba’s +somewhat fanciful spelling might also have excited comment. More than +once Miss Nevil was seen to smile, and Orso’s fraternal vanity suffered +tortures. + +Bedtime came, and the two young girls retired to their room. There, +while Miss Lydia unclasped her necklace, ear-rings, and bracelets, she +watched her companion draw something out of her gown--something as +long as a stay-busk, but very different in shape. Carefully, almost +stealthily, Colomba slipped this object under her _mezzaro_, which she +laid on the table. Then she knelt down, and said her prayers devoutly. +Two minutes afterward she was in her bed. Miss Lydia, naturally very +inquisitive, and as slow as every Englishwoman is about undressing +herself, moved over to the table, pretended she was looking for a pin, +lifted up the _mezzaro_, and saw a long stiletto--curiously mounted in +silver and mother-of-pearl. The workmanship was remarkably fine. It was +an ancient weapon, and just the sort of one an amateur would have prized +very highly. + +“Is it the custom here,” inquired Miss Nevil, with a smile, “for young +ladies to wear such little instruments as these in their bodices?” + +“It is,” answered Colomba, with a sigh. “There are so many wicked people +about!” + +“And would you really have the courage to strike with it, like this?” + And Miss Nevil, dagger in hand, made a gesture of stabbing from above, +as actors do on the stage. + +“Yes,” said Colomba, in her soft, musical voice, “if I had to do it to +protect myself or my friends. But you must not hold it like that, you +might wound yourself if the person you were going to stab were to draw +back.” Then, sitting up in bed, “See,” she added, “you must strike like +this--upward! If you do so, the thrust is sure to kill, they say. Happy +are they who never need such weapons.” + +She sighed, dropped her head back on the pillow, and closed her eyes. A +more noble, beautiful, virginal head it would be impossible to imagine. +Phidias would have asked no other model for Minerva. + + + +CHAPTER VI + +It is in obedience to the precept of Horace that I have begun by +plunging _in media res_. Now that every one is asleep--the beautiful +Colomba, the colonel, and his daughter--I will seize the opportunity +to acquaint my reader with certain details of which he must not be +ignorant, if he desires to follow the further course of this veracious +history. He is already aware that Colonel della Rebbia, Orso’s father, +had been assassinated. Now, in Corsica, people are not murdered, as they +are in France, by the first escaped convict who can devise no better +means of relieving a man of his silver-plate. In Corsica a man is +murdered by his enemies--but the reason he has enemies is often very +difficult to discover. Many families hate each other because it has been +an old-standing habit of theirs to hate each other; but the tradition of +the original cause of their hatred may have completely disappeared. + +The family to which Colonel della Rebbia belonged hated several other +families, but that of the Barricini particularly. Some people asserted +that in the sixteenth century a della Rebbia had seduced a lady of the +Barricini family, and had afterward been poniarded by a relative of the +outraged damsel. Others, indeed, told the story in a different fashion, +declaring that it was a della Rebbia who had been seduced, and a +Barricini who had been poniarded. However that may be, there was, to +use the time-honoured expression, “blood between the two houses.” + Nevertheless, and contrary to custom, this murder had not resulted +in others; for the della Rebbia and the Barricini had been equally +persecuted by the Genoese Government, and as the young men had all left +the country, the two families were deprived, during several generations, +of their more energetic representatives. At the close of the last +century, one of the della Rebbias, an officer in the Neapolitan service, +quarrelled, in a gambling hell, with some soldiers, who called him a +Corsican goatherd, and other insulting names. He drew his sword, +but being only one against three, he would have fared very ill if a +stranger, who was playing in the same room, had not exclaimed, “I, too, +am a Corsican,” and come to his rescue. This stranger was one of the +Barricini, who, for that matter, was not acquainted with his countryman. +After mutual explanations, they interchanged courtesies and vowed +eternal friendship. For on the Continent, quite contrary to their +practice in their own island, Corsicans quickly become friends. This +fact was clearly exemplified on the present occasion. As long as della +Rebbia and Barricini remained in Italy they were close friends. Once +they were back in Corsica, they saw each other but very seldom, although +they both lived in the same village; and when they died, it was reported +that they had not spoken to each other for five or six years. Their sons +lived in the same fashion--“on ceremony,” as they say in the island; +one of them Ghilfuccio, Orso’s father, was a soldier; the other Giudice +Barricini, was a lawyer. Having both become heads of families, and being +separated by their professions, they scarcely ever had an opportunity of +seeing or hearing of each other. + +One day, however, about the year 1809, Giudice read in a newspaper at +Bastia that Captain Ghilfuccio had just been decorated, and remarked, +before witnesses, that he was not at all surprised, considering that the +family enjoyed the protection of General -----. This remark was reported +at Vienna to Ghilfuccio, who told one of his countrymen that, when he +got back to Corsica, he would find Giudice a very rich man, because he +made more money out of the suits he lost than out of those he won. It +was never known whether he meant this as an insinuation that the lawyer +cheated his clients, or as a mere allusion to the commonplace truth that +a bad cause often brings a lawyer more profit than a good one. However +that may have been, the lawyer Barricini heard of the epigram, and never +forgot it. In 1812 he applied for the post of mayor of his commune, +and had every hope of being appointed, when General ----- wrote to the +prefect, to recommend one of Ghilfuccio’s wife’s relations. The prefect +lost no time in carrying out the general’s wish, and Barricini felt no +doubt that he owed his failure to the intrigues of Ghilfuccio. In 1814, +after the emperor’s fall, the general’s protégé was denounced as a +Bonapartist, and his place was taken by Barricini. He, in his turn, was +dismissed during the Hundred Days, but when the storm had blown over, +he again took possession, with great pomp, of the mayoral seal and the +municipal registers. + +From this moment his star shone brighter than ever. Colonel della +Rebbia, now living on half-pay at Pietranera, had to defend himself +against covert and repeated attacks due to the pettifogging malignity of +his enemy. At one time he was summoned to pay for the damage his horse +had done to the mayor’s fences, at another, the latter, under pretence +of repairing the floor of the church, ordered the removal of a broken +flagstone bearing the della Rebbia arms, which covered the grave of +some member of the family. If the village goats ate the colonel’s young +plants, the mayor always protected their owners. The grocer who kept the +post-office at Pietranera, and the old maimed soldier who had been +the village policeman--both of them attached to the della Rebbia +family--were turned adrift, and their places filled by Barricini’s +creatures. + +The colonel’s wife died, and her last wish was that she might be buried +in the middle of the little wood in which she had been fond of walking. +Forthwith the mayor declared she should be buried in the village +cemetery, because he had no authority to permit burial in any other +spot. The colonel, in a fury, declared that until the permit came, his +wife would be interred in the spot she had chosen. He had her grave dug +there. The mayor, on his side, had another grave dug in the cemetery, +and sent for the police, that the law, so he declared, might be duly +enforced. On the day of the funeral, the two parties came face to face, +and, for a moment, there was reason to fear a struggle might ensue for +the possession of Signora della Rebbia’s corpse. Some forty well-armed +peasants, mustered by the dead woman’s relatives, forced the priest, +when he issued from the church, to take the road to the wood. On the +other hand, the mayor, at the head of his two sons, his dependents, and +the gendarmes, advanced to oppose their march. When he appeared, and +called on the procession to turn back, he was greeted with howls and +threats. The advantage of numbers was with his opponents, and they +seemed thoroughly determined. At sight of him several guns were loaded, +and one shepherd is even said to have levelled his musket at him, but +the colonel knocked up the barrel, and said, “Let no man fire without +my orders!” The mayor, who, like Panurge, had “a natural fear of blows,” + refused to give battle, and retired, with his escort. Then the funeral +procession started, carefully choosing the longest way, so as to pass +in front of the mayor’s house. As it was filing by, an idiot, who had +joined its ranks, took it into his head to shout, “Vive l’Empereur!” + Two or three voices answered him, and the Rebbianites, growing hotter, +proposed killing one of the mayor’s oxen, which chanced to bar their +way. Fortunately the colonel stopped this act of violence. + +It is hardly necessary to mention that an official statement was at once +drawn up, or that the mayor sent the prefect a report, in his sublimest +style, describing the manner in which all laws, human and divine, had +been trodden under foot--how the majesty of himself, the mayor, and of +the priest had been flouted and insulted, and how Colonel della Rebbia +had put himself at the head of a Bonapartist plot, to change the order +of succession to the throne, and to excite peaceful citizens to take +arms against one another--crimes provided against by Articles 86 and 91 +of the Penal Code. + +The exaggerated tone of this complaint diminished its effect. The +colonel wrote to the prefect and to the public prosecutor. One of his +wife’s kinsmen was related to one of the deputies of the island, another +was cousin to the president of the Royal Court. Thanks to this interest, +the plot faded out of sight, Signora della Rebbia was left quiet in the +wood, and the idiot alone was sentenced to a fortnight’s imprisonment. + +Lawyer Barricini, dissatisfied with the result of this affair, turned +his batteries in a different direction. He dug out some old claim, +whereby he undertook to contest the colonel’s ownership of a certain +water-course which turned a mill-wheel. A lawsuit began and dragged +slowly along. At the end of twelve months, the court was about to give +its decision, and according to all appearances in favour of the colonel, +when Barricini placed in the hands of the public prosecutor a letter, +signed by a certain Agostini, a well-known bandit, threatening him, the +mayor, with fire and sword if he did not relinquish his pretensions. It +is well known that in Corsica the protection of these brigands is +much sought after, and that, to oblige their friends, they frequently +intervene in private quarrels. The mayor was deriving considerable +advantage from this letter, when the business was further complicated by +a fresh incident. Agostini, the bandit, wrote to the public prosecutor, +to complain that his handwriting had been counterfeited, and his +character aspersed, by some one who desired to represent him as a man +who made a traffic of his influence. “If I can discover the forger,” he +said at the end of his letter, “I will make a striking example of him.” + +It was quite clear that Agostini did not write the threatening letter +to the mayor. The della Rebbia accused the Barricini of it and _vice +versa_. Both parties broke into open threats, and the authorities did +not know where to find the culprit. + +In the midst of all this Colonel Ghilfuccio was murdered. Here are +the facts, as they were elicited at the official inquiry. On the 2d of +August, 18--, toward nightfall, a woman named Maddalena Pietri, who was +carrying corn to Pietranera, heard two shots fired, very close together, +the reports, as it seemed to her, coming from the deep lane leading to +the village, about a hundred and fifty paces from the spot on which she +stood. Almost immediately afterward she saw a man running, crouching +along a footpath among the vines, and making for the village. The man +stopped for a minute, and turned round, but the distance prevented the +woman Pietri from seeing his features, and besides, he had a vine-leaf +in his mouth, which hid almost the whole of his face. He made a signal +with his head to some comrade, whom the witness could not see, and then +disappeared among the vines. + +The woman Pietri dropped her burden, ran up the path, and found Colonel +della Rebbia, bathed in his own blood from two bullet wounds, but still +breathing. Close beside him lay his gun, loaded and cocked, as if he had +been defending himself against a person who had attacked him in front, +just when another had struck him from behind. Although the rattle was +in his throat, he struggled against the grip of death, but he could not +utter a word--this the doctors explained by the nature of the wounds, +which had cut through his lungs: the blood was choking him, it flowed +slowly, like red froth. In vain did the woman lift him up, and ask him +several questions. She saw plainly enough that he desired to speak, but +he could not make himself understood. Noticing that he was trying to get +his hand to his pocket, she quickly drew out of it a little note-book, +which she opened and gave to him. + +The wounded man took the pencil out of the note-book and tried to +write. In fact, the witness saw him form several letters, but with great +difficulty. As she could not read, however, she was unable to understand +their meaning. Exhausted by the effort, the colonel left the note-book +in the woman’s hand, which he squeezed tightly, looking at her +strangely, as if he wanted to say (these are the witness’s own words): +“It is important--it is my murderer’s name!” + +Maddalena Pietri was going up to the village, when she met Barricini, +the mayor, with his son Vincentello. It was then almost dark. She told +them what she had seen. The mayor took the note-book, hurried up to his +house, put on his sash, and fetched his secretary and the gendarmes. +Left alone with young Vincentello, Maddalena Pietri suggested that he +should go to the colonel’s assistance, in case he was still alive, but +Vincentello replied that if he were to go near a man who had been the +bitter enemy of his family, he would certainly be accused of having +killed him. A very short time afterward the mayor arrived, found the +colonel dead, had the corpse carried away, and drew up his report. + +In spite of the agitation so natural on such an occasion, Monsieur +Barricini had hastened to place the colonel’s note-book under seal, and +to make all the inquiries in his power, but none of them resulted in any +discovery of importance. + +When the examining magistrate arrived the note-book was opened, and on +a blood-stained page were seen letters written in a trembling hand, but +still quite legible; the sheet bore the word _Agosti_--and the judge +did not doubt that the colonel had intended to point out Agostini as his +murderer. Nevertheless, Colomba della Rebbia, who had been summoned by +the magistrate, asked leave to examine the note-book. After turning the +leaves for a few moments, she stretched out her hand toward the mayor +and cried, “There stands the murderer!” Then with a precision and a +clearness which were astonishing, considering the passion of sorrow +that shook her, she related that, a few days previously, her father had +received a letter from his son, which he had burned, but that before +doing so he had written Orso’s address (he had just changed his +garrison) in the note-book with his pencil. Now, his address was no +longer in the note-book, and Colomba concluded that the mayor had torn +out the leaf on which it was written, which probably was that on which +her father had traced the murderer’s name, and for that name the mayor, +according to Colomba, had substituted Agostini’s. The magistrate, in +fact, noticed that one sheet was missing from the quire on which the +name was written, but he remarked also that leaves were likewise missing +from other quires in the same note-book, and certain witnesses testified +that the colonel had a habit of tearing out pages when he wanted to +light a cigar--therefore nothing was more probable than that, by an +oversight, he had burned the address he had copied. Further, it was +shown that the mayor could not have read the note-book on receiving it +from Maddalena Pietri, on account of the darkness, and it was proved +that he had not stopped an instant before he went into his house, that +the sergeant of the gendarmes had gone there with him, and had seen him +light a lamp and put the note-book into an envelope which he had sealed +before his eyes. + +When this officer had concluded his deposition, Colomba, +half-distracted, cast herself at his feet, and besought him, by all he +held most sacred, to say whether he had not left the mayor alone for a +single moment. After a certain amount of hesitation, the man, who was +evidently affected by the young girl’s excitement, admitted that he had +gone into the next room to fetch a sheet of foolscap, but that he had +not been away a minute, and that the mayor had talked to him all the +time he was groping for the paper in a drawer. Moreover, he deposed that +when he came back the blood-stained note-book was still on the table, in +the very place where the mayor had thrown it when he first came in. + +Monsieur Barricini gave his evidence with the utmost coolness. He made +allowances, he said, for Mademoiselle della Rebbia’s excitement, and was +ready to condescend to justify himself. He proved that he had spent his +whole evening in the village, that his son Vincentello had been with him +in front of the house at the moment when the crime was committed, and +that his son Orlanduccio, who had had an attack of fever that very day, +had never left his bed. He produced every gun in his house, and not one +of them had been recently discharged. He added, that, as regarded the +note-book, he had at once realized its importance; that he had sealed it +up, and placed it in the hands of his deputy, foreseeing that he himself +might be suspected, on account of his quarrel with the colonel. Finally, +he reminded the court that Agostini had threatened to kill the man who +had written a letter in his name, and he insinuated that this ruffian +had probably suspected the colonel, and murdered him. Such a vengeance, +for a similar reason, is by no means unprecedented in the history of +brigandage. + +Five days after Colonel della Rebbia’s death, Agostini was surprised by +a detachment of riflemen, and killed, fighting desperately to the last. +On his person was found a letter from Colomba, beseeching him to declare +whether he was guilty of the murder imputed to him, or not. As the +bandit had sent no answer, it was pretty generally concluded that he had +not the courage to tell a daughter he had murdered her father. Yet those +who claimed to know Agostini’s nature thoroughly, whispered that if +he had killed the colonel, he would have boasted of the deed. Another +bandit, known by the name of Brandolaccio, sent Colomba a declaration +in which he bore witness “on his honour” to his comrade’s innocence--but +the only proof he put forward was that Agostini had never told him that +he suspected the colonel. + +The upshot was that the Barricini suffered no inconvenience, the +examining magistrate was loud in his praise of the mayor, and the mayor, +on his side, crowned his handsome behaviour by relinquishing all his +claims over the stream, concerning which he had brought the lawsuit +against Colonel della Rebbia. + +According to the custom of her country, Colomba improvised a _ballata_ +in presence of her father’s corpse, and before his assembled friends. In +it she poured out all her hatred against the Barricini, formally charged +them with the murder, and threatened them with her brother’s vengeance. +It was this same _ballata_, which had grown very popular, that the +sailor had sung before Miss Lydia. When Orso, who was in the north of +France, heard of his father’s death, he applied for leave, but failed to +obtain it. A letter from his sister led him to believe at first in the +guilt of the Barricini, but he soon received copies of all the documents +connected with the inquiry and a private letter from the judge, which +almost convinced him that the bandit Agostini was the only culprit. +Every three months Colomba had written to him, reiterating her +suspicions, which she called her “proofs.” In spite of himself, these +accusations made his Corsican blood boil, and sometimes he was very near +sharing his sister’s prejudices. Nevertheless, every time he wrote to +her he repeated his conviction that her allegations possessed no solid +foundation, and were quite unworthy of belief. He even forbade her, but +always vainly, to mention them to him again. + +Thus two years went by. At the end of that time Orso was placed on +half-pay, and then it occurred to him to go back to his own country--not +at all for the purpose of taking vengeance on people whom he believed +innocent, but to arrange a marriage for his sister, and the sale of his +own small property--if its value should prove sufficient to enable him +to live on the Continent. + + + +CHAPTER VII + +Whether it was that the arrival of his sister had reminded Orso forcibly +of his paternal home, or that Colomba’s unconventional dress and manners +made him feel shy before his civilized friends, he announced, the +very next day, his determination to leave Ajaccio, and to return to +Pietranera. But he made the colonel promise that when he went to Bastia +he would come and stay in his modest manor-house, and undertook, in +return, to provide him with plenty of buck, pheasant, boar, and other +game. + +On the day before that of his departure Orso proposed that, instead of +going out shooting, they should all take a walk along the shores of +the gulf. With Miss Lydia on his arm he was able to talk in perfect +freedom--for Colomba had stayed in the town to do her shopping, and +the colonel was perpetually leaving the young people to fire shots at +sea-gulls and gannets, greatly to the astonishment of the passers-by, +who could not conceive why any man should waste his powder on such +paltry game. + +They were walking along the path leading to the Greek Chapel, which +commands the finest view to be had of the bay, but they paid no +attention to it. + +“Miss Lydia,” said Orso, after a silence which had lasted long enough to +become embarrassing, “tell me frankly, what do you think of my sister?” + +“I like her very much,” answered Miss Nevil. “Better than you,” she +added, with a smile; “for she is a true Corsican, and you are rather too +civilized a savage!” + +“Too civilized! Well, in spite of myself, I feel that I am growing a +savage again, since I have set my foot on the island! A thousand horrid +thoughts disturb and torment me, and I wanted to talk with you a little +before I plunge into my desert!” + +“You must be brave, monsieur! Look at your sister’s resignation; she +sets you an example!” + +“Ah! do not be deceived! Do not believe in her resignation. She has +not said a word to me as yet, but every look of hers tells me what she +expects of me.” + +“What does she expect of you, then?” + +“Oh, nothing! Except that I should try whether your father’s gun will +kill a man as surely as it kills a partridge.” + +“What an idea! You can actually believe that, when you have just +acknowledged that she has said nothing to you yet? It really is too +dreadful of you!” + +“If her thoughts were not fixed on vengeance, she would have spoken +to me at once about our father; she has never done it. She would have +mentioned the names of those she considers--wrongly, I know--to be his +murderers. But no; not a word! That is because we Corsicans, you +see, are a cunning race. My sister realizes that she does not hold me +completely in her power, and she does not choose to startle me while I +may still escape her. Once she has led me to the edge of the precipice, +and once I turn giddy there, she will thrust me into the abyss.” + +Then Orso gave Miss Nevil some details of his father’s death, and +recounted the principal proofs which had culminated in his belief that +Agostini was the assassin. + +“Nothing,” he added, “has been able to convince Colomba. I saw that by +her last letter. She has sworn the Barricini shall die, and--you see, +Miss Nevil, what confidence I have in you!--they would not be alive now, +perhaps, if one of the prejudices for which her uncivilized education +must be the excuse had not convinced her that the execution of this +vengeance belongs to me, as head of her family, and that my honour +depends upon it!” + +“Really and truly, Monsieur della Rebbia!” said Miss Nevil, “you slander +your sister!” + +“No. As you have said it yourself, she is a Corsican; she thinks as they +all think. Do you know why I was so sad yesterday?” + +“No. But for some time past you have been subject to these fits +of sadness. You were much pleasanter in the earlier days of our +acquaintance.” + +“Yesterday, on the contrary, I was more cheery and happy than I +generally am. I had seen how kind, how indulgent, you were to my sister. +The colonel and I were coming home in a boat. Do you know what one of +the boatmen said to me in his infernal _patois_? ‘You’ve killed a deal +of game, Ors’ Anton’, but you’ll find Orlanduccio Barricini a better +shot than you!’” + +“Well, what was there so very dreadful in that remark? Are you so very +much set upon being considered a skilful sportsman?” + +“But don’t you see the ruffian was telling me I shouldn’t have courage +to kill Orlanduccio!” + +“Do you know, M. della Rebbia, you frighten me! The air of this island +of yours seems not only to give people fevers, but to drive them mad. +Luckily we shall be leaving it soon!” + +“Not without coming to Pietranera--you have promised my sister that.” + +“And if we were to fail in that promise, we should bring down some +terrible vengeance on our heads, no doubt!” + +“Do you remember that story your father was telling us, the other day, +about the Indians who threatened the company’s agents that, if they +would not grant their prayer, they would starve themselves to death?” + +“That means that you would starve yourself to death! I doubt it very +much! You would go hungry for one day and then Mademoiselle Colomba +would bring you such a tempting _bruccio_[*] that you would quite +relinquish your plan.” + +[*] A sort of baked cream cheese, a national dish in Corsica. + +“Your jests are cruel, Miss Nevil. You might spare me. Listen, I am +alone here; I have no one but you to prevent me from going mad, as you +call it. You have been my guardian angel, and now----!” + +“Now,” said Miss Lydia gravely, “to steady this reason of yours, which +is so easily shaken, you have the honour of a soldier and a man, and,” + she added, turning away to pluck a flower, “if that will be any help to +you, you have the memory of your guardian angel, too!” + +“Ah, Miss Nevil, if I could only think you really take some interest!” + +“Listen, M. della Rebbia,” said Miss Nevil, with some emotion. “As you +are a child, I will treat you as I would treat a child. When I was a +little girl my mother gave me a beautiful necklace, which I had longed +for greatly; but she said to me, ‘Every time you put on this necklace, +remember you do not know French yet.’ The necklace lost some of its +value in my eyes, it was a source of constant self-reproach. But I +wore it, and in the end I knew French. Do you see this ring? It is an +Egyptian scarabaeus, found, if you please, in a pyramid. That strange +figure, which you may perhaps take for a bottle, stands for ‘_human +life_.’ There are certain people in my country to whom this hieroglyphic +should appear exceedingly appropriate. This, which comes after it, is a +shield upon an arm, holding a lance; that means ‘_struggle_, _battle_.’ +Thus the two characters, together, form this motto, which strikes me +as a fine one, ‘_Life is a battle_.’ Pray do not fancy I can translate +hieroglyphics at sight! It was a man learned in such matters who +explained these to me. Here, I will give you my scarabaeus. Whenever you +feel some wicked Corsican thought stir in you, look at my talisman, and +tell yourself you must win the battle our evil passions wage against us. +Why, really, I don’t preach at all badly!” + +“I shall think of you, Miss Nevil, and I shall say to myself----” + +“Say to yourself you have a friend who would be in despair at the idea +of your being hanged--and besides it would be too distressing for your +ancestors the corporals!” + +With these words she dropped Orso’s arm, laughing and running to her +father. + +“Papa,” she said, “do leave those poor birds alone, and come and make up +poetry with us, in Napoleon’s grotto!” + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +There is always a certain solemnity about a departure, even when the +separation is only to be a short one. Orso and his sister were to start +very early in the morning, and he had taken his leave of Miss Lydia the +night before--for he had no hope that she would disturb her indolent +habits on his account. Their farewells had been cold and grave. Since +that conversation on the sea-shore, Miss Lydia had been afraid she had +perhaps shown too strong an interest in Orso, and on the other hand, her +jests, and more especially her careless tone, lay heavy on Orso’s heart. +At one moment he had thought the young Englishwoman’s manner betrayed +a budding feeling of affection, but now, put out of countenance by her +jests, he told himself she only looked on him as a mere acquaintance, +who would be soon forgotten. Great, therefore, was his surprise, next +morning, when, as he sat at coffee with the colonel, he saw Miss Lydia +come into the room, followed by his sister. She had risen at five +o’clock, and for an Englishwoman, and especially for Miss Nevil, the +effort was so great that it could not but give him some cause for +vanity. + +“I am so sorry you should have disturbed yourself so early,” said Orso. +“No doubt my sister woke you up in spite of my injunctions, and you must +hate us heartily! Perhaps you wish I was hanged already!” + +“No,” said Miss Lydia, very low and in Italian, evidently so that +her father might not hear her, “but you were somewhat sulky with me +yesterday, because of my innocent jokes, and I would not have you carry +away an unpleasant recollection of your humble servant. What terrible +people you are, you Corsicans! Well, good-bye! We shall meet soon, I +hope.” + +And she held out her hand. + +A sigh was the only answer Orso could find. Colomba came to his side, +led him into a window, and spoke to him for a moment in an undertone, +showing him something she held under her _mezzaro_. + +“Mademoiselle,” said Orso to Miss Nevil, “my sister is anxious to give +you a very odd present, but we Corsicans have not much to offer--except +our affection--which time never wipes out. My sister tells me you have +looked with some curiosity at this dagger. It is an ancient possession +in our family. It probably hung, once upon a time, at the belt of one of +those corporals, to whom I owe the honour of your acquaintance. Colomba +thinks it so precious that she has asked my leave to give it to you, and +I hardly know if I ought to grant it, for I am afraid you’ll laugh at +us!” + +“The dagger is beautiful,” said Miss Lydia. “But it is a family weapon, +I can not accept it!” + +“It’s not my father’s dagger,” exclaimed Colomba eagerly; “it was given +to one of mother’s ancestors by King Theodore. If the signorina will +accept it, she will give us great pleasure.” + +“Come, Miss Lydia,” said Orso, “don’t scorn a king’s dagger!” + +To a collector, relics of King Theodore are infinitely more precious +than those of the most powerful of monarchs. The temptation was a +strong one, and already Miss Lydia could see the effect the weapon would +produce laid out on a lacquered table in her room at St. James’s Place. + +“But,” said she, taking the dagger with the hesitating air of one +who longs to accept, and casting one of her most delightful smiles on +Colomba, “dear Signorina Colomba . . . I can not . . . I should not dare +to let you depart thus, unarmed.” + +“My brother is with me,” said Colomba proudly, “and we have the good gun +your father has given us. Orso, have you put a bullet in it?” + +Miss Nevil kept the dagger, and to avert the danger consequent on +_giving_ instruments that cut or pierce to a friend, Colomba insisted on +receiving a soldo in payment. + +A start had to be made at last. Yet once again Orso pressed Miss Nevil’s +hand, Colomba kissed her, and then held up her rosy lips to the colonel, +who was enchanted with this Corsican politeness. From the window of +the drawing-room Miss Lydia watched the brother and sister mount their +horses. Colomba’s eyes shone with a malignant joy which she had never +remarked in them before. The sight of this tall strong creature, with +her fanatical ideas of savage honour, pride written on her forehead, +and curled in a sardonic smile upon her lips, carrying off the young +man with his weapons, as though on some death-dealing errand, recalled +Orso’s fears to her, and she fancied she beheld his evil genius dragging +him to his ruin. Orso, who was already in the saddle, raised his head +and caught sight of her. Either because he had guessed her thought, or +desired to send her a last farewell, he took the Egyptian ring, which he +had hung upon a ribbon, and carried it to his lips. Blushing, Miss Lydia +stepped back from the window, then returning to it almost at once, she +saw the two Corsicans cantering their little ponies rapidly toward the +mountains. Half an hour later the colonel showed them to her, through +his glasses, riding along the end of the bay, and she noticed that +Orso constantly turned his head toward the town. At last he disappeared +behind the marshes, the site of which is now filled by a flourishing +nursery garden. + +Miss Lydia glanced at herself in the glass, and thought she looked pale. + +“What must that young man think of me,” said she, “and what did I think +of him? And why did I think about him? . . . A travelling acquaintance! +. . . What have I come to Corsica for? . . . Oh! I don’t care for him! +. . . No! no! and besides the thing is impossible . . . And Colomba . . . +Fancy me sister-in-law to a _voceratrice_, who wears a big dagger!” + +And she noticed she was still holding King Theodore’s dagger in her +hand. She tossed it on to her toilette table. “Colomba, in London, +dancing at Almacks! . . . Good heavens! what a lion[*] that would be, to +show off! . . . Perhaps she’d make a great sensation! . . . He loves me, +I’m certain of it! He is the hero of a novel, and I have interrupted his +adventurous career. . . . But did he really long to avenge his father +in true Corsican fashion? . . . He was something between a Conrad and a +dandy . . . I’ve turned him into nothing but a dandy! . . . And a dandy +with a Corsican tailor! . . .” + + [*] At this period this name was used in England for people + who were the fashion because they had something + extraordinary about them. + +She threw herself on her bed, and tried to sleep--but that proved an +impossibility, and I will not undertake to continue her soliloquy, +during which she declared, more than a hundred times over, that Signor +della Rebbia had not been, was not, and never should be, anything to +her. + + + +CHAPTER IX + +Meanwhile Orso was riding along beside his sister. At first the speed at +which their horses moved prevented all conversation, but when the hills +grew so steep that they were obliged to go at a foot’s pace, they +began to exchange a few words about the friends from whom they had just +parted. Colomba spoke with admiration of Miss Nevil’s beauty, of her +golden hair, and charming ways. Then she asked whether the colonel +was really as rich as he appeared, and whether Miss Lydia was his only +child. + +“She would be a good match,” said she. “Her father seems to have a great +liking for you----” + +And as Orso made no response, she added: “Our family was rich, in days +gone by. It is still one of the most respected in the island. All these +_signori_ about us are bastards. The only noble blood left is in the +families of the corporals, and as you know, Orso, your ancestors were +the chief corporals in the island. You know our family came from beyond +the hills, and it was the civil wars that forced us over to this side. +If I were you, Orso, I shouldn’t hesitate--I should ask Colonel Nevil +for his daughter’s hand.” Orso shrugged his shoulders. “With her +fortune, you might buy the Falsetta woods, and the vineyards below ours. +I would build a fine stone house, and add a story to the old tower in +which Sambucuccio killed so many Moors in the days of Count Henry, _il +bel Missere_.” + +“Colomba, you’re talking nonsense,” said Orso, cantering forward. + +“You are a man, Ors’ Anton’, and of course you know what you ought to +do better than any woman. But I should very much like to know what +objection that Englishman could have to the marriage. Are there any +corporals in England?” + +After a somewhat lengthy ride, spent in talking in this fashion, the +brother and sister reached a little village, not far from Bocognano, +where they halted to dine and sleep at a friend’s house. They were +welcomed with a hospitality which must be experienced before it can be +appreciated. The next morning, their host, who had stood godfather to a +child to whom Madame della Rebbia had been godmother, accompanied them a +league beyond his house. + +“Do you see those woods and thickets?” said he to Orso, just as they +were parting. “A man who had met with a misfortune might live there +peacefully for ten years, and no gendarme or soldier would ever come to +look for him. The woods run into the Vizzavona forest, and anybody who +had friends at Bocognano or in the neighbourhood would want for nothing. +That’s a good gun you have there. It must carry a long way. Blood of the +Madonna! What calibre! You might kill better game than boars with it!” + +Orso answered, coldly, that his gun was of English make, and carried +“the lead” a long distance. The friends embraced, and took their +different ways. + +Our travellers were drawing quite close to Pietranera, when, at the +entrance of a little gorge, through which they had to pass, they beheld +seven or eight men, armed with guns, some sitting on stones, others +lying on the grass, others standing up, and seemingly on the lookout. +Their horses were grazing a little way off. Colomba looked at them for +a moment, through a spy-glass which she took out of one of the large +leathern pockets all Corsicans wear when on a journey. + +“Those are our men!” she cried, with a well-pleased air. “Pieruccio had +done his errand well!” + +“What men?” inquired Orso. + +“Our herdsmen,” she replied. “I sent Pieruccio off yesterday evening +to call the good fellows together, so that they may attend you home. It +would not do for you to enter Pietranera without an escort, and besides, +you must know the Barricini are capable of anything!” + +“Colomba,” said Orso, and his tone was severe, “I have asked you, +over and over again, not to mention the Barricini and your groundless +suspicions to me. I shall certainly not make myself ridiculous by riding +home with all these loafers behind me, and I am very angry with you for +having sent for them without telling me.” + +“Brother, you have forgotten the ways of your own country. It is my +business to protect you, when your own imprudence exposes you to danger. +It was my duty to do what I have done.” + +Just at that moment the herdsmen, who had caught sight of them, hastened +to their horses, and galloped down the hill to meet them. + +“Evvviva Ors’ Anton’!” shouted a brawny, white-bearded old fellow, +wrapped, despite the heat, in a hooded cloak of Corsican cloth, thicker +than the skins of his own goats. “The image of his father, only taller +and stronger! What a splendid gun! There’ll be talk about that gun, Ors’ +Anton’!” + +“Evvviva Ors’ Anton’!” chorused the herdsmen. “We were sure you’d come +back, at last!” + +“Ah! Ors’ Anton’!” cried a tall fellow, with a skin tanned brick red. +“How happy your father would be, if he were here to welcome you! The +dear, good man! You would have seen him now, if he would have listened +to me--if he would have let me settle Guidice’s business! . . . But he +wouldn’t listen to me, poor fellow! He knows I was right, now!” + +“Well, well!” said the old man. “Guidice will lose nothing by waiting.” + +“Evvviva Ors’ Anton’!” And the reports of a dozen guns capped the +plaudit. + +Very much put out, Orso sat in the midst of the group of mounted men, +all talking at once, and crowding round to shake hands with him. For +some time he could not make himself heard. At last, with the air he put +on when he used to reprimand the men of his company, or send one of them +to the guard-room, he said: + +“I thank you, friends, for the affection you show for me, and for that +which you felt for my father! But I do not want advice from any of you, +and you must not offer it. I know my own duty.” + +“He’s right! He’s right!” cried the herdsmen. “You know you may reckon +on us!” + +“Yes, I do reckon on you. But at this moment I need no help, and no +personal danger threatens me. Now face round at once, and be off with +you to your goats. I know my way to Pietranera, and I want no guides.” + +“Fear nothing, Ors’ Anton’,” said the old man. “They would never dare +to show their noses to-day. The mouse runs back to its hole when the +tom-cat comes out!” + +“Tom-cat yourself, old gray-beard!” said Orso. “What’s your name?” + +“What! don’t you remember me, Ors’ Anton’? I who have so often taken +you up behind me on that biting mule of mine! You don’t remember Polo +Griffo? I’m an honest fellow, though, and with the della Rebbia, body +and soul. Say but the word, and when that big gun of yours speaks, this +old musket of mine, as old as its master, shall not be dumb. Be sure of +that, Ors’ Anton’!” + +“Well, well! But be off with you now, in the devil’s name, and let us go +on our way!” + +At last the herdsmen departed, trotting rapidly off toward the village, +but they stopped every here and there, at all the highest spots on the +road, as though they were looking out for some hidden ambuscade, always +keeping near enough to Orso and his sister to be able to come to their +assistance if necessary. And old Polo Griffo said to his comrades: + +“I understand him! I understand him! He’ll not say what he means to do, +but he’ll do it! He’s the born image of his father. Ah! you may say you +have no spite against any one, my boy! But you’ve made your vow to Saint +Nega.[*] Bravo! I wouldn’t give a fig for the mayor’s hide--there won’t +be the makings of a wineskin in it before the month is out!” + + [*] This saint is not mentioned in the calendar. To make a + vow to Saint Nega means to deny everything deliberately. + +Preceded by this troop of skirmishers, the last descendant of the della +Rebbia entered the village, and proceeded to the old mansion of +his forefathers, the corporals. The Rebbianites, who had long been +leaderless, had gathered to welcome him, and those dwellers in the +village who observed a neutral line of conduct all came to their +doorsteps to see him pass by. The adherents of the Barricini remained +inside their houses, and peeped out of the slits in their shutters. + +The village of Pietranera is very irregularly built, like most Corsican +villages--for indeed, to see a street, the traveller must betake +himself to Cargese, which was built by Monsieur de Marboeuf. The houses, +scattered irregularly about, without the least attempt at orderly +arrangement, cover the top of a small plateau, or rather of a ridge of +the mountain. Toward the centre of the village stands a great evergreen +oak, and close beside it may be seen a granite trough, into which +the water of a neighbouring spring is conveyed by a wooden pipe. This +monument of public utility was constructed at the common expense of the +della Rebbia and Barricini families. But the man who imagined this to +be a sign of former friendship between the two families would be sorely +mistaken. On the contrary, it is the outcome of their mutual jealousy. +Once upon a time, Colonel della Rebbia sent a small sum of money to +the Municipal Council of his commune to help to provide a fountain. +The lawyer Barricini hastened to forward a similar gift, and to this +generous strife Pietranera owes its water supply. Round about the +evergreen oak and the fountain there is a clear space, known as “the +Square,” on which the local idlers gather every night. Sometimes they +play at cards, and once a year, in Carnival-time, they dance. At the two +ends of the square stands two edifices, of greater height than breadth, +built of a mixture of granite and schist. These are the _Towers_ of +the two opposing families, the Barricini and the della Rebbia. Their +architecture is exactly alike, their height is similar, and it is quite +evident that the rivalry of the two families has never been absolutely +decided by any stroke of fortune in favor of either. + +It may perhaps be well to explain what should be understood by this +word, “Tower.” It is a square building, some forty feet in height, which +in any other country would be simply described as a pigeon-house. A +narrow entrance-door, eight feet above the level of the ground, is +reached by a very steep flight of steps. Above the door is a window, +in front of which runs a sort of balcony, the floor of which is pierced +with openings, like a machicolation, through which the inhabitants may +destroy an unwelcome visitor without any danger to themselves. Between +the window and the door are two escutcheons, roughly carved. One of +these bears what was originally a Genoese cross, now so battered that +nobody but an antiquary could recognise it. On the other are chiselled +the arms of the family to whom the Tower belongs. If the reader will +complete this scheme of decoration by imagining several bullet marks on +the escutcheons and on the window frames, he will have a fair idea of +a Corsican mansion, dating from the middle ages. I had forgotten to add +that the dwelling-house adjoins the tower, and is frequently connected +with it by some interior passage. + +The della Rebbia house and tower stand on the northern side of the +square at Pietranera. The Barricini house and tower are on the southern +side. Since the colonel’s wife had been buried, no member of either +family had ever been seen on any side of the square, save that assigned +by tacit agreement to its own party. Orso was about to ride past the +mayor’s house when his sister checked him, and suggested his turning +down a lane that would take them to their own dwelling without crossing +the square at all. + +“Why should we go out of our way?” said Orso. “Doesn’t the square belong +to everybody?” and he rode on. + +“Brave heart!” murmured Colomba. “. . . My father! you will be avenged!” + +When they reached the square, Colomba put herself between her brother +and the Barricini mansion, and her eyes never left her enemy’s windows. +She noticed that they had been lately barricaded and provided with +_archere_. _Archere_ is the name given to narrow openings like +loopholes, made between the big logs of wood used to close up the +lower parts of the windows. When an onslaught is expected, this sort of +barricade is used, and from behind the logs the attacked party can fire +at its assailants with ease and safety. + +“The cowards!” said Colomba. “Look, brother, they have begun to protect +themselves! They have put up barricades! But some day or other they’ll +have to come out.” + +Orso’s presence on the southern side of the square made a great +sensation at Pietranera, and was taken to be a proof of boldness +savouring of temerity. It was subject of endless comment on the part of +the neutrals, when they gathered around the evergreen oak, that night. + +“It is a good thing,” they said, “that Barricini’s sons are not back +yet, for they are not so patient as the lawyer, and very likely they +would not have let their enemy set his foot on their ground without +making him pay for his bravado.” + +“Remember what I am telling you, neighbour,” said an old man, the +village oracle. “I watched Colomba’s face to-day. She had some idea in +her head. I smell powder in the air. Before long, butcher’s meat will be +cheap in Pietranera!” + + + +CHAPTER X + +Orso had been parted from his father at so early an age that he had +scarcely had time to know him. He had left Pietranera to pursue his +studies at Pisa when he was only fifteen. Thence he had passed into the +military school, and Ghilfuccio, meanwhile, was bearing the Imperial +Eagles all over Europe. On the mainland, Orso only saw his father at +rare intervals, and it was not until 1815 that he found himself in +the regiment he commanded. But the colonel, who was an inflexible +disciplinarian, treated his son just like any other sub-lieutenant--in +other words, with great severity. Orso’s memories of him were of two +kinds: He recollected him, at Pietranera, as the father who would trust +him with his sword, and would let him fire off his gun when he came +in from a shooting expedition, or who made him sit down, for the +first time, tiny urchin as he was, at the family dinner-table. Then he +remembered the Colonel della Rebbia who would put him under arrest for +some blunder, and who never called him anything but Lieutenant della +Rebbia. + +“Lieutenant della Rebbia, you are not in your right place on parade. You +will be confined to barracks three days.” + +“Your skirmishers are five yards too far from your main body--five days +in barracks.” + +“It is five minutes past noon, and you are still in your forage-cap--a +week in barracks.” + +Only once, at Quatre-Bras, he had said to him, “Well done, Orso! But be +cautious!” + +But, after all, these later memories were not connected in his mind with +Pietranera. The sight of the places so familiar to him in his childish +days, of the furniture he had seen used by his mother, to whom he had +been fondly attached, filled his soul with a host of tender and painful +emotions. Then the gloomy future that lay before him, the vague anxiety +he felt about his sister, and, above all other things, the thought that +Miss Nevil was coming to his house, which now struck him as being so +small, so poor, so unsuited to a person accustomed to luxury--the idea +that she might possibly despise it--all these feelings made his brain a +chaos, and filled him with a sense of deep discouragement. + +At supper he sat in the great oaken chair, blackened with age, in which +his father had always presided at the head of the family table, and he +smiled when he saw that Colomba hesitated to sit down with him. But he +was grateful to her for her silence during the meal, and for her speedy +retirement afterward. For he felt he was too deeply moved to be able to +resist the attack she was no doubt preparing to make upon him. Colomba, +however, was dealing warily with him, and meant to give him time to +collect himself. He sat for a long time motionless, with his head on +his hand, thinking over the scenes of the last fortnight of his life. He +saw, with alarm, how every one seemed to be watching what would be +his behaviour to the Barricini. Already he began to perceive that the +opinion of Pietranera was beginning to be the opinion of all the world +to him. He would have to avenge himself, or be taken for a coward! But +on whom was he to take vengeance? He could not believe the Barricini to +be guilty of murder. They were his family enemies, certainly, but only +the vulgar prejudice of his fellow-countrymen could accuse them of being +murderers. Sometimes he would look at Miss Nevil’s talisman, and whisper +the motto “Life is a battle!” over to himself. At last, in a resolute +voice, he said, “I will win it!” Strong in that thought, he rose to his +feet, took up the lamp, and was just going up to his room, when he heard +a knock at the door of the house. It was a very unusual hour for any +visitor to appear. Colomba instantly made her appearance, followed by +the woman who acted as their servant. + +“It’s nothing!” she said, hurrying to the door. + +Yet before she opened it she inquired who knocked. A gentle voice +answered, “It is I.” + +Instantly the wooden bar across the door was withdrawn, and Colomba +reappeared in the dining-room, followed by a little ragged, bare-footed +girl of about ten years old, her head bound with a shabby kerchief, +from which escaped long locks of hair, as black as the raven’s wing. The +child was thin and pale, her skin was sunburnt, but her eyes shone with +intelligence. When she saw Orso she stopped shyly, and courtesied +to him, peasant fashion--then she said something in an undertone to +Colomba, and gave her a freshly killed pheasant. + +“Thanks, Chili,” said Colomba. “Thank your uncle for me. Is he well?” + +“Very well, signorina, at your service. I couldn’t come sooner because +he was late. I waited for him in the _maquis_ for three hours.” + +“And you’ve had no supper?” + +“Why no, signorina! I’ve not had time.” + +“You shall have some supper here. Has your uncle any bread left?” + +“Very little, signorina. But what he is most short of is powder. Now the +chestnuts are in, the only other thing he wants is powder.” + +“I will give you a loaf for him, and some powder, too. Tell him to use +it sparingly--it is very dear.” + +“Colomba,” said Orso in French, “on whom are you bestowing your +charity?” + +“On a poor bandit belonging to this village,” replied Colomba in the +same language. “This little girl is his niece.” + +“It strikes me you might place your gifts better. Why should you send +powder to a ruffian who will use it to commit crimes? But for the +deplorable weakness every one here seems to have for the bandits, they +would have disappeared out of Corsica long ago.” + +“The worst men in our country are not those who are ‘in the country.’” + +“Give them bread, if it so please you. But I will not have you supply +them with ammunition.” + +“Brother,” said Colomba, in a serious voice, “you are master here, and +everything in this house belongs to you. But I warn you that I will +give this little girl my _mezzaro_, so that she may sell it; rather than +refuse powder to a bandit. Refuse to give him powder! I might just as +well make him over to the gendarmes! What has he to protect him against +them, except his cartridges?” + +All this while the little girl was ravenously devouring a bit of bread, +and carefully watching Colomba and her brother, turn about, trying to +read the meaning of what they were saying in their eyes. + +“And what has this bandit of yours done? What crime has driven him into +the _maquis_?” + +“Brandolaccio has not committed any crime,” exclaimed Colomba. “He +killed Giovan’ Oppizo, who murdered his father while he was away serving +in the army!” + +Orso turned away his head, took up the lamp, and, without a word, +departed to his bedroom. Then Colomba gave the child food and gunpowder, +and went with her as far as the house-door, saying over and over again: + +“Mind your uncle takes good care of Orso!” + + + +CHAPTER XI + +It was long before Orso fell asleep, and as a consequence he woke +late--late for a Corsican, at all events. When he left his bed, the +first object that struck his gaze was the house of his enemies, and the +_archere_ with which they had furnished it. He went downstairs and asked +for his sister. + +“She is in the kitchen, melting bullets,” answered Saveria, the +woman-servant. + +So he could not take a step without being pursued by the image of war. + +He found Colomba sitting on a stool, surrounded by freshly cast bullets, +and cutting up strips of lead. + +“What the devil are you doing?” inquired her brother. + +“You had no bullets for the colonel’s gun,” she answered, in her soft +voice. “I found I had a mould for that calibre, and you shall have +four-and-twenty cartridges to-day, brother.” + +“I don’t need them, thank God!” + +“You mustn’t be taken at a disadvantage, Ors’ Anton’. You have forgotten +your country, and the people who are about you.” + +“If I had forgotten, you would soon have reminded me. Tell me, did not a +big trunk arrive here some days ago?” + +“Yes, brother. Shall I take it up to your room?” + +“You take it up! Why, you’d never be strong enough even to lift it! . . . +Is there no man about who can do it?” + +“I’m not so weak as you think!” said Colomba, turning up her sleeves, +and displaying a pair of round white arms, perfect in shape, but looking +more than ordinarily strong. “Here, Saveria,” said she to the servant; +“come and help me!” + +She was already lifting the trunk alone, when Orso came hastily to her +assistance. + +“There is something for you in this trunk, my dear Colomba,” said he. +“You must excuse the modesty of my gifts. A lieutenant on half-pay +hasn’t a very well-lined purse!” + +As he spoke, he opened the trunk, and took out of it a few gowns, a +shawl, and some other things likely to be useful to a young girl. + +“What beautiful things!” cried Colomba. “I’ll put them away at once, for +fear they should be spoiled. I’ll keep them for my wedding,” she added, +with a sad smile, “for I am in mourning now!” + +And she kissed her brother’s hand. + +“It looks affected, my dear sister, to wear your mourning for so long.” + +“I have sworn an oath,” said Colomba resolutely, “I’ll not take off my +mourning. . . .” And her eyes were riveted on the Barricini mansion. + +“Until your wedding day?” said Orso, trying to avoid the end of her +sentence. + +“I shall never marry any man,” said Colomba, “unless he has done three +things . . .” And her eyes still rested gloomily on the house of the +enemy. + +“You are so pretty, Colomba, that I wonder you are not married already! +Come, you must tell me about your suitors. And besides, I’m sure to hear +their serenades. They must be good ones to please a great _voceratrice_ +like you.” + +“Who would seek the hand of a poor orphan girl? . . . And then, the man +for whom I would change my mourning-dress will have to make the women +over there put on mourning!” + +“This is becoming a perfect mania,” said Orso to himself. But to avoid +discussion he said nothing at all. + +“Brother,” said Colomba caressingly, “I have something to give you, too. +The clothes you are wearing are much too grand for this country. Your +fine cloth frock-coat would be in tatters in two days, if you wore it in +the _maquis_. You must keep it for the time when Miss Nevil comes.” + +Then, opening a cupboard, she took out a complete hunting dress. + +“I’ve made you a velvet jacket, and here’s a cap, such as our smart +young men wear. I embroidered it for you, ever so long ago. Will you try +them on?” And she made him put on a loose green velvet jacket, with a +huge pocket at the back. On his head she set a pointed black velvet cap, +embroidered with jet and silk of the same colour, and finished with a +sort of tassel. + +“Here is our father’s _carchera_“[*] she said. “His stiletto is in the +pocket of the jacket. I’ll fetch you his pistol.” + + [*] Carchera, a belt for cartridges. A pistol is worn + fastened to the left side of it. + +“I look like a brigand at the Ambigu-Comique,” said Orso, as he looked +at himself in the little glass Saveria was holding up for him. + +“Indeed, you look first-rate, dressed like that, Ors’ Anton’,” said the +old servant, “and the smartest _pinsuto_[*] in Bocognano or Bastelica is +not braver.” + + [*] Pinsuto, the name given to men who wear the pointed cap, + _barreta pinsuta_. + +Orso wore his new clothes at breakfast, and during that meal he told his +sister that his trunk contained a certain number of books, that he was +going to send to France and Italy for others, and intended she should +study a great deal. + +“For it really is disgraceful, Colomba,” he added, “that a grown-up +girl like you should still be ignorant of things that children on the +mainland know as soon as they are weaned.” + +“You are right, brother,” said Colomba. “I know my own shortcomings +quite well, and I shall be too glad to learn--especially if you are kind +enough to teach me.” + +Some days went by, and Colomba never mentioned the name of Barricini. +She lavished care and attention on her brother, and often talked to him +about Miss Nevil. Orso made her read French and Italian books, and was +constantly being surprised either by the correctness and good sense of +her comments, or by her utter ignorance on the most ordinary subjects. + +One morning, after breakfast, Colomba left the room for a moment, and +instead of returning as usual, with a book and some sheets of paper, +reappeared with her _mezzaro_ on her head. The expression of her +countenance was even more serious than it generally was. + +“Brother,” she said, “I want you to come out with me.” + +“Where do you want me to go with you?” said Orso, holding out his arm. + +“I don’t want your arm, brother, but take your gun and your +cartridge-pouch. A man should never go abroad without his arms.” + +“So be it. I must follow the fashion. Where are we going?” + +Colomba, without answering, drew her _mezzaro_ closer about her head, +called the watch-dog, and went out followed by her brother. Striding +swiftly out of the village, she turned into a sunken road that wound +among the vineyards, sending on the dog, to whom she made some gesture, +which he seemed to understand, in front of her. He instantly began to +run zigzag fashion, through the vines, first on one side and then on +the other, always keeping within about fifty paces of his mistress, and +occasionally stopping in the middle of the road and wagging his tail. +He seemed to perform his duties as a scout in the most perfect fashion +imaginable. + +“If Muschetto begins to bark, brother,” said Colomba, “cock your gun, +and stand still.” + +Half a mile beyond the village, after making many detours, Colomba +stopped short, just where there was a bend in the road. On that spot +there rose a little pyramid of branches, some of them green, some +withered, heaped about three feet high. Above them rose the top of +a wooden cross, painted black. In several of the Corsican cantons, +especially those among the mountains, a very ancient custom, connected, +it may be with some pagan superstition, constrains every passer-by to +cast either a stone or a branch on the spot whereon a man has died a +violent death. For years and years--as long as the memory of his tragic +fate endures--this strange offering goes on accumulating from day to +day. + +This is called the dead man’s _pile_--his “_mucchio_.” + +Colomba stopped before the heap of foliage, broke off an arbutus branch, +and cast it on the pile. + +“Orso,” she said, “this is where your father died. Let us pray for his +soul!” + +And she knelt down. Orso instantly followed her example. At that moment +the village church-bell tolled slowly for a man who had died during the +preceding night. Orso burst into tears. + +After a few minutes Colomba rose. Her eyes were dry, but her face was +eager. She hastily crossed herself with her thumb, after the fashion +generally adopted by her companions, to seal any solemn oath, then, +hurrying her brother with her, she took her way back to the village. +They re-entered their house in silence. Orso went up to his room. A +moment afterward Colomba followed him, carrying a small casket which she +set upon the table. Opening it, she drew out a shirt, covered with great +stains of blood. + +“Here is your father’s shirt, Orso!” + +And she threw it across his knees. “Here is the lead that killed him!” + And she laid two blackened bullets on the shirt. + +“Orso! Brother!” she cried, throwing herself into his arms and clasping +him desperately to her. “Orso, you will avenge him!” + +In a sort of frenzy she kissed him, then kissed the shirt and the +bullets, and went out of the room, leaving her brother sitting on +his chair, as if he had been turned to stone. For some time Orso sat +motionless, not daring to put the terrible relics away. At last, with +an effort, he laid them back in their box, rushed to the opposite end +of his room, and threw himself on his bed, with his face turned to the +wall, and his head buried in his pillow, as though he were trying +to shut out the sight of some ghost. His sister’s last words rang +unceasingly in his ears, like the words of an oracle, fatal, inevitable, +calling out to him for blood, and for innocent blood! I shall not +attempt to depict the unhappy young man’s sensations, which were as +confused as those that overwhelm a madman’s brain. For a long time he +lay in the same position, without daring to turn his head. At last he +got up, closed the lid of the casket, and rushed headlong out of the +house, into the open country, moving aimlessly forward, whither he knew +not. + +By degrees, the fresh air did him good. He grew calmer, and began +to consider his position, and his means of escape from it, with some +composure. He did not, as my readers already know, suspect the Barricini +of the murder, but he did accuse them of having forged Agostini’s +letter, and this letter, he believed, at any rate, had brought about +his father’s death. He felt it was impossible to prosecute them for the +forgery. Now and then, when the prejudices or the instincts of his +race assailed him, and suggested an easy vengeance--a shot fired at the +corner of some path--the thought of his brother-officers, of Parisian +drawing-rooms, and above all, of Miss Nevil, made him shrink from them +in horror. Then his mind dwelt on his sister’s reproaches, and all +the Corsican within him justified her appeal, and even intensified its +bitterness. One hope alone remained to him, in this battle between his +conscience and his prejudices--the hope that, on some pretext or other, +he might pick a quarrel with one of the lawyer’s sons, and fight a duel +with him. The idea of killing the young man, either by a bullet or a +sword-thrust reconciled his French and Corsican ideas. This expedient +adopted, he began to meditate means for its execution, and was feeling +relieved already of a heavy burden, when other and gentler thoughts +contributed still further to calm his feverish agitation. Cicero, in his +despair at the death of his daughter Tullia, forgot his sorrow when +he mused over all the fine things he might say about it. Mr. Shandy +consoled himself by discourses of the same nature for the loss of his +son. Orso cooled his blood by thinking that he would depict his state of +mind to Miss Nevil, and that such a picture could not fail to interest +that fair lady deeply. + +He was drawing near the village, from which he had unconsciously +travelled a considerable distance, when he heard the voice of a little +girl, who probably believed herself to be quite alone, singing in a +path that ran along the edge of the _maquis_. It was one of those slow, +monotonous airs consecrated to funeral dirges, and the child was singing +the words: + + “And when my son shall see again the dwelling of his father, + Give him that murdered father’s cross; show him my shirt blood- + spattered.” + +“What’s that you’re singing, child?” said Orso, in an angry voice, as he +suddenly appeared before her. + +“Is that you, Ors’ Anton’?” exclaimed the child, rather startled. “It is +Signorina Colomba’s song.” + +“I forbid you to sing it!” said Orso, in a threatening voice. + +The child kept turning her head this way and that, as though looking +about for a way of escape, and she would certainly have run off had she +not been held back by the necessity of taking care of a large bundle +which lay on the grass, at her feet. + +Orso felt ashamed of his own vehemence. “What are you carrying there, +little one?” said he, with all the gentleness he could muster. And as +Chilina hesitated, he lifted up the linen that was wrapped round the +bundle, and saw it contained a loaf of bread and other food. + +“To whom are you bringing the loaf, my dear?” he asked again. + +“You know quite well, Ors’ Anton’: to my uncle.” + +“And isn’t your uncle a bandit?” + +“At your service, Ors’ Anton’.” + +“If you met the gendarmes, they would ask you where you were +going. . . .” + +“I should tell them,” the child replied, at once, “that I was taking +food to the men from Lucca who were cutting down the _maquis_.” + +“And if you came across some hungry hunter who insisted on dining at +your expense, and took your provisions away from you?” + +“Nobody would dare! I would say they are for my uncle!” + +“Well! he’s not the sort of man to let himself be cheated of his dinner! +. . . Is your uncle very fond of you?” + +“Oh, yes, Ors’ Anton’. Ever since my father died, he has taken care of +my whole family--my mother and my little sister, and me. Before +mother was ill, he used to recommend her to rich people, who gave her +employment. The mayor gives me a frock every year, and the priest has +taught me my catechism, and how to read, ever since my uncle spoke to +them about us. But your sister is kindest of all to us!” + +Just at this moment a dog ran out on the pathway. The little girl put +two of her fingers into her mouth and gave a shrill whistle, the dog +came to her at once, fawned upon her, and then plunged swiftly into the +thicket. Soon two men, ill-dressed, but very well armed, rose up out +of a clump of young wood a few paces from where Orso stood. It was as +though they had crawled up like snakes through the tangle of cytisus and +myrtle that covered the ground. + +“Oh, Ors’ Anton’, you’re welcome!” said the elder of the two men. “Why, +don’t you remember me?” + +“No!” said Orso, looking hard at him. + +“Queer how a beard and a peaked cap alter a man! Come, monsieur, look +at me well! Have you forgotten your old Waterloo men? Don’t you remember +Brando Savelli, who bit open more than one cartridge alongside of you on +that unlucky day?” + +“What! Is it you?” said Orso. “And you deserted in 1816!” + +“Even so, sir. Faith! soldiering grows tiresome, and besides, I had a +job to settle over in this country. Aha, Chili! You’re a good girl! Give +us our dinner at once, we’re hungry. You’ve no notion what an appetite +one gets in the _maquis_. Who sent us this--was it Signorina Colomba or +the mayor?” + +“No, uncle, it was the miller’s wife. She gave me this for you, and a +blanket for my mother.” + +“What does she want of me?” + +“She says the Lucchesi she hired to clear the _maquis_ are asking her +five-and-thirty sous, and chestnuts as well--because of the fever in the +lower parts of Pietranera.” + +“The lazy scamps! . . . I’ll see to them! . . . Will you share our +dinner, monsieur, without any ceremony? We’ve eaten worse meals +together, in the days of that poor compatriot of ours, whom they have +discharged from the army.” + +“No, I thank you heartily. They have discharged me, too!” + +“Yes, so I heard. But I’ll wager you weren’t sorry for it. You have your +own account to settle too. . . . Come along, cure,” said the bandit to +his comrade. “Let’s dine! Signor Orso, let me introduce the cure. I’m +not quite sure he is a cure. But he knows as much as any priest, at all +events!” + +“A poor student of theology, monsieur,” quoth the second bandit, “who +has been prevented from following his vocation. Who knows, Brandolaccio, +I might have been Pope!” + +“What was it that deprived the Church of your learning?” inquired Orso. + +“A mere nothing--a bill that had to be settled, as my friend +Brandolaccio puts it. One of my sisters had been making a fool of +herself, while I was devouring book-lore at Pisa University. I had to +come home, to get her married. But her future husband was in too great +a hurry; he died of fever three days before I arrived. Then I called, as +you would have done in my place, on the dead man’s brother. I was told +he was married. What was I to do?” + +“It really was puzzling! What did you do?” + +“It was one of those cases in which one has to resort to the gunflint.” + +“In other words?” + +“I put a bullet in his head,” said the bandit coolly. + +Orso made a horrified gesture. Nevertheless, curiosity, and, it may be, +his desire to put off the moment when he must return home, induced him +to remain where he was, and continue his conversation with the two men, +each of whom had at least one murder on his conscience. + +While his comrade was talking, Brandolaccio was laying bread and meat +in front of him. He helped himself--then he gave some food to this +dog, whom he introduced to Orso under the name of Brusco, as an animal +possessing a wonderful instinct for recognising a soldier, whatever +might be the disguise he had assumed. Lastly, he cut off a hunch of +bread and a slice of raw ham, and gave them to his niece. “Oh, the +merry life a bandit lives!” cried the student of theology, after he +had swallowed a few mouthfuls. “You’ll try it some day, perhaps, Signor +della Rebbia, and you’ll find out how delightful it is to acknowledge no +master save one’s own fancy!” + +Hitherto the bandit had talked Italian. He now proceeded in French. + +“Corsica is not a very amusing country for a young man to live in--but +for a bandit, there’s the difference! The women are all wild about us. +I, as you see me now, have three mistresses in three different villages. +I am at home in every one of them, and one of the ladies is married to a +gendarme!” + +“You know many languages, monsieur!” said Orso gravely. + +“If I talk French, ‘tis because, look you, _maxima debetur pueris +reverentia_! We have made up our minds, Brandolaccio and I, that the +little girl shall turn out well, and go straight.” + +“When she is turned fifteen,” remarked Chilina’s uncle, “I’ll find a +good husband for her. I have one in my eye already.” + +“Shall you make the proposal yourself?” said Orso. + +“Of course! Do you suppose that any well-to-do man in this +neighbourhood, to whom I said, ‘I should be glad to see a marriage +between your son and Michilina Savelli,’ would require any pressing?” + +“I wouldn’t advise him to!” quoth the other bandit. “Friend Brandolaccio +has rather a heavy hand!” + +“If I were a rogue,” continued Brandolaccio, “a blackguard, a forger, I +should only have to hold my wallet open, and the five-franc pieces would +rain into it.” + +“Then is there something inside your wallet that attracts them?” said +Orso. + +“Nothing. But if I were to write to a rich man, as some people have +written, ‘I want a hundred francs,’ he would lose no time about sending +them to me. But I’m a man of honour, monsieur.” + +“Do you know, Signor della Rebbia,” said the bandit whom his comrade +called the cure, “do you know that in this country, with all its +simple habits, there are some wretches who make use of the esteem our +passports” (and he touched his gun) “insure us, to draw forged bills in +our handwriting?” + +“I know it,” said Orso, in a gruff tone; “but what bills?” + +“Six months ago,” said the bandit, “I was taking my walks abroad near +Orezza, when a sort of lunatic came up to me, pulling off his cap to me +even in the distance, and said: ‘Oh, M. le Cure’ (they always call me +that), ‘please excuse me--give me time. I have only been able to get +fifty-five francs together! Honour bright, that’s all I’ve been able to +scrape up.’ I, in my astonishment, said, ‘Fifty-five francs! What do +you mean, you rascal!’ ‘I mean sixty-five,’ he replied; ‘but as for the +hundred francs you asked me to give you, it’s not possible.’ ‘What! you +villain! I ask you for a hundred francs? I don’t know who you are.’ Then +he showed me a letter, or rather a dirty rag of paper, whereby he was +summoned to deposit a hundred francs on a certain spot, on pain +of having his house burned and his cows killed by Giocanto +Castriconi--that’s my name. And they had been vile enough to forge +my signature! What annoyed me most was that the letter was written in +_patois_, and was full of mistakes in spelling--I who won every prize at +the university! I began by giving my rascal a cuff that made him twist +round and round. ‘Aha! You take me for a thief, blackguard that you +are!’ I said, and I gave him a hearty kick, you know where. Then feeling +rather better, I went on, ‘When are you to take the money to the spot +mentioned in the letter?’ ‘This very day.’ ‘Very good, then take it +there!’ It was at the foot of a pine-tree, and the place had been +exactly described. He brought the money, buried it at the foot of the +tree, and came and joined me. I had hidden myself close by. There I +stayed, with my man, for six mortal hours, M. della Rebbia. I’d have +staid three days, if it had been necessary. At the end of six hours a +_Bastiaccio_, a vile money-lender, made his appearance. As he bent down +to take up the money, I fired, and I had aimed so well that, as he fell, +his head dropped upon the coins he was unearthing. ‘Now, rascal,’ said +I to the peasant, ‘take your money, and never dare to suspect Giocanto +Castriconi of a mean trick again!’ + +“The poor devil, all of a tremble, picked up his sixty-five francs +without taking the trouble to wipe them. He thanked me, I gave him a +good parting kick, and he may be running away still, for all I know.” + +“Ah, cure!” said Brandolaccio, “I envy you that shot! How you must have +laughed!” + +“I had hit the money-lender in the temple,” the bandit went on, “and +that reminded me of Virgil’s lines: + + . . . “‘Liquefacto tempora plumbo + Diffidit, ac multa porrectum, extendit arena.’ + +“_Liquefacto!_ Do you think, Signor Orso, that the rapidity with which +a bullet flies through the air will melt it? You who have studied +projectiles, tell me whether you think that idea is truth or fiction?” + +Orso infinitely preferred discussing this question of physics to arguing +with the licentiate as to the morality of his action. Brandolaccio, who +did not find their scientific disquisition entertaining, interrupted it +with the remark that the sun was just going to set. + +“As you would not dine with us, Ors’ Anton’,” he said, “I advise you +not to keep Mademoiselle Colomba waiting any longer. And then it is not +always wise to be out on the roads after sunset. Why do you come out +without a gun? There are bad folk about here--beware of them! You have +nothing to fear to-day. The Barricini are bringing the prefect home with +them. They have gone to meet him on the road, and he is to stop a day +at Pietranera, before he goes on to Corte, to lay what they call a +corner-stone--such stupid nonsense! He will sleep to-night with the +Barricini; but to-morrow they’ll be disengaged. There is Vincentello, +who is a good-for-nothing fellow, and Orlanduccio, who is not much +better. . . . Try to come on them separately, one to-day, the other +to-morrow. . . . But be on the lookout, that’s all I have to say to +you!” + +“Thanks for the warning,” said Orso. “But there is no quarrel between +us. Until they come to look for me, I shall have nothing to say to +them.” + +The bandit stuck his tongue in his cheek, and smacked it ironically, but +he made no reply. Orso got up to go away. + +“By the way,” said Brandolaccio, “I haven’t thanked you for your powder. +It came just when I needed it. Now I have everything I want . . . at +least I do still want shoes . . . but I’ll make myself a pair out of the +skin of a moufflon one of these days.” + +Orso slipped two five-franc pieces into the bandit’s hand. + +“It was Colomba who sent you the powder. This is to buy the shoes.” + +“Nonsense, Lieutenant!” cried Brandolaccio, handing him back the two +coins. “D’ye take me for a beggar? I accept bread and powder, but I +won’t have anything else!” + +“We are both old soldiers, so I thought we might have given each other a +lift. Well, good-bye to you!” + +But before he moved away he had slipped the money into he bandit’s +wallet, unperceived by him. + +“Good-bye, Ors’ Anton’,” quoth the theologian. “We shall meet again in +the _maquis_, some day, perhaps, and then we’ll continue our study of +Virgil.” + +Quite a quarter of an hour after Orso had parted company with these +worthies, he heard a man running after him, as fast as he could go. It +was Brandolaccio. + +“This is too bad, lieutenant!” he shouted breathlessly, “really it is +too bad! I wouldn’t overlook the trick, if any other man had played +it on me. Here are your ten francs. All my respects to Mademoiselle +Colomba. You have made me run myself quite out of breath. Good-night!” + + + +CHAPTER XII + +Orso found Colomba in a state of considerable anxiety because of his +prolonged absence. But as soon as she saw him she recovered her usual +serene, though sad, expression. During the evening meal the conversation +turned on trivial subjects, and Orso, emboldened by his sister’s +apparent calm, related his encounter with the bandits, and even ventured +on a joke or two concerning the moral and religious education that was +being imparted to little Chilina, thanks to the care of her uncle and of +his worthy colleague Signor Castriconi. + +“Brandolaccio is an upright man,” said Colomba; “but as to Castriconi, I +have heard he is quite unprincipled.” + +“I think,” said Orso, “that he is as good as Brandolaccio, and +Brandolaccio is as good as he. Both of them are at open war with +society. Their first crime leads them on to fresh ones, every day, and +yet they are very likely not half so guilty as many people who don’t +live in the _maquis_.” + +A flash of joy shone in his sister’s eyes. “Yes,” he continued, “these +wretches have a code of honour of their own. It is a cruel prejudice, +not a mean instinct of greed, that has forced them into the life they +are leading.” + +There was a silence. + +“Brother,” said Colomba, as she poured out his coffee, “perhaps you have +heard that Carlo-Battista Pietri died last night. Yes, he died of the +marsh-fever.” + +“Who is Pietri?” + +“A man belonging to this village, the husband of Maddalena, who took the +pocket-book out of our father’s hand as he was dying. His widow has been +here to ask me to join the watchers, and sing something. You ought to +come, too. They are our neighbours, and in a small place like this we +can not do otherwise than pay them this civility.” + +“Confound these wakes, Colomba! I don’t at all like my sister to perform +in public in this way.” + +“Orso,” replied Colomba, “every country pays honour to its dead after +its own fashion. The _ballata_ has come down to us from our forefathers, +and we must respect it as an ancient custom. Maddalena does not possess +the ‘gift,’ and old Fiordispina, the best _voceratrice_ in the country, +is ill. They must have somebody for the _ballata_.” + +“Do you believe Carlo-Battista won’t find his way safely into the next +world unless somebody sings bad poetry over his bier? Go if you choose, +Colomba--I’ll go with you, if you think I ought. But don’t improvise! It +really is not fitting at your age, and--sister, I beg you not to do it!” + +“Brother, I have promised. It is the custom here, as you know, and, I +tell you again, there is nobody but me to improvise.” + +“An idiotic custom it is!” + +“It costs me a great deal to sing in this way. It brings back all our +own sorrows to me. I shall be ill after it, to-morrow. But I must do it. +Give me leave to do it. Brother, remember that when we were at Ajaccio, +you told me to improvise to amuse that young English lady who makes a +mock of our old customs. So why should I not do it to-day for these poor +people, who will be grateful to me, and whom it will help to bear their +grief?” + +“Well, well, as you will. I’ll go bail you’ve composed your _ballata_ +already, and don’t want to waste it.” + +“No, brother, I couldn’t compose it beforehand. I stand before the dead +person, and I think about those he has left behind him. The tears spring +into my eyes, and then I sing whatever comes into my head.” + +All this was said so simply that it was quite impossible to suspect +Signorina Colomba of the smallest poetic vanity. Orso let himself be +persuaded, and went with his sister to Pietri’s house. The dead man lay +on a table in the largest room, with his face uncovered. All the doors +and windows stood open, and several tapers were burning round the table. +At the head stood the widow, and behind her a great many women, who +filled all one side of the room. On the other side were the men, in +rows, bareheaded, with their eyes fixed on the corpse, all in the +deepest silence. Each new arrival went up to the table, kissed the dead +face, bowed his or her head to the widow and her son, and joined the +circle, without uttering a word. Nevertheless, from time to time one +of the persons present would break the solemn silence with a few words, +addressed to the dead man. + +“Why has thou left thy good wife?” said one old crone. “Did she not take +good care of thee? What didst thou lack? Why not have waited another +month? Thy daughter-in-law would have borne thee a grandson!” A tall +young fellow, Pietri’s son, pressed his father’s cold hand and cried: +“Oh! why hast thou not died of the _mala morte_?[*] Then we could have +avenged thee!” + +[*] _La mala morte_, a violent death. + +These were the first words to fall on Orso’s ear as he entered the room. +At the sight of him the circle parted, and a low murmur of curiosity +betrayed the expectation roused in the gathering by the _voceratrice’s_ +presence. Colomba embraced the widow, took one of her hands, and stood +for some moments wrapped in meditation, with her eyelids dropped. Then +she threw back her _mezzaro_, gazed fixedly at the corpse, and bending +over it, her face almost as waxen as that of the dead man, she began +thus: + +“Carlo-Battista! May Christ receive thy soul! . . . To live is to +suffer! Thou goest to a place . . . where there is neither sun nor cold. +. . . No longer dost thou need thy pruning-hook . . . nor thy heavy +pick. . . . There is no more work for thee! . . . Henceforward all thy +days are Sundays! . . . Carlo-Battista! May Christ receive thy soul! +. . . Thy son rules in thy house. . . . I have seen the oak fall, . . . +dried up by the _libeccio_. . . . I thought it was dead indeed, . . . +but when I passed it again, its root . . . had thrown up a sapling. +. . . The sapling grew into an oak . . . of mighty shade. . . . Under its +great branches, Maddele, rest thee well! . . . And think of the oak that +is no more!” + +Here Maddalena began to sob aloud, and two or three men who, on +occasion, would have shot at a Christian as coolly as at a partridge, +brushed big tears off their sunburnt faces. + +For some minutes Colomba continued in this strain, addressing herself +sometimes to the corpse, sometimes to the family, and sometimes, by a +personification frequently employed in the _ballata_, making the dead +man himself speak words of consolation or counsel to his kinsfolk. As +she proceeded, her face assumed a sublime expression, a delicate pink +tinge crept over her features, heightening the brilliancy of her white +teeth and the lustre of her flashing eyes. She was like a Pythoness on +her tripod. Save for a sigh here and there, or a strangled sob, not the +slightest noise rose from the assembly that crowded about her. Orso, +though less easily affected than most people by this wild kind of +poetry, was soon overcome by the general emotion. Hidden in a dark +corner of the room, he wept as heartily as Pietri’s own son. + +Suddenly a slight stir was perceptible among the audience. The circle +opened, and several strangers entered. The respect shown them, and the +eagerness with which room was made for them, proved them to be people +of importance, whose advent was a great honour to the household. +Nevertheless, out of respect for the _ballata_, nobody said a word to +them. The man who had entered first seemed about forty years of age. +From his black coat, his red rosette, his confident air, and look of +authority, he was at once guessed to be the prefect. Behind him came +a bent old man with a bilious-looking complexion, whose furtive and +anxious glance was only partially concealed by his green spectacles. He +wore a black coat, too large for him, and which, though still quite new, +had evidently been made several years previously. He always kept close +beside the prefect and looked as though he would fain hide himself +under his shadow. Last of all, behind him, came two tall young men, +with sunburnt faces, their cheeks hidden by heavy whiskers, proud and +arrogant-looking, and showing symptoms of an impertinent curiosity. +Orso had had time to forget the faces of his village neighbours; but +the sight of the old man in green spectacles instantly called up old +memories in his mind. His presence in attendance on the prefect sufficed +to insure his recognition. This was Barricini, the lawyer, mayor of +Pietranera, who had come, with his two sons, to show the prefect what a +_ballata_ was. It would be difficult exactly to describe what happened +within Orso’s soul at that moment, but the presence of his father’s foe +filled him with a sort of horror, and more than ever he felt inclined to +yield to the suspicions with which he had been battling for so long. + +As to Colomba, when she saw the man against whom she had sworn a deadly +hatred, her mobile countenance assumed a most threatening aspect. She +turned pale, her voice grew hoarse, the line she had begun to declaim +died on her lips. But soon, taking up her _ballata_ afresh, she +proceeded with still greater vehemence. + +“When the hawk bemoans himself . . . beside his harried nest, . . . the +starlings flutter round him . . . insulting his distress.” + +A smothered laugh was heard. The two young men who had just come in +doubtless considered the metaphor too bold. + +“The falcon will rouse himself. . . . He will spread his wings. . . . He +will wash his beak in blood! . . . Now, to thee, Carlo-Battista, let +thy friends . . . bid an eternal farewell! . . . Long enough have their +tears flowed! . . . Only the poor orphan girl will not weep for thee! +. . . Wherefore should she moan? . . . Thou has fallen asleep, full of +years, . . in the midst of thine own kin . . . ready to appear . . . +in the presence of the Almighty. . . . The orphan weeps for her father +. . . overtaken by vile murderers, . . struck from behind. . . . For her +father, whose blood lies red . . . beneath the heaped-up green leaves. +. . . But she has gathered up this blood, . . this innocent and noble +blood! . . . She has poured it out over Pietranera . . . that it may +become a deadly poison. . . . And the mark shall be on Pietranera +. . . until the blood of the guilty . . . shall have wiped out the blood +of the innocent man!” + +As Colomba pronounced the last words, she dropped into a chair, drew her +_mezzaro_ over her face, and was heard sobbing beneath it. The weeping +women crowded round the _improvisatrice_; several of the men were +casting savage glances at the mayor and his sons; some of the elders +began to protest against the scandal to which their presence had given +rise. The dead man’s son pushed his way through the throng, and was +about to beg the mayor to clear out with all possible speed. But this +functionary had not waited for the suggestion. He was on his way to the +door, and his two sons were already in the street. The prefect said a +few words of condolence to young Pietri, and followed them out, almost +immediately. Orso went to his sister’s side, took her arm, and drew her +out of the room. + +“Go with them,” said young Pietri to some of his friends. “Take care no +harm comes to them!” + +Hastily two or three young men slipped their stilettos up the left +sleeves of their jackets and escorted Orso and his sister to their own +door. + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +Panting, exhausted, Colomba was utterly incapable of uttering a single +word. Her head rested on her brother’s shoulder, and she clasped one +of his hands tightly between her own. Orso, though secretly somewhat +annoyed by her peroration, was too much alarmed to reprove her, even +in the mildest fashion. He was silently waiting till the nervous attack +from which she seemed to be suffering should have passed, when there +was a knock at the door, and Saveria, very much flustered, announced the +prefect. At the words, Colomba rose, as though ashamed of her weakness, +and stood leaning on a chair, which shook visibly beneath her hand. + +The prefect began with some commonplace apology for the unseasonable +hour of his visit, condoled with Mademoiselle Colomba, touched on the +danger connected with strong emotions, blamed the custom of composing +funeral dirges, which the very talent of the _voceratrice_ rendered +the more harrowing to her auditors, skilfully slipped in a mild reproof +concerning the tendency of the improvisation just concluded, and then, +changing his tone-- + +“M. della Rebbia,” he said, “I have many messages for you from your +English friends. Miss Nevil sends her affectionate regards to your +sister. I have a letter for you from her.” + +“A letter from Miss Nevil!” cried Orso. + +“Unluckily I have not got it with me. But you shall have it within five +minutes. Her father has not been well. For a little while we were afraid +he had caught one of our terrible fevers. Luckily he is all right again, +as you will observe for yourself, for I fancy you will see him very +soon.” + +“Miss Nevil must have been very much alarmed!” + +“Fortunately she did not become aware of the danger till it was quite +gone by. M. della Rebbia, Miss Nevil has talked to me a great deal about +you and about your sister.” + +Orso bowed. + +“She has a great affection for you both. Under her charming appearance, +and her apparent frivolity, a fund of good sense lies hidden.” + +“She is a very fascinating person,” said Orso. + +“I have come here, monsieur, almost at her prayer. Nobody is better +acquainted than I with a fatal story which I would fain not have to +recall to you. As M. Barricini is still the mayor of Pietranera, and +as I am prefect of the department, I need hardly tell you what weight +I attach to certain suspicions which, if I am rightly informed, some +incautious individuals have communicated to you, and which you, I know, +have spurned with the indignation your position and your character would +have led me to expect.” + +“Colomba,” said Orso, moving uneasily to his chair. “You are very tired. +You had better go to bed.” + +Colomba shook her head. She had recovered all her usual composure, and +her burning eyes were fixed on the prefect. + +“M. Barricini,” the prefect continued, “is exceedingly anxious to put an +end to the sort of enmity . . . or rather, the condition of uncertainty, +existing between yourself and him. . . . On my part, I should be +delighted to see you both in those relations of friendly intercourse +appropriate to people who certainly ought to esteem each other.” + +“Monsieur,” replied Orso in a shaking voice, “I have never charged +Barricini with my father’s murder. But he committed an act which must +always prevent me from having anything to do with him. He forged a +threatening letter, in the name of a certain bandit, or at least he +hinted in an underhand sort of way that it was forged by my father. That +letter, monsieur, was probably the indirect cause of my father’s death.” + +The prefect sat thinking for a moment. + +“That your father should have believed that, when his own hasty nature +led him into a lawsuit with Signor Barricini, is excusable. But such +blindness on your part really can not be admitted. Pray consider that +Barricini could have served no interest of his own by forging the +letter. I will not talk to you about his character, for you are not +acquainted with it, and are prejudiced against it; but you can not +suppose that a man conversant with the law----” + +“But, monsieur,” said Orso, rising to his feet, “be good enough to +recollect that when you tell me the letter was not Barricini’s work, you +ascribe it to my father. And my father’s honour, monsieur, is mine!” + +“No man on earth, sir, is more convinced of Colonel della Rebbia’s +honour than myself! But the writer of the letter is now known.” + +“Who wrote it?” exclaimed Colomba, making a step toward the prefect. + +“A villain, guilty of several crimes--such crimes as you Corsicans never +pardon--a thief, one Tomaso Bianchi, at present confined in the prison +at Bastia, has acknowledged that he wrote the fatal letter.” + +“I know nothing of the man,” said Orso. “What can have been his object?” + +“He belongs to this neighbourhood,” said Colomba. “He is brother to a +man who was our miller--a scamp and a liar, unworthy of belief.” + +“You will soon see what his interest in the matter was,” continued the +prefect. “The miller of whom your sister speaks--I think his name was +Teodoro--was the tenant of a mill belonging to the colonel, standing on +the very stream the ownership of which M. Barricini was disputing with +your father. The colonel, always a generous man, made very little profit +out of the mill. Now Tomaso thought that if Barricini got possession of +the stream there would be a heavy rent to pay, for it is well known +that Barricini is rather fond of money. In short, to oblige his brother, +Tomaso forged the letter from the bandit--and there’s the whole story. +You know that in Corsica the strength of the family tie is so great that +it does sometimes lead to crime. Please read over this letter to me from +the attorney-general. It confirms what I have just told you.” + +Orso looked through the letter, which gave a detailed relation of +Tomaso’s confession, and Colomba read it over his shoulder. + +When she had come to the end of it she exclaimed: + +“Orlanduccio Barricini went down to Bastia a month ago, when it became +known that my brother was coming home. He must have seen Tomaso, and +bought this lie of him!” + +“Signorina,” said the prefect, out of patience, “you explain everything +by odious imputations! Is that the way to find out the truth? You, sir, +can judge more coolly. Tell me what you think of the business now? Do +you believe, like this young lady, that a man who has only a slight +sentence to fear would deliberately charge himself with forgery, just to +oblige a person he doesn’t know?” + +Orso read the attorney-general’s letter again, weighing every word with +the greatest care--for now that he had seen the old lawyer, he felt it +more difficult to convince himself than it would have been a few +days previously. At last he found himself obliged to admit that the +explanation seemed to him to be satisfactory. But Colomba cried out +vehemently: + +“Tomaso Bianchi is a knave! He’ll not be convicted, or he’ll escape from +prison! I am certain of it!” + +The prefect shrugged his shoulders. + +“I have laid the information I have received before you, monsieur. I +will now depart, and leave you to your own reflections. I shall wait +till your own reason has enlightened you, and I trust it may prove +stronger than your sister’s suppositions.” + +Orso, after saying a few words of excuse for Colomba, repeated that he +now believed Tomaso to be the sole culprit. + +The prefect had risen to take his leave. + +“If it were not so late,” said he, “I would suggest your coming over +with me to fetch Miss Nevil’s letter. At the same time you might repeat +to M. Barricini what you have just said to me, and the whole thing would +be settled.” + +“Orso della Rebbia will never set his foot inside the house of a +Barricini!” exclaimed Colomba impetuously. + +“This young lady appears to be the _tintinajo_[*] of the family!” + remarked the prefect, with a touch of irony. + + [*] This is the name given to the ram or he-goat which wears + a bell and leads the flock, and it is applied, + metaphorically, to any member of a family who guides it in + all important matters. + +“Monsieur,” replied Colomba resolutely, “you are deceived. You do not +know the lawyer. He is the most cunning and knavish of men. I +beseech you not to make Orso do a thing that would overwhelm him with +dishonour!” + +“Colomba!” exclaimed Orso, “your passion has driven you out of your +senses!” + +“Orso! Orso! By the casket I gave you, I beseech you to listen to me! +There is blood between you and the Barricini. You shall not go into +their house!” + +“Sister!” + +“No, brother, you shall not go! Or I will leave this house, and you will +never see me again! Have pity on me, Orso!” and she fell on her knees. + +“I am grieved,” said the prefect, “to find Mademoiselle Colomba so +unreasonable. You will convince her, I am sure.” + +He opened the door and paused, seeming to expect Orso to follow him. + +“I can not leave her now,” said Orso. “To-morrow, if----” + +“I shall be starting very early,” said the prefect. + +“Brother,” cried Colomba, clasping her hands, “wait till to-morrow +morning, in any case. Let me look over my father’s papers. You can not +refuse me that!” + +“Well, you shall look them over to-night. But at all events you shall +not torment me afterward with your violent hatreds. A thousand pardons, +monsieur! I am so upset myself to-night--it had better be to-morrow.” + +“The night brings counsel,” said the prefect, as he went out. “I hope +all your uncertainty will have disappeared by to-morrow.” + +“Saveria,” Colomba called, “take the lantern and attend the Signor +Prefetto. He will give you a letter to bring back to my brother.” + +She added a few words which reached Saveria’s ear alone. + +“Colomba,” said Orso, when the prefect was gone, “you have distressed me +very much. Will no evidence convince you?” + +“You have given me till to-morrow,” she replied. “I have very little +time; but I still have some hope.” + +Then she took a bunch of keys and ran up to a room on the upper story. +There he could hear her pulling open drawers, and rummaging in the +writing-desk in which Colonel della Rebbia had kept his business papers. + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +Saveria was a long time away, and when she at last reappeared, carrying +a letter, and followed by little Chilina, rubbing her eyes, and +evidently just waked out of her beauty sleep, Orso was wound up to the +highest possible pitch of impatience. + +“Chili,” said Orso, “what are you doing here at this hour?” + +“The signorina sent for me,” replied Chilina. + +“What the devil does she want with her?” thought Orso to himself. But he +was in a hurry to open Miss Lydia’s letter, and while he was reading it +Chilina went upstairs to his sister’s room. + +“My father, dear sir, has not been well,” Miss Nevil wrote, “and he is +so indolent, besides, that I am obliged to act as his secretary. You +remember that, instead of admiring the landscape with you and me the +other day, he got his feet wet on the sea-shore--and in your delightful +island, that is quite enough to give one a fever! I can see the face you +are making! No doubt you are feeling for your dagger. But I will hope +you have none now. Well, my father had a little fever, and I had a great +fright. The prefect, whom I persist in thinking very pleasant, sent us +a doctor, also a very pleasant man, who got us over our trouble in two +days. There has been no return of the attack, and my father would like +to begin to shoot again. But I have forbidden that. How did you find +matters in your mountain home? Is your North Tower still in its old +place? Are there any ghosts about it? I ask all these questions because +my father remembers you have promised him buck and boar and moufflon--is +that the right name for those strange creatures? We intend to crave your +hospitality on our way to Bastia, where we are to embark, and I trust +the della Rebbia Castle, which you declare is so old and tumble-down, +will not fall in upon our heads! Though the prefect is so pleasant that +subjects of conversation are never lacking to us--I flatter myself, by +the way, that I have turned his head--we have been talking about your +worshipful self. The legal people at Bastia have sent him certain +confessions, made by a rascal they have under lock and key, which are +calculated to destroy your last remaining suspicions. The enmity which +sometimes alarmed me for you must therefore end at once. You have no +idea what a pleasure this has been to me! When you started hence with +the fair _voceratrice_, with your gun in hand, and your brow lowering, +you struck me as being more Corsican than ever--too Corsican indeed! +_Basta!_ I write you this long letter because I am dull. The prefect, +alas! is going away. We will send you a message when we start for your +mountains, and I shall take the liberty of writing to Signorina Colomba +to ask her to give me a _bruccio, ma solenne_! Meanwhile, give her +my love. I use her dagger a great deal to cut the leaves of a novel I +brought with me. But the doughty steel revolts against such usage, and +tears my book for me, after a most pitiful fashion. Farewell, sir! My +father sends you ‘his best love.’ Listen to what the prefect says. He +is a sensible man, and is turning out of his way, I believe, on your +account. He is going to lay a foundation-stone at Corte. I should fancy +the ceremony will be very imposing, and I am very sorry not to see it. +A gentleman in an embroidered coat and silk stockings and a white scarf, +wielding a trowel--and a speech! And at the end of the performance +manifold and reiterated shouts of ‘God save the King.’ I say again, sir, +it will make you very vain to think I have written you four whole pages, +and on that account I give you leave to write me a very long letter. By +the way, I think it very odd of you not to have let me hear of your safe +arrival at the Castle of Pietranera! + +“LYDIA. + +“P.S.--I beg you will listen to the prefect, and do as he bids you. We +have agreed that this is the course you should pursue, and I shall be +very glad if you do it.” + + +Orso read the letter three or four times over, making endless mental +comments each time as he read. Then he wrote a long answer, which he +sent by Saveria’s hand to a man in the village, who was to go down to +Ajaccio the very next day. Already he had almost dismissed the idea of +discussing his grievance, true or false, against the Barricini, with +his sister. Miss Lydia’s letter had cast a rose-coloured tint over +everything about him. He felt neither hatred nor suspicion now. He +waited some time for his sister to come down, and finding she did not +reappear, he went to bed, with a lighter heart than he had carried +for many a day. Colomba, having dismissed Chilina with some secret +instructions, spent the greater part of the night in reading old +papers. A little before daybreak a few tiny pebbles rattled against the +window-pane. At the signal, she went down to the garden, opened a back +door, and conducted two very rough men into her house. Her first care +was to bring them into the kitchen and give them food. My readers will +shortly learn who these men were. + + + +CHAPTER XV + +Toward six o’clock next morning one of the prefect’s servants came and +knocked at the door of Orso’s house. He was received by Colomba, and +informed her the prefect was about to start, and was expecting her +brother. Without a moment’s hesitation Colomba replied that her brother +had just had a fall on the stairs, and sprained his foot; and he was +unable to walk a single step, that he begged the prefect to excuse him, +and would be very grateful if he would condescend to take the trouble +of coming over to him. A few minutes after this message had been +despatched, Orso came downstairs, and asked his sister whether the +prefect had not sent for him. + +With the most perfect assurance she rejoined: + +“He begs you’ll wait for him here.” + +Half an hour went by without the slightest perceptible stir in the +Barricini dwelling. Meanwhile Orso asked Colomba whether she had +discovered anything. She replied that she proposed to make her statement +when the prefect came. She affected an extreme composure. But her colour +and her eyes betrayed her state of feverish excitement. + +At last the door of the Barricini mansion was seen to open. The prefect +came out first, in travelling garb; he was followed by the mayor and his +two sons. What was the stupefaction of the inhabitants of the village of +Pietranera, who had been on the watch since sunrise for the departure of +the chief magistrate of their department, when they saw him go straight +across the square and enter the della Rebbia dwelling, accompanied +by the three Barricini. “They are going to make peace!” exclaimed the +village politicians. + +“Just as I told you,” one old man went on. “Ors’ Anton’ has lived too +much on the mainland to carry things through like a man of mettle.” + +“Yet,” responded a Rebbianite, “you may notice it is the Barricini who +have gone across to him. They are suing for mercy.” + +“It’s the prefect who had wheedled them all round,” answered the old +fellow. “There is no such thing as courage nowadays, and the young +chaps make no more fuss about their father’s blood than if they were all +bastards.” + +The prefect was not a little astounded to find Orso up and walking about +with perfect ease. In the briefest fashion Colomba avowed her own lie, +and begged him to forgive it. + +“If you had been staying anywhere else, monsieur, my brother would have +gone to pay his respects to you yesterday.” + +Orso made endless apologies, vowing he had nothing to do with his +sister’s absurd stratagem, by which he appeared deeply mortified. The +prefect and the elder Barricini appeared to believe in the sincerity +of his regret, and indeed this belief was justified by his evident +confusion and the reproaches he addressed to his sister. But the mayor’s +two sons did not seem satisfied. + +“We are being made to look like fools,” said Orlanduccio audibly. + +“If my sister were to play me such tricks,” said Vincentello, “I’d soon +cure her fancy for beginning them again.” + +The words, and the tone in which they were uttered, offended Orso, and +diminished his good-will. Glances that were anything but friendly were +exchanged between him and the two young men. + +Meanwhile, everybody being seated save Colomba, who remained standing +close to the kitchen door, the prefect took up his parable, and after a +few common-places as to local prejudices, he recalled the fact that +the most inveterate enmities generally have their root in some mere +misunderstanding. Next, turning to the mayor, he told him that Signor +della Rebbia had never believed the Barricini family had played any +part, direct or indirect, in the deplorable event which had bereft him +of his father; that he had, indeed, nursed some doubts as to one +detail in the lawsuit between the two families; that Signor Orso’s long +absence, and the nature of the information sent him, excused the doubt +in question; that in the light of recent revelations he felt completely +satisfied, and desired to re-open friendly and neighbourly relations +with Signor Barricini and his sons. + +Orso bowed stiffly. Signor Barricini stammered a few words that nobody +could hear, and his sons stared steadily at the ceiling rafters. The +prefect was about to continue his speech, and address the counterpart +of the remarks he had made to Signor Barricini, to Orso, when Colomba +stepped gravely forward between the contracting parties, at the same +time drawing some papers from beneath her neckerchief. + +“I should be happy indeed,” she said, “to see the quarrel between our +two families brought to an end. But if the reconciliation is to be +sincere, there must be a full explanation, and nothing must be left in +doubt. Signor Prefetto, Tomaso Bianchi’s declaration, coming from a man +of such vile report, seemed to me justly open to doubt. I said your sons +had possibly seen this man in the prison at Bastia.” + +“It’s false!” interrupted Orlanduccio; “I didn’t see him!” + +Colomba cast a scornful glance at him, and proceeded with great apparent +composure. + +“You explained Tomaso’s probable interest in threatening Signor +Barricini, in the name of a dreaded bandit, by his desire to keep his +brother Teodoro in possession of the mill which my father allowed him to +hire at a very low rent.” + +“That’s quite clear,” assented the prefect. + +“Where was Tomaso Bianchi’s interest?” exclaimed Colomba triumphantly. +“His brother’s lease had run out. My father had given him notice on +the 1st of July. Here is my father’s account-book; here is his note of +warning given to Teodoro, and the letter from a business man at Ajaccio +suggesting a new tenant.” + +As she spoke she gave the prefect the papers she had been holding in her +hand. + +There was an astonished pause. The mayor turned visibly pale. Orso, +knitting his brows, leaned forward to look at the papers, which the +prefect was perusing most attentively. + +“We are being made to look like fools!” cried Orlanduccio again, +springing angrily to his feet. “Let us be off, father! We ought never to +have come here!” + +One instant’s delay gave Signor Barricini time to recover his composure. +He asked leave to see the papers. Without a word the prefect handed them +over to him. Pushing his green spectacles up to his forehead, he looked +through them with a somewhat indifferent air, while Colomba watched +him with the eyes of a tigress who sees a buck drawing near to the lair +where she had hidden her cubs. + +“Well,” said Signor Barricini, as he pulled down his spectacles and +returned the documents, “knowing the late colonel’s kind heart, Tomaso +thought--most likely he thought--that the colonel would change his mind +about the notice. As a matter of fact, Bianchi is still at the mill, +so--” + +“It was I,” said Colomba, and there was scorn in her voice, “who left +him there. My father was dead, and situated as I was, I was obliged to +treat my brother’s dependents with consideration.” + +“Yet,” quoth the prefect, “this man Tomaso acknowledges that he wrote +the letter. That much is clear.” + +“The thing that is clear to me,” broke in Orso, “is that there is some +vile infamy underneath this whole business.” + +“I have to contradict another assertion made by these gentlemen,” said +Colomba. + +She threw open the door into the kitchen and instantly Brandolaccio, the +licentiate in theology, and Brusco, the dog, marched into the room. The +two bandits were unarmed--apparently, at all events; they wore their +cartridge belts, but the pistols, which are their necessary complement, +were absent. As they entered the room they doffed their caps +respectfully. + +The effect produced by their sudden appearance may be conceived. The +mayor almost fell backward. His sons threw themselves boldly in front +of him, each one feeling for his dagger in his coat pocket. The prefect +made a step toward the door, and Orso, seizing Brandolaccio by the +collar, shouted: + +“What have you come here for, you villain?” + +“This is a trap!” cried the mayor, trying to get the door open. But, by +the bandits’ orders, as was afterward discovered, Saveria had locked it +on the outside. + +“Good people,” said Brandolaccio, “don’t be afraid of me. I’m not such a +devil as I look. We mean no harm at all. Signor Prefetto, I’m your very +humble servant. Gently, lieutenant! You’re strangling me! We’re here as +witnesses! Now then, Padre, speak up! Your tongue’s glib enough!” + +“Signor Prefetto,” quoth the licentiate, “I have not the honour of being +known to you. My name is Giocanto Castriconi, better known as the Padre. +Aha, it’s coming back to you! The signorina here, whom I have not +the pleasure of knowing either, has sent to ask me to supply some +information about a fellow of the name of Tomaso Bianchi, with whom I +chanced to be shut up, about three weeks ago, in the prison at Bastia. +This is what I have to tell you.” + +“Spare yourself the trouble,” said the prefect. “I can not listen to +anything from such a man as you. Signor della Rebbia, I am willing to +believe you have had nothing to do with this detestable plot. But are +you master in your own house? Will you have the door opened? Your sister +may have to give an account of the strange relations in which she lives +with a set of bandits.” + +“Signor Prefetto!” cried Colomba, “I beseech you to listen to what this +man has to say! You are here to do justice to everybody, and it is your +duty to search out the truth. Speak, Giocanto Castriconi!” + +“Don’t listen to him,” chorused the three Barricini. + +“If everybody talks at once,” remarked the bandit, with a smile, “nobody +can contrive to hear what anybody says. Well, in the prison at Bastia +I had as my companion--not as my friend--this very man, Tomaso. He +received frequent visits from Signor Orlanduccio.” + +“You lie!” shouted the two brothers together. + +“Two negatives make an affirmative,” pursued Castriconi coolly. “Tomaso +had money, he ate and drank of the best. I have always been fond of good +cheer (that’s the least of my failings), and in spite of my repugnance +to rubbing shoulders with such a wretch, I let myself be tempted, +several times over, into dining with him. Out of gratitude, I proposed +he should escape with me. A young person--to whom I had shown some +kindness--had provided me with the necessary means. I don’t intend to +compromise anybody. Tomaso refused my offer, telling me he was certain +to be all right, as lawyer Barricini had spoken to all the judges for +him, and he was sure to get out of prison with a character as white as +snow, and with money in his pocket, too. As for me, I thought it better +to get into the fresh air. _Dixi_.” + +“Everything that fellow has said is a heap of lies,” reiterated +Orlanduccio stoutly. “If we were in the open country, and each of us had +his gun, he wouldn’t talk in that way.” + +“Here’s a pretty folly!” cried Brandolaccio. “Don’t you quarrel with the +Padre, Orlanduccio!” + +“Will you be good enough to allow me to leave this room, Signor della +Rebbia,” said the prefect, and he stamped his foot in his impatience. + +“Saveria! Saveria!” shouted Orso, “open the door, in the devil’s name!” + +“One moment,” said Brandolaccio. “We have to slip away first, on our +side. Signor Prefetto, the custom, when people meet in the house of +a mutual friend, is to allow each other half an hour’s law, after +departure.” + +The prefect cast a scornful glance at him. + +“Your servant, signorina, and gentlemen all!” said Brandolaccio. Then +stretching out his arm, “Hi, Brusco,” he cried to his dog, “jump for the +Signor Prefetto!” + +The dog jumped; the bandits swiftly snatched up their arms in the +kitchen, fled across the garden, and at a shrill whistle the door of the +room flew open as though by magic. + +“Signor Barricini,” said Orso, and suppressed fury vibrated in his +voice, “I hold you to be a forger! This very day I shall charge you +before the public prosecutor with forgery and complicity with Bianchi. I +may perhaps have a still more terrible accusation to bring against you!” + +“And I, Signor della Rebbia,” replied the mayor, “shall lay my charge +against you for conspiracy and complicity with bandits. Meanwhile the +prefect will desire the gendarmes to keep an eye upon you.” + +“The prefect will do his duty,” said that gentleman sternly. “He will +see the public order is not disturbed at Pietranera; he will take care +justice is done. I say this to you all, gentlemen!” + +The mayor and Vincentello were outside the room already, and Orlanduccio +was following them, stepping backward, when Orso said to him in an +undertone: + +“Your father is an old man. One cuff from me would kill him. It is with +you and with your brother that I intend to deal.” + +Orlanduccio’s only response was to draw his dagger and fly like a madman +at Orso. But before he could use his weapon Colomba caught hold of his +arm and twisted it violently, while Orso gave him a blow in the face +with his fist, which made him stagger several paces back, and come into +violent collision with the door frame. Orlanduccio’s dagger dropped from +his hand. But Vincentello had his ready, and was rushing back into the +room, when Colomba, snatching up a gun convinced him that the struggle +must be unequal. At the same time the prefect threw himself between the +combatants. + +“We shall soon meet, Ors’ Anton’!” shouted Orlanduccio, and slamming +the door of the room violently, he turned the key in the lock, so as to +insure himself time to retreat. + +For a full quarter of an hour Orso and the prefect kept their places +in dead silence, at opposite ends of the room. Colomba, the pride of +triumph shining on her brow, gazed first at one and then at the other, +as she leaned on the gun that had turned the scale of victory. + +“What a country! Oh, what a country!” cried the prefect at last, rising +hastily from his chair. “Signor della Rebbia, you did wrong! You must +give me your word of honour to abstain from all violence, and to wait +till the law settles this cursed business.” + +“Yes, Signor Prefetto, I was wrong to strike that villain. But I did +strike him, after all, and I can’t refuse him the satisfaction he has +demanded of me.” + +“Pooh! no! He doesn’t want to fight you! But supposing he murders you? +You’ve done everything you could to insure it.” + +“We’ll protect ourselves,” said Colomba. + +“Orlanduccio,” said Orso, “strikes me as being a plucky fellow, and I +think better of him than that, monsieur. He was very quick about drawing +his dagger. But perhaps I should have done the same thing in his place, +and I’m glad my sister has not an ordinary fine lady’s wrist.” + +“You are not to fight,” exclaimed the prefect. “I forbid it!” + +“Allow me to say, monsieur, that in matters that affect my honour the +only authority I acknowledge is that of my own conscience.” + +“You sha’n’t fight, I tell you!” + +“You can put me under arrest, monsieur--that is, if I let you catch me. +But if you were to do that, you would only delay a thing that has now +become inevitable. You are a man of honour yourself, monsieur; you know +there can be no other course.” + +“If you were to have my brother arrested,” added Colomba, “half the +village would take his part, and we should have a fine fusillade.” + +“I give you fair notice, monsieur, and I entreat you not to think I am +talking mere bravado. I warn you that if Signor Barricini abuses his +authority as mayor, to have me arrested, I shall defend myself.” + +“From this very day,” said the prefect, “Signor Barricini is suspended. +I trust he will exculpate himself. Listen to me, my young gentleman, I +have a liking for you. What I ask of you is nothing to speak of. Just to +stay quietly at home till I get back from Corte. I shall only be three +days away. I’ll bring back the public prosecutor with me, and then we’ll +sift this wretched business to the bottom. Will you promise me you will +abstain from all hostilities till then?” + +“I can not promise that, monsieur, if, as I expect, Orlanduccio asks me +to meet him.” + +“What, Signor della Rebbia! Would you--a French officer--think of going +out with a man you suspect of being a forger?” + +“I struck him, monsieur!” + +“But supposing you struck a convict, and he demanded satisfaction of +you, would you fight him? Come, come, Signor Orso! But I’ll ask you to +do even less, do nothing to seek out Orlanduccio. I’ll consent to your +fighting him if he asks you for a meeting.” + +“He will ask for it, I haven’t a doubt of that. But I’ll promise I won’t +give him fresh cuffs to induce him to do it.” + +“What a country!” cried the prefect once more, as he strode to and fro. +“Shall I never get back to France?” + +“Signor Prefetto,” said Colomba in her most dulcet tones, “it is growing +very late. Would you do us the honour of breakfasting here?” + +The prefect could not help laughing. + +“I’ve been here too long already--it may look like partiality. And there +is that cursed foundation-stone. I must be off. Signorina della Rebbia! +what calamities you may have prepared this day!” + +“At all events, Signor Prefetto, you will do my sister the justice of +believing her convictions are deeply rooted--and I am sure, now, that +you yourself believe them to be well-founded.” + +“Farewell, sir!” said the prefect, waving his hand. “I warn you that the +sergeant of gendarmes will have orders to watch everything you do.” + +When the prefect had departed-- + +“Orso,” said Colomba, “this isn’t the Continent. Orlanduccio knows +nothing about your duels, and besides, that wretch must not die the +death of a brave man.” + +“Colomba, my dear, you are a clever woman. I owe you a great deal from +having saved me from a hearty knife-thrust. Give me your little hand to +kiss! But, hark ye, let me have my way. There are certain matters that +you don’t understand. Give me my breakfast. And as soon as the prefect +had started off send for little Chilina, who seems to perform all the +commissions she is given in the most wonderful fashion. I shall want her +to take a letter for me.” + +While Colomba was superintending the preparation of his breakfast, Orso +went up to his own room and wrote the following note: + +“You must be in a hurry to meet me, and I am no less eager. We can meet +at six o’clock to-morrow morning in the valley of Acquaviva. I am a +skilful pistol-shot, so I do not suggest that weapon to you. I hear you +are a good shot with a gun. Let us each take a double-barrelled gun. I +shall be accompanied by a man from this village. If your brother wishes +to go with you, take a second witness, and let me know. In that case +only, I should bring two with me. + +“ORSO ANTONIO DELLA REBBIA.” + + +After spending an hour with the deputy-mayor, and going into the +Barricini house for a few minutes, the prefect, attended by a single +gendarme, started for Corte. A quarter of an hour later, Chilina carried +over the letter my readers have just perused, and delivered it into +Orlanduccio’s own hands. + +The answer was not prompt, and did not arrive till evening. It bore the +signature of the elder Barricini, and informed Orso that he was laying +the threatening letter sent to his son before the public prosecutor. His +missive concluded thus: “Strong in the sense of a clear conscience, I +patiently wait till the law has pronounced on your calumnies.” + +Meanwhile five or six herdsmen, summoned by Colomba, arrived to garrison +the della Rebbia Tower. In spite of Orso’s protests, _archere_ were +arranged in the windows looking onto the square, and all through the +evening offers of service kept coming in from various persons belonging +to the village. There was even a letter from the bandit-theologian, +undertaking, for himself and Brandolaccio, that in the event of the +mayor’s calling on the gendarmes, they themselves would straightway +intervene. The following postscript closed the letter: + +“Dare I ask you what the Signor Prefetto thinks of the excellent +education bestowed by my friend on Brusco, the dog? Next to Chilina, he +is the most docile and promising pupil I have ever come across.” + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +The following day went by without any hostile demonstration. Both sides +kept on the defensive. Orso did not leave his house, and the door of +the Barricini dwelling remained closely shut. The five gendarmes who +had been left to garrison Pietranera were to be seen walking about the +square and the outskirts of the village, in company with the village +constable, the sole representative of the urban police force. The +deputy-mayor never put off his sash. But there was no actual symptom +of war, except the loopholes in the two opponents’ houses. Nobody but +a Corsican would have noticed that the group round the evergreen oak in +the middle of the square consisted solely of women. + +At supper-time Colomba gleefully showed her brother a letter she had +just received from Miss Nevil. + +“My dear Signorina Colomba,” it ran, “I learn with great pleasure, +through a letter from your brother, that your enmities are all at an +end. I congratulate you heartily. My father can not endure Ajaccio now +your brother is not there to talk about war and go out shooting with +him. We are starting to-day, and shall sleep at the house of your +kinswoman, to whom we have a letter. The day after to-morrow, somewhere +about eleven o’clock, I shall come and ask you to let me taste that +mountain _bruccio_ of yours, which you say is so vastly superior to what +we get in the town. + +“Farewell, dear Signorina Colomba. + +“Your affectionate + +“LYDIA NEVIL.” + + +“Then she hasn’t received my second letter!” exclaimed Orso. + +“You see by the date of this one that Miss Lydia must have already +started when your letter reached Ajaccio. But did you tell her not to +come?” + +“I told her we were in a state of siege. That does not seem to me a +condition that permits of our receiving company.” + +“Bah! These English people are so odd. The very last night I slept in +her room she told me she would be sorry to leave Corsica without having +seen a good _vendetta_. If you choose, Orso, you might let her see an +assault on our enemies’ house.” + +“Do you know, Colomba,” said Orso, “Nature blundered when she made you a +woman. You’d have made a first-rate soldier.” + +“Maybe. Anyhow, I’m going to make my _bruccio_.” + +“Don’t waste your time. We must send somebody down to warn them and stop +them before they start.” + +“Do you mean to say you would send a messenger out in such weather, to +have him and your letter both swept away by a torrent? How I pity those +poor bandits in this storm! Luckily they have good _piloni_ (thick cloth +cloaks with hoods). Do you know what you ought to do, Orso. If the storm +clears you should start off very early to-morrow morning, and get to our +kinswoman’s house before they leave it. That will be easy enough, for +Miss Lydia always gets up so late. You can tell them everything that +has happened here, and if they still persist in coming, why! we shall be +very glad to welcome them.” + +Orso lost no time in assenting to this plan, and after a few moments’ +silence, Colomba continued: + +“Perhaps, Orso, you think I was joking when I talked of an assault on +the Barricini’s house. Do you know we are in force--two to one at the +very least? Now that the prefect has suspended the mayor, every man in +the place is on our side. We might cut them to pieces. It would be quite +easy to bring it about. If you liked, I could go over to the +fountain and begin to jeer at their women folk. They would come out. +Perhaps--they are such cowards!--they would fire at me through their +loopholes. They wouldn’t hit me. Then the thing would be done. They +would have begun the attack, and the beaten party must take its chance. +How is anybody to know which person’s aim has been true, in a scuffle? +Listen to your own sister, Orso! These lawyers who are coming will +blacken lots of paper, and talk a great deal of useless stuff. Nothing +will come of it all. That old fox will contrive to make them think they +see stars in broad midday. Ah! if the prefect hadn’t thrown himself in +front of Vincentello, we should have had one less to deal with.” + +All this was said with the same calm air as that with which she had +spoken, an instant previously, of her preparations for making the +_bruccio_. + +Orso, quite dumfounded, gazed at his sister with an admiration not +unmixed with alarm. + +“My sweet Colomba,” he said, as he rose from the table, “I really am +afraid you are the very devil. But make your mind easy. If I don’t +succeed in getting the Barricini hanged, I’ll contrive to get the better +of them in some other fashion. ‘Hot bullet or cold steel’--you see I +haven’t forgotten my Corsican.” + +“The sooner the better,” said Colomba, with a sigh. “What horse will you +ride to-morrow, Ors’ Anton’?” + +“The black. Why do you ask?” + +“So as to make sure he has some barley.” + +When Orso went up to his room, Colomba sent Saveria and the herdsmen +to their beds, and sat on alone in the kitchen, where the _bruccio_ was +simmering. Now and then she seemed to listen, and was apparently waiting +very anxiously for her brother to go to bed. At last, when she thought +he was asleep, she took a knife, made sure it was sharp, slipped her +little feet into thick shoes, and passed noiselessly out into the +garden. + +This garden, which was inclosed by walls, lay next to a good-sized piece +of hedged ground, into which the horses were turned--for Corsican horses +do not know what a stable means. They are generally turned loose into +a field, and left to themselves, to find pasture and shelter from cold +winds, as best they may. + +Colomba opened the garden gate with the same precaution, entered the +inclosure, and whistling gently, soon attracted the horses, to whom she +had often brought bread and salt. As soon as the black horse came within +reach, she caught him firmly by the mane, and split his ear open with +her knife. The horse gave a violent leap, and tore off with that +shrill cry which sharp pain occasionally extorts from his kind. Quite +satisfied, Colomba was making her way back into the garden, when Orso +threw open his window and shouted, “Who goes there?” At the same time +she heard him cock his gun. Luckily for her the garden-door lay in the +blackest shadow, and was partly screened by a large fig-tree. She +very soon gathered, from the light she saw glancing up and down in her +brother’s room, that he was trying to light his lamp. She lost no time +about closing the garden-door, and slipping along the wall, so that the +outline of her black garments was lost against the dark foliage of +the fruit-trees, and succeeded in getting back into the kitchen a few +moments before Orso entered it. + +“What’s the matter?” she inquired. + +“I fancied I heard somebody opening the garden-door,” said Orso. + +“Impossible! The dog would have barked. But let us go and see!” + +Orso went round the garden, and having made sure that the outer door +was safely secured, he was going back to his room, rather ashamed of his +false alarm. + +“I am glad, brother,” remarked Colomba, “that you are learning to be +prudent, as a man in your position ought to be.” + +“You are training me well,” said Orso. “Good-night!” + +By dawn the next morning Orso was up and ready to start. His style of +dress betrayed the desire for smartness felt by every man bound for the +presence of the lady he would fain please, combined with the caution +of a Corsican _in vendetta_. Over a blue coat, that sat closely to his +figure, he wore a small tin case full of cartridges, slung across his +shoulder by a green silk cord. His dagger lay in his side pocket, and +in his hand he carried his handsome Manton, ready loaded. While he was +hastily swallowing the cup of coffee Colomba had poured out for him, +one of the herdsmen went out to put the bridle and saddle on the black +horse. Orso and his sister followed close on his heels and entered the +field. The man had caught the horse, but he had dropped both saddle +and bridle, and seemed quite paralyzed with horror, while the horse, +remembering the wound it had received during the night, and trembling +for its other ear, was rearing, kicking, and neighing like twenty +fiends. + +“Now then! Make haste!” shouted Orso. + +“Ho, Ors’ Anton’! Ho, Ors’ Anton’!” yelled the herdsman. “Holy Madonna!” + and he poured out a string of imprecations, numberless, endless, and +most of them quite untranslatable. + +“What can be the matter?” inquired Colomba. They all drew near to the +horse, and at the sight of the creature’s bleeding head and split ear +there was a general outcry of surprise and indignation. My readers must +know that among the Corsicans to mutilate an enemy’s horse is at once a +vengeance, a challenge, and a mortal threat. “Nothing but a bullet-wound +can expiate such a crime.” + +Though Orso, having lived so long on the mainland, was not so sensitive +as other Corsicans to the enormity of the insult, still, if any +supporter of the Barricini had appeared in his sight at that moment, he +would probably have taken vengeance on him for the outrage he ascribed +to his enemies. + +“The cowardly wretches!” he cried. “To avenge themselves on a poor +brute, when they dare not meet me face to face!” + +“What are we waiting for?” exclaimed Colomba vehemently. “They come +here and brave us! They mutilate our horses! and we are not to make any +response? Are you men?” + +“Vengeance!” shouted the herdsmen. “Let us lead the horse through the +village, and attack their house!” + +“There’s a thatched barn that touches their Tower,” said old Polo +Griffo; “I’d set fire to it in a trice.” + +Another man wanted to fetch the ladders out of the church steeple. A +third proposed they should break in the doors of the house with a heavy +beam intended for some house in course of building, which had been left +lying in the square. Amid all the angry voices Colomba was heard telling +her satellites that before they went to work she would give each man of +them a large glass of anisette. + +Unluckily, or rather luckily, the impression she had expected to produce +by her own cruel treatment of the poor horse was largely lost on Orso. +He felt no doubt that the savage mutilation was due to one of his foes, +and he specially suspected Orlanduccio; but he did not believe that the +young man, whom he himself had provoked and struck, had wiped out +his shame by slitting a horse’s ear. On the contrary, this mean and +ridiculous piece of vengeance had increased Orso’s scorn for his +opponents, and he now felt, with the prefect, that such people were not +worthy to try conclusions with himself. As soon as he was able to make +himself heard, he informed his astonished partisans that they would have +to relinquish all their bellicose intentions, and that the power of the +law, which would shortly be on the spot, would amply suffice to avenge +the hurt done to a horse’s ear. + +“I’m master here!” he added sternly; “and I insist on being obeyed. The +first man who dares to say anything more about killing or burning, will +quite possibly get a scorching at my hands! Be off! Saddle me the gray +horse!” + +“What’s this, Orso?” said Colomba, drawing him apart. “You allow these +people to insult us? No Barricini would have dared to mutilate any beast +of ours in my father’s time.” + +“I promise you they shall have reason to repent it. But it is gendarme’s +and jailer’s work to punish wretches who only venture to raise their +hands against brute beasts. I’ve told you already, the law will punish +them; and if not, you will not need to remind me whose son I am.” + +“Patience!” answered Colomba, with a sigh. + +“Remember this, sister,” continued Orso; “if I find, when I come back, +that any demonstration whatever has been made against the Barricini +I shall never forgive you.” Then, in a gentler tone, he added, “Very +possibly--very probably--I shall bring the colonel and his daughter back +with me. See that their rooms are well prepared, and that the breakfast +is good. In fact, let us make our guests as comfortable as we can. It’s +a very good thing to be brave, Colomba, but a woman must know how to +manage her household, as well. Come, kiss me, and be good! Here’s the +gray, ready saddled.” + +“Orso,” said Colomba, “you mustn’t go alone.” + +“I don’t need anybody,” replied Orso; “and I’ll promise you nobody shall +slit my ear.” + +“Oh, I’ll never consent to your going alone, while there is a feud. +Here! Polo Griffo! Gian’ Franco! Memmo! Take your guns; you must go with +my brother.” + +After a somewhat lively argument, Orso had to give in, and accept an +escort. From the most excited of the herdsmen he chose out those who had +been loudest in their desire to commence hostilities; then, after laying +fresh injunctions on his sister and the men he was leaving behind, he +started, making a detour, this time, so as to avoid the Barricinis’ +dwelling. + +They were a long way from Pietranera, and were travelling along at a +great pace, when, as they crossed a streamlet that ran into a marsh, +Polo Griffo noticed several porkers wallowing comfortably in the mud, in +full enjoyment at once of the warmth of the sun and the coolness of the +water. Instantly he took aim at the biggest, fired at its head, and shot +it dead. The dead creature’s comrades rose and fled with astonishing +swiftness, and though another herdsman fired at them they reached a +thicket and disappeared into it, safe and sound. + +“Idiots!” cried Orso. “You’ve been taking pigs for wild boars!” + +“Not a bit, Ors’ Anton’,” replied Polo Griffo. “But that herd belongs to +the lawyer, and I’ve taught him, now, to mutilate our horses.” + +“What! you rascal!” shouted Orso, in a perfect fury. “You ape the vile +behaviour of our enemies! Be off, villains! I don’t want you! You’re +only fit to fight with pigs. I swear to God that if you dare follow me +I’ll blow your brains out!” + +The herdsmen stared at each other, struck quite dumb. Orso spurred his +horse, galloped off, and was soon out of sight. + +“Well, well!” said Polo Griffo. “Here’s a pretty thing. You devote +yourself to people, and then this is how they treat you. His father, the +colonel, was angry with you long ago, because you levelled your gun at +the lawyer. Great idiot you were, not to shoot. And now here is his son. +You saw what I did for him. And he talks about cracking my skull, just +as he would crack a gourd that lets the wine leak out. That’s what +people learn on the mainland, Memmo!” + +“Yes, and if any one finds out it was you who killed that pig there’ll +be a suit against you, and Ors’ Anton’ won’t speak to the judges, nor +buy off the lawyer for you. Luckily nobody saw, and you have Saint Nega +to help you out.” + +After a hasty conclave, the two herdsmen concluded their wisest plan +was to throw the dead pig into a bog, and this project they carefully +executed, after each had duly carved himself several slices out of the +body of this innocent victim of the feud between the Barricini and the +della Rebbia. + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +Once rid of his unruly escort, Orso proceeded calmly on his way, far +more absorbed by the prospective pleasure of seeing Miss Nevil than +stirred by any fear of coming across his enemies. + +“The lawsuit I must bring against these Barricini villains,” he mused, +“will necessitate my going down to Bastia. Why should I not go there +with Miss Nevil? And once at Bastia, why shouldn’t we all go together to +the springs of Orezza?” + +Suddenly his childish recollections of that picturesque spot rose up +before him. He fancied himself on the verdant lawn that spreads beneath +the ancient chestnut-trees. On the lustrous green sward, studded with +blue flowers like eyes that smiled upon him, he saw Miss Lydia seated at +his side. She had taken off her hat, and her fair hair, softer and finer +than any silk, shone like gold in the sunlight that glinted through the +foliage. Her clear blue eyes looked to him bluer than the sky itself. +With her cheek resting on one hand, she was listening thoughtfully +to the words of love he poured tremblingly into her ear. She wore the +muslin gown in which she had been dressed that last day at Ajaccio. From +beneath its folds peeped out a tiny foot, shod with black satin. Orso +told himself that he would be happy indeed if he might dare to kiss that +little foot--but one of Miss Lydia’s hands was bare and held a daisy. +He took the daisy from her, and Lydia’s hand pressed his, and then he +kissed the daisy, and then he kissed her hand, and yet she did not +chide him . . . and all these thoughts prevented him from paying +any attention to the road he was travelling, and meanwhile he trotted +steadily onward. For the second time, in his fancy, he was about to kiss +Miss Nevil’s snow-white hand, when, as his horse stopped short, he very +nearly kissed its head, in stern reality. Little Chilina had barred his +way, and seized his bridle. + +“Where are you going to, Ors’ Anton’?” she said. “Don’t you know your +enemy is close by?” + +“My enemy!” cried Orso, furious at being interrupted at such a +delightful moment. “Where is he?” + +“Orlanduccio is close by, he’s waiting for you! Go back, go back!” + +“Ho! Ho! So he’s waiting for me! Did you see him?” + +“Yes, Ors’ Anton’! I was lying down in the heather when he passed by. He +was looking round everywhere through his glass.” + +“And which way did he go?” + +“He went down there. Just where you were going!” + +“Thank you!” + +“Ors’ Anton’, hadn’t you better wait for my uncle? He must be here +soon--and with him you would be safe.” + +“Don’t be frightened, Chili. I don’t need your uncle.” + +“If you would let me, I would go in front of you.” + +“No, thanks! No, thanks!” + +And Orso, spurring his horse, rode rapidly in the direction to which the +little girl had pointed. + +His first impulse had been one of blind fury, and he had told himself +that fortune was offering him an excellent opportunity of punishing the +coward who had avenged the blow he had received by mutilating a horse. +But as he moved onward the thought of his promise to the prefect, and, +above all, his fear of missing Miss Nevil’s visit, altered his feelings, +and made him almost wish he might not come upon Orlanduccio. Soon, +however, the memory of his father, the indignity offered to his own +horse, and the threats of the Barricini, stirred his rage afresh, and +incited him to seek his foe, and to provoke and force him to a fight. +Thus tossed by conflicting feelings, he continued his progress, though +now he carefully scrutinized every thicket and hedge, and sometimes even +pulled up his horse to listen to the vague sounds to be heard in any +open country. Ten minutes after he had left little Chilina (it was then +about nine o’clock in the morning) he found himself on the edge of an +exceedingly steep declivity. The road, or rather the very slight path, +which he was following, ran through a _maquis_ that had been lately +burned. The ground was covered with whitish ashes, and here and there +some shrubs, and a few big trees, blackened by the flames, and entirely +stripped of their leaves, still stood erect--though life had long since +departed out of them. The sight of a burned _maquis_ is enough to make a +man fancy he has been transported into midwinter in some northern clime, +and the contrast between the barrenness of the ground over which the +flames have passed, with the luxuriant vegetation round about it, +heightens this appearance of sadness and desolation. But at that moment +the only thing that struck Orso in this particular landscape was one +point--an important one, it is true, in his present circumstances. The +bareness of the ground rendered any kind of ambush impossible, and the +man who has reason to fear that at any moment he may see a gun-barrel +thrust out of a thicket straight at his own chest, looks on a stretch +of smooth ground, with nothing on it to intercept his view, as a kind +of oasis. After this burned _maquis_ came a number of cultivated fields, +inclosed, according to the fashion of that country, with breast-high +walls, built of dry stones. The path ran between these fields, +producing, from a distance, the effect of a thick wood. + +The steepness of the declivity made it necessary for Orso to dismount. +He was walking quickly down the hill, which was slippery with ashes +(he had thrown the bridle on his horse’s neck), and was hardly +five-and-twenty paces from one of these stone fences, when, just in +front of him, on the right-hand side of the road, he perceived first +of all the barrel of a gun, and then a head, rising over the top of the +wall. The gun was levelled, and he recognised Orlanduccio, just ready +to fire. Orso swiftly prepared for self-defence, and the two men, taking +deliberate aim, stared at each other for several seconds, with that +thrill of emotion which the bravest must feel when he knows he must +either deal death or endure it. + +“Vile coward!” shouted Orso. + +The words were hardly out of his mouth when he saw the flash of +Orlanduccio’s gun, and almost at the same instant a second shot rang out +on his left from the other side of the path, fired by a man whom he had +not noticed, and who was aiming at him from behind another wall. Both +bullets struck him. The first, Orlanduccio’s, passed through his left +arm, which Orso had turned toward him as he aimed. The second shot +struck him in the chest, and tore his coat, but coming in contact with +the blade of his dagger, it luckily flattened against it, and only +inflicted a trifling bruise. Orso’s left arm fell helpless at his side, +and the barrel of his gun dropped for a moment, but he raised it at +once, and aiming his weapon with his right hand only, he fired at +Orlanduccio. His enemy’s head, which was only exposed to the level of +the eyes, disappeared behind the wall. Then Orso, swinging round to the +left, fired the second barrel at a man in a cloud of smoke whom he could +hardly see. This face likewise disappeared. The four shots had followed +each other with incredible swiftness; no trained soldiers ever fired +their volleys in quicker succession. After Orso’s last shot a great +silence fell. The smoke from his weapon rose slowly up into the sky. +There was not a movement, not the slightest sound from behind the wall. +But for the pain in his arm, he could have fancied the men on whom he +had just fired had been phantoms of his own imagination. + +Fully expecting a second volley, Orso moved a few steps, to place +himself behind one of the burned trees that still stood upright in +the _maquis_. Thus sheltered, he put his gun between his knees, +and hurriedly reloaded it. Meanwhile his left arm began to hurt him +horribly, and felt as if it were being dragged down by a huge weight. + +What had become of his adversaries? He could not understand. If they had +taken to flight, if they had been wounded, he would certainly have heard +some noise, some stir among the leaves. Were they dead, then? Or, what +was far more likely, were they not waiting behind their wall for a +chance of shooting at him again. In his uncertainty, and feeling his +strength fast failing him, he knelt down on his right knee, rested +his wounded arm upon the other, and took advantage of a branch that +protruded from the trunk of the burned tree to support his gun. With his +finger on the trigger, his eye fixed on the wall, and his ear strained +to catch the slightest sound, he knelt there, motionless, for several +minutes, which seemed to him a century. At last, behind him, in the far +distance, he heard a faint shout, and very soon a dog flew like an arrow +down the slope, and stopped short, close to him, wagging its tail. +It was Brusco, the comrade and follower of the bandits--the herald, +doubtless, of his master’s approach. Never was any honest man more +impatiently awaited. With his muzzle in the air, and turned toward the +nearest fence, the dog sniffed anxiously. Suddenly he gave vent to a low +growl, sprang at a bound over the wall, and almost instantly reappeared +upon its crest, whence he gazed steadily at Orso with eyes that spoke +surprise as clearly as a dog’s may do it. Then he sniffed again, this +time toward the other inclosure, the wall of which he also crossed. +Within a second he was back on the top of that, with the same air of +astonishment and alarm, and straightway he bounded into the thicket with +his tail between his legs, still gazing at Orso, and retiring from him +slowly, and sideways, until he had put some distance between them. Then +off he started again, tearing up the slope almost as fast as he had +come down it, to meet a man, who, in spite of its steepness, was rapidly +descending. + +“Help, Brando!” shouted Orso, as soon as he thought he was within +hearing. + +“Hallo! Ors’ Anton’! are you wounded?” inquired Brandolaccio, as he ran +up panting. “Is it in your body or your limbs?” + +“In the arm.” + +“The arm--oh, that’s nothing! And the other fellow?” + +“I think I hit him.” + +Brandolaccio ran after the dog to the nearest field and leaned over to +look at the other side of the wall, then pulling off his cap-- + +“Signor Orlanduccio, I salute you!” said he, then turning toward Orso, +he bowed to him, also, gravely. + +“That,” he remarked, “is what I call a man who has been properly done +for.” + +“Is he still alive?” asked Orso, who could hardly breathe. + +“Oh! he wouldn’t wish it! he’d be too much vexed about the bullet you +put into his eye! Holy Madonna! What a hole! That’s a good gun, upon my +soul! what a weight! That spatters a man’s brains for you! Hark ye, Ors’ +Anton’! when I heard the first _piff, piff_, says I to myself: ‘Dash it, +they’re murdering my lieutenant!’ Then I heard _boum, boum_. ‘Ha, ha!’ +says I, ‘that’s the English gun beginning to talk--he’s firing back.’ +But what on earth do you want with me, Brusco?” + +The dog guided him to the other field. + +“Upon my word,” cried Brandolaccio, utterly astonished, “a right and +left, that’s what it is! Deuce take it! Clear enough, powder must be +dear, for you don’t waste it!” + +“What do you mean, for God’s sake?” asked Orso. + +“Come, sir, don’t try to humbug me; you bring down the dame, and then +you want somebody to pick it up for you. Well! there’s one man who’ll +have a queer dessert to-day, and that’s Lawyer Barricini!--you want +butcher’s meat, do you? Well, here you have it. Now, who the devil will +be the heir?” + +“What! is Vincentello dead too?” + +“Dead as mutton. _Salute a noi!_ The good point about you is that you +don’t let them suffer. Just come over and look at Vincentello; he’s +kneeling here with his head against the wall, as if he were asleep. You +may say he sleeps like lead, this time, poor devil.” + +Orso turned his head in horror. + +“Are you certain he’s dead?” + +“You’re like Sampiero Corso, who never had to fire more than once. Look +at it there, in his chest, on the left--just where Vincileone was hit at +Waterloo. I’ll wager that bullet isn’t far from his heart--a right and +left! Ah! I’ll never talk about shooting again. Two with two shots, and +bullets at that! The two brothers! If he’d had a third shot he’d have +killed their papa. Better luck next time. What a shot! Ors’ Anton’! And +to think that an honest poor chap like me will never get the chance of a +right and a left two gendarmes!” + +As he talked the bandit was scanning Orso’s arm, and splitting up his +sleeve with his dagger. + +“This is nothing,” said he. “But this coat of yours will give Signorina +Colomba work to do. Ha! what’s this I see? this gash upon your chest? +Nothing went in there, surely? No! you wouldn’t be so brisk as you are! +Come, try to move your finger. Do you feel my teeth when I bite your +little finger? Not very well? Never mind! It won’t be much. Let me take +your handkerchief and your neckcloth. Well, your coat’s spoilt, anyhow! +What the devil did you make yourself so smart for? Were you going to +a wedding? There! drink a drop of wine. Why on earth don’t you carry a +flask? Does any Corsican ever go out without a flask?” + +Then again he broke off the dressing of the wound to exclaim: + +“A right and left! Both of them stone dead! How the Padre will laugh! A +right and left! Oh, here’s that little dawdle Chilina at last!” + +Orso made no reply--he was as pale as death and shaking in every limb. + +“Chili!” shouted Brandolaccio, “go and look behind that wall!” + +The child, using both hands and feet, scrambled onto the wall, and the +moment she caught sight of Orlanduccio’s corpse she crossed herself. + +“That’s nothing,” proceeded the bandit; “go and look farther on, over +there!” + +The child crossed herself again. + +“Was it you, uncle?” she asked timidly. + +“Me! Don’t you know I’ve turned into a useless old fellow! This, Chili, +is the signor’s work; offer him your compliments.” + +“The signorina will be greatly rejoiced,” said Chilina, “and she will be +very much grieved to know you are wounded, Ors’ Anton’.” + +“Now then, Ors’ Anton’,” said the bandit, when he had finished binding +up the wound. “Chilina, here, has caught your horse. You must get on +his back, and come with me to the Stazzona _maquis_. It would be a sly +fellow who’d lay his hand on you there. When we get to the Cross of +Santa Christina, you’ll have to dismount. You’ll give over your horse to +Chilina, who’ll go off and warn the signorina. You can say anything to +the child, Ors’ Anton’. She would let herself be cut in pieces rather +than betray her friends,” and then, fondly, he turned to the little +girl, “That’s it, you little hussy; a ban on you, a curse on you--you +jade!” For Brandolaccio, who was superstitious, like most bandits, +feared he might cast a spell on a child if he blessed it or praised it, +seeing it is a well-known fact that the mysterious powers that rule the +_Annocchiatura_[*] have a vile habit of fulfilling our wishes in the +very opposite sense to that we give them. + + [*] _Annocchiatura_, an involuntary spell cast either by the + eye or by spoken words. + +“Where am I to go, Brando?” queried Orso in a faint voice. + +“Faith! you must choose; either to jail or to the _maquis_. But no della +Rebbia knows the path that leads him to the jail. To the _maquis_, Ors’ +Anton’.” + +“Farewell, then, to all my hopes!” exclaimed the wounded man, sadly. + +“Your hopes? Deuce take it! Did you hope to do any better with a +double-barrelled gun? How on earth did the fellows contrive to hit you? +The rascals must have been as hard to kill as cats.” + +“They fired first,” said Orso. + +“True, true; I’d forgotten that!--_piff, piff--boum, boum_! A right and +left, and only one hand! If any man can do better, I’ll go hang myself. +Come! now you’re safely mounted! Before we start, just give a glance +at your work. It isn’t civil to leave one’s company without saying +good-bye.” + +Orso spurred his horse. He would not have looked at the two poor +wretches he had just destroyed, for anything on earth. + +“Hark ye, Ors’ Anton’,” quoth the bandit, as he caught hold of the +horse’s bridle, “shall I tell you the truth? Well, no offence to you! +I’m sorry for those poor young fellows! You’ll pardon me, I hope; so +good-looking, so strong, so young. Orlanduccio, I’ve shot with him +so often! Only four days ago he gave me a bundle of cigars, and +Vincentello--he was always so cheery. Of course you’ve only done what +you had to do, and indeed the shot was such a splendid one, nobody could +regret it. But I, you see, had nothing to do with your vengeance. I know +you’re perfectly in the right. When one has an enemy one must get rid of +him. But the Barricini were an old family. Here’s another of them wiped +out, and by a right and left too! It’s striking.” + +As he thus spoke his funeral oration over the Barricini, Brandolaccio +hastily guided Orso, Chilina, and Brusco, the dog, toward the Stazzona +_maquis_. + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +Meanwhile, very shortly after Orso’s departure, Colomba’s spies had +warned her that the Barricini were out on the warpath, and from that +moment she was racked by the most intense anxiety. She was to be seen +moving hither and thither all over the house, between the kitchen and +the rooms that were being made ready for her guests, doing nothing, yet +always busy, and constantly stopping to look out of a window for any +unusual stir in the village. Toward eleven o’clock, a somewhat numerous +cavalcade rode into Pietranera. This was the colonel, with his daughter, +their servants, and their guide. Colomba’s first word, as she welcomed +them, was “Have you seen my brother?” Then she questioned the guide as +to the road they had taken, and the hour of their departure, and having +heard his answers, she could not understand why they had not met him. + +“Perhaps,” said the guide, “your brother took the higher path; we came +by the lower one.” + +But Colomba only shook her head and asked more questions. In spite of +her natural firmness of character, increased as it was by her proud +desire to conceal any sign of weakness before strangers, she could not +hide her anxiety, and as soon as she had informed them of the attempted +reconciliation, and of its unfortunate issue, this was shared by the +colonel and Miss Lydia. Miss Nevil became very uneasy, and wanted to +have messengers sent off in every direction, and her father offered +to remount at once and set out with the guide in search of Orso. Her +guests’ alarm recalled Colomba to a sense of her duties as a hostess. +She strove to force a smile as she pressed the colonel to come to table, +and suggested twenty plausible reasons, which she herself demolished +within an instant, to account for her brother’s delay. The colonel, +feeling it to be his duty, as a man, to reassure the ladies, put forward +his own explanation. + +“I’ll wager,” he said, “that della Rebbia has come across some game or +other. He has not been able to stand out against that temptation, and we +shall soon see him come in with a heavy bag. ‘Pon my soul,” he went on, +“we did hear four shots fired on the road. Two of them were louder +than the others, and I said to my girl, ‘I’ll bet anything that’s della +Rebbia out shooting! My gun is the only one that would make that noise.’” + +Colomba turned pale, and Lydia, who was watching her closely, had +no difficulty in guessing the suspicions with which the colonel’s +conjecture had inspired her. After a few minutes’ silence, Colomba +eagerly inquired whether the two louder reports had been heard before or +after the others. But neither the colonel, his daughter, nor the guide +had paid much attention to this all-important detail. + +Toward one o’clock, as none of Colomba’s messengers had yet returned, +she gathered all her courage, and insisted that her guests should sit +down to table with her. But, except the colonel, none of them could eat. +At the slightest sound in the square, Colomba ran to the window. Then +drearily she returned to her place, and struggled yet more drearily +to carry on a trivial conversation, to which nobody paid the slightest +attention, and which was broken by long intervals of silence. All at +once they heard a horse’s gallop. + +“Ah! That must be my brother at last!” said Colomba, rising from her +chair. But when she saw Chilina astride on Orso’s horse--“My brother is +dead!” she cried, in a heart-rending voice. + +The colonel dropped his glass. Miss Lydia screamed. They all rushed to +the door of the house. Before Chilina could jump off her steed, she was +snatched up like a feather by Colomba, who held her so tight that she +almost choked her. The child understood her agonized look, and her first +words were those of the chorus in Othello: “He lives!” Colomba’s grasp +relaxed, and nimbly as a kitten Chilina dropped upon the ground. + +“The others?” queried Colomba hoarsely. Chilina crossed herself with +her first and middle finger. A deep flush instantly replaced the deadly +pallor of Colomba’s face. She cast one fierce look at the Barricini +dwelling, and then, with a smile, she turned to her guests. + +“Let us go in and drink our coffee,” she said. + +The story the bandit’s Iris had to tell was a long one. Her narrative, +translated literally into Italian by Colomba, and then into English by +Miss Nevil, wrung more than one oath from the colonel, more than one +sigh from the fair Lydia. But Colomba heard it all unmoved. Only she +twisted her damask napkin till it seemed as if she must tear it in +pieces. She interrupted the child, five or six times over, to make her +repeat again that Brandolaccio had said the wound was not dangerous, +and that he had seen many worse. When she had finished her tale, Chilina +announced that Orso earnestly begged he might be sent writing materials, +and that he desired his sister would beseech a lady who might be staying +in his house not to depart from it, until she had received a letter from +him. + +“That is what was worrying him most,” the child added; “and even after I +had started he called me back, to bid me not forget the message. It +was the third time he had given it to me.” When Colomba heard of +her brother’s injunction she smiled faintly, and squeezed the fair +Englishwoman’s hand. That young lady burst into tears, and did not seem +to think it advisable to translate that particular part of the story to +her father. + +“Yes, my dear,” cried Colomba, kissing Miss Nevil. “You shall stay with +me, and you shall help us.” + +Then, taking a pile of old linen out of a cupboard, she began to cut it +up, to make lint and bandages. Any one who saw her flashing eyes, her +heightened colour, her alternate fits of anxiety and composure, would +have found it hard to say whether distress at her brother’s wound, or +delight at the extinction of her foes, were most affecting her. One +moment she was pouring out the colonel’s coffee, and telling him how +well she made it, the next she was setting Miss Lydia and Chilina to +work, exhorting them to sew bandages, and roll them up. Then, for the +twentieth time, she would ask whether Orso’s wound was very painful. She +constantly broke off her own work to exclaim to the colonel: + +“Two such cunning men, such dangerous fellows! And he alone, wounded, +with only one arm! He killed the two of them! What courage, colonel! +Isn’t he a hero? Ah, Miss Nevil! How good it is to live in a peaceful +country like yours! I’m sure you did not really know my brother till +now! I said it--‘The falcon will spread his wings!’ You were deceived +by his gentle look! That’s because with you, Miss Nevil--Ah! if he could +see you working for him now! My poor Orso!” + +Miss Lydia was doing hardly any work, and could not find a single word +to say. Her father kept asking why nobody went to lay a complaint before +a magistrate. He talked about a coroner’s inquest, and all sorts of +other proceedings quite unknown to Corsican economy. And then he +begged to be told whether the country house owned by that worthy Signor +Brandolaccio, who had brought succour to the wounded man, was very far +away from Pietranera, and whether he could not go there himself, to see +his friend. + +And Colomba replied, with her usual composure, that Orso was in the +_maquis_; that he was being taken care of by a bandit; that it would be +a great risk for him to show himself until he was sure of the line the +prefect and the judges were likely to take; and, finally, that she would +manage to have him secretly attended by a skilful surgeon. + +“Above all things, colonel,” she added, “remember that you heard the +four shots, and that you told me Orso fired last.” + +The colonel could make neither head nor tail of the business, and his +daughter did nothing but heave sighs and dry her eyes. + +The day was far advanced, when a gloomy procession wended its way into +the village. The bodies of his two sons were brought home to Lawyer +Barricini, each corpse thrown across a mule, which was led by a peasant. +A crowd of dependents and idlers followed the dreary _cortege_. With +it appeared the gendarmes, who always came in too late, and the +deputy-mayor, throwing up his hands, and incessantly repeating, “What +will Signor Prefetto say!” Some of the women, among them Orlanduccio’s +foster-mother, were tearing their hair and shrieking wildly. But their +clamorous grief was less impressive than the dumb despair of one man, on +whom all eyes were fixed. This was the wretched father, who passed from +one corpse to the other, lifting up the earth-soiled heads, kissing the +blackened lips, supporting the limbs that were stiff already, as if he +would save them from the jolting of the road. Now and then he opened his +mouth as though about to speak, but not a cry came, not a word. His eyes +never left the dead bodies, and as he walked, he knocked himself against +the stones, against the trees, against every obstacle that chanced to +lie in his path. + +The women’s lamentations grew louder, and the men’s curses deeper, when +Orso’s house appeared in sight. When some shepherds of the della Rebbia +party ventured on a triumphant shout, their enemy’s indignation became +ungovernable. “Vengeance! Vengeance!” exclaimed several voices. Stones +were thrown, and two shots, fired at the windows of the room in which +Colomba and her guests were sitting, pierced the outside shutters, and +carried splinters of wood on to the table at which the two ladies were +working. Miss Lydia screamed violently, the colonel snatched up a gun, +and Colomba, before he could stop her, rushed to the door of the house +and threw it violently open. There, standing high on the threshold, with +her two hands outstretched to curse her enemies: + +“Cowards!” she cried. “You fire on women and on foreigners! Are you +Corsicans? Are you men? Wretches, who can only murder a man from behind. +Come on! I defy you! I am alone! My brother is far away! Come! kill +me, kill my guests! It would be worthy of you! . . . But you dare not, +cowards that you are! You know we avenge our wrongs! Away with you! Go, +weep like women, and be thankful we do not ask you for more blood!” + +There was something terrible and imposing in Colomba’s voice and mien. +At the sight of her the crowd recoiled as though it beheld one of those +evil fairies of which so many tales are told on long winter evenings, +in Corsica. The deputy-mayor, the gendarmes, and a few women seized +the opportunity, and threw themselves between the two factions; for the +della Rebbia herdsmen were already loading their guns, and for a moment +a general fight in the middle of the square had appeared imminent. +But the two parties were both leaderless, and Corsicans, whose rage +is always subject to discipline, seldom come to blows unless the chief +authors of their internecine quarrels are present. Besides, Colomba, who +had learned prudence from victory, restrained her little garrison. + +“Let the poor folks weep in peace,” she said. “Let the old man carry his +own flesh home. What is the good of killing an old fox who has no teeth +left to bite with, . . . Giudice Barricini! Remember the 2d of August! +Remember the blood-stained pocket-book in which you wrote with your +forger’s hand! My father had written down your debt! Your sons have paid +it. You may go free, old Barricini!” + +With folded arms and a scornful smile upon her lips, Colomba watched the +bearers carry the corpses of her enemies into their home, and the crowd +without it melt gradually away. Then she closed her own door, and, going +back into the dining-room, she said to the colonel: + +“I beg, sir, you will forgive my fellow-countrymen! I never could have +believed that any Corsican would have fired on a house that sheltered +strangers, and I am ashamed of my country.” + +That night, when Miss Lydia had gone up to her room, the colonel +followed her, and inquired whether they had not better get out of a +village where they ran incessant risk of having a bullet through their +heads, the very next morning, and leave this country, seething with +treachery and murder, as soon as possible. + +Miss Nevil did not answer for some time, and her father’s suggestion +evidently caused her considerable perplexity. At last she said: + +“How can we leave this poor young creature, just when she is so much in +need of consolation? Don’t you think that would be cruel, father?” + +“I only spoke on your account, child,” said the colonel. “And I assure +you that if I once felt you were safe in the hotel at Ajaccio, I should +be very sorry to leave this cursed island myself, without shaking that +plucky fellow della Rebbia’s hand again.” + +“Well then, father, let us wait a while, and before we start let us make +quite sure we can not be of any use to them.” + +“Kind soul!” said the colonel, as he kissed his daughter’s forehead. “It +is a pleasure to see you sacrifice yourself for the sake of softening +other people’s suffering. Let us stay on. We shall never have to repent +having done right.” + +Miss Lydia tossed sleeplessly to and fro in her bed. Sometimes she took +the vague night sounds for preparations for an attack on the house. +Sometimes, less alarmed on her own account, she thought of poor wounded +Orso, who was probably lying on the cold earth, with no help beyond what +she might expect from a bandit’s charity. She fancied him covered with +blood, and writhing in hideous suffering; and the extraordinary thing +was that whenever Orso’s image rose up before her mind’s eye, she always +beheld him as she had seen him when he rode away, pressing the talisman +she had bestowed upon him to his lips. Then she mused over his courage. +She told herself he had exposed himself to the frightful danger he had +just escaped on her account, just for the sake of seeing her a little +sooner. A very little more, and she would have persuaded herself that +Orso had earned his broken arm in her defence! She reproached herself +with being the cause of his wound. But she admired him for it all the +more, and if that celebrated right and left was not so splendid a feat +in her sight as in Brandolaccio’s or Colomba’s, still she was convinced +few heroes of romance could ever had behaved with such intrepidity and +coolness, in so dangerous a pinch. + +Her room was that usually occupied by Colomba. Above a kind of oaken +_prie-dieu_, and beside a sprig of blessed palm, a little miniature of +Orso, in his sub-lieutenant’s uniform, hung on the wall. Miss Nevil took +the portrait down, looked at it for a long time, and laid it at last on +the table by her bed, instead of hanging it up again in its place. +She did not fall asleep till daybreak, and when she woke the sun +had travelled high above the horizon. In front of her bed she beheld +Colomba, waiting, motionless, till she should open her eyes. + +“Well, dear lady, are you not very uncomfortable in this poor house of +ours?” said Colomba to her. “I fear you have hardly slept at all.” + +“Have you any news, dear friend?” cried Miss Nevil, sitting up in bed. + +Her eye fell on Orso’s picture, and she hastily tossed her handkerchief +upon it. + +“Yes, I have news,” said Colomba, with a smile. + +Then she took up the picture. + +“Do you think it like him? He is better looking than that!” + +“Really,” stammered Miss Nevil, quite confused, “I took down that +picture in a fit of absence! I have a horrid habit of touching +everything and never putting anything back! How is your brother?” + +“Fairly well. Giocanto came here before four o’clock this morning. He +brought me a letter for you, Miss Lydia. Orso hasn’t written anything +to me! It is addressed to Colomba, indeed, but underneath that he has +written ‘For Miss N.’ But sisters are never jealous! Giocanto says it +hurt him dreadfully to write. Giocanto, who writes a splendid hand, +offered to do it at his dictation. But he would not let him. He wrote it +with a pencil, lying on his back. Brandolaccio held the paper for him. +My brother kept trying to raise himself, and then the very slightest +movement gave him the most dreadful agony in his arm. Giocanto says it +was pitiful. Here is his letter.” + +Miss Nevil read the letter, which, as an extra precaution, no doubt, was +written in English. Its contents were as follows: + +“MADEMOISELLE: An unhappy fate has driven me on. I know not what my +enemies will say, what slanders they will invent. I care little, so long +as you, mademoiselle, give them no credence! Ever since I first saw you +I have been nursing wild dreams. I needed this catastrophe to show me my +own folly. + +“I have come back to my senses now. I know the future that lies before +me, and I shall face it with resignation. I dare not keep this ring +you gave me, and which I believed to be a lucky talisman. I fear, Miss +Nevil, you may regret your gift has been so ill-bestowed. Or rather, I +fear it may remind me of the days of my own madness. Colomba will give +it to you. Farewell, mademoiselle! You are about to leave Corsica, and +I shall never see you again. But tell my sister, at least, that I still +possess your esteem--and I tell you, confidently, that I am still worthy +of it. + +“O.D.R.” + + +Miss Lydia had turned away while she read the letter, and Colomba, who +was watching her closely, gave her the Egyptian ring, with an inquiring +glance as to what it all meant. But Miss Lydia dared not raise her head, +and looked dejectedly at the ring, alternately putting it on her finger +and pulling it off again. + +“Dear Miss Nevil,” said Colomba, “may I not know what my brother says to +you? Does he say anything about his health?” + +“Indeed,” said Miss Lydia, colouring, “he doesn’t mention it. His letter +is in English. He desires me to tell my father--He hopes the prefect +will be able to arrange----” + +With a mischievous smile, Colomba sat down on the bed, took hold of both +Miss Nevil’s hands, and, looking at her with her piercing eyes-- + +“Will you be kind?” she said. “Won’t you answer my brother’s letter? You +would do him so much good! For a moment I thought of waking you when his +letter came, and then I didn’t dare!” + +“You did very wrong,” replied Miss Nevil. “If a word from me could--” + +“I can’t send him any letter now. The prefect has arrived, and +Pietranera is full of his policemen. Later on, we’ll see what we can +do. Oh, Miss Nevil, if you only knew my brother, you would love him as +dearly as I do. He’s so good! He’s so brave! Just think of what he has +done! One man against two, and wounded as well!” + +The prefect had returned. Warned by an express messenger sent by the +deputy-mayor, he had brought over the public prosecutor, the registrar, +and all their myrmidons, to investigate the fresh and terrible +catastrophe which had just complicated, or it may be ended, the warfare +between the chief families of Pietranera. Shortly after his arrival, he +saw the colonel and his daughter, and did not conceal his fear that the +business might take on an ugly aspect. + +“You know,” he said, “that the fight took place without witnesses, and +the reputation of these two unhappy men stood so high, both for bravery +and cunning, that nobody will believe Signor della Rebbia can have +killed them without the help of the bandits with whom he is now supposed +to have taken refuge.” + +“It’s not possible,” said the colonel. “Orso della Rebbia is a most +honourable fellow. I’ll stake my life on that.” + +“I believe you,” said the prefect. “But the public prosecutor (those +gentry always are suspicious) does not strike me as being particularly +well disposed toward him. He holds one bit of evidence which goes rather +against our friend--a threatening letter to Orlanduccio, in which he +suggests a meeting, and is inclined to think that meeting was a trap.” + +“That fellow Orlanduccio refused to fight it out like a gentleman.” + +“That is not the custom here. In this country, people lie in ambush, and +kill each other from behind. There is one deposition in his favour--that +of a child, who declares she heard four reports, two of which were +louder than the others, and produced by a heavy weapon, such as Signor +della Rebbia’s gun. Unluckily, the child is the niece of one of the +bandits suspected of being his accomplices, and has probably been taught +her lesson.” + +“Sir,” broke in Miss Lydia, reddening to the roots of her hair, “we were +on the road when those shots were fired, and we heard the same thing.” + +“Really? That’s most important! And you, colonel, no doubt you remarked +the very same thing?” + +“Yes,” responded Miss Lydia quickly. “It was my father, who is so +accustomed to firearms, who said to me, ‘There’s Signor della Rebbia +shooting with my gun!’” + +“And you are sure those shots you recognised were the last?” + +“The two last, weren’t they, papa?” + +Memory was not the colonel’s strong point, but as a standing rule, he +knew better than to contradict his daughter. + +“I must mention this to the public prosecutor at once, colonel. And +besides, we expect a surgeon this evening, who will make an examination +of the two bodies, and find out whether the wounds were caused by that +particular weapon.” + +“I gave it to Orso,” said the colonel, “and I wish I knew it was at the +bottom of the sea. At least----Plucky boy! I’m heartily glad he had it +with him, for I don’t quite know how he would have got off if it hadn’t +been for my Manton.” + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +It was rather late when the surgeon put in an appearance. On his road up +he had met with an adventure of his own. He had been stopped by Giocanto +Castriconi, who, with the most scrupulous politeness, called on him to +come and attend a wounded man. He had been conducted to Orso’s retreat, +and had applied the first dressings to his wound. The bandit had then +accompanied the doctor some distance on his way, and had greatly edified +him by his talk concerning the most celebrated professors at Pisa, whom +he described as his intimate friends. + +“Doctor,” said the theologian, as they parted, “you have inspired me +with such a feeling of respect that I think it hardly necessary to +remind you that a physician should be as discreet as a confessor.” And +as he said the words he clicked the trigger of his gun. “You have quite +forgotten the spot at which we have had the honour of meeting. Fare you +well! I’m delighted to have made your acquaintance.” + +Colomba besought the colonel to be present at the post-mortem +examination. + +“You know my brother’s gun better than anybody,” she said, “and your +presence will be most valuable. Besides there are so many wicked people +here that we should run a great risk if there were nobody present to +protect our interests.” + +When she was left alone with Miss Lydia, she complained that her head +ached terribly, and proposed that they should take a walk just outside +the village. + +“The fresh air will do me good,” she said. “It is so long since I’ve +been out of doors.” + +As they walked along she talked about her brother, and Miss Lydia, who +found the subject tolerably interesting, did not notice that they had +travelled a long way from Pietranera. The sun was setting when she +became aware of this fact, and she begged Colomba to return. Colomba +said she knew a cross-cut which would greatly shorten the walk back, +and turning out of the path, she took another, which seemed much less +frequented. Soon she began to climb a hill, so steep that to keep her +balance she was continually obliged to catch hold of branches with one +hand, while she pulled her companion up after her with the other. After +about twenty minutes of this trying ascent, they found themselves on +a small plateau, clothed with arbutus and myrtle, growing round great +granite boulders that jutted above the soil in every direction. Miss +Lydia was very tired, there was no sign of the village, and it was +almost quite dark. + +“Do you know, Colomba, my dear,” she said, “I’m afraid we’ve lost our +way!” + +“No fear!” answered Colomba. “Let us get on. You follow me.” + +“But I assure you we’re going wrong. The village can’t be over there. +I’m certain we’re turning our backs on it. Why, look at those lights, +far away. Pietranera must be in that direction.” + +“My dear soul,” said Colomba, and she looked very much agitated, “you’re +perfectly right. But in the _maquis_--less than a hundred yards from +here--” + +“Well?” + +“My brother is lying. If you choose, I might see him, and give him one +kiss.” + +Miss Nevil made a gesture of astonishment. + +“I got out of Pietranera without being noticed,” continued Colomba, +“because I was with you, otherwise I should have been followed. To be so +close to him, and not to see him! Why shouldn’t you come with me to see +my poor brother? You would make him so happy!” + +“But, Colomba--That wouldn’t be at all proper on my part----” + +“I see. With you women who live in towns, your great anxiety is to be +proper. We village women only think of what is kind.” + +“But it’s so late! And then what will your brother think of me?” + +“He’ll think his friends have not forsaken him, and that will give him +courage to bear his sufferings.” + +“And my father? He’ll be so anxious!” + +“He knows you are with me. Come! Make up your mind. You were looking at +his picture this morning,” she added, with a sly smile. + +“No! Really and truly, I don’t dare, Colomba! Think of the bandits who +are there.” + +“Well, what matter? The bandits don’t know you. And you were longing to +see some.” + +“Oh, dear!” + +“Come, signorina, settle something. I can’t leave you alone here. I +don’t know what might happen to you. Let us go on to see Orso, or else +let us go back to the village together. I shall see my brother again. +God knows when--never, perhaps!” + +“What’s that you are saying, Colomba? Well, well, let us go! But only +for a minute, and then we’ll get home at once.” + +Colomba squeezed her hand, and without making any reply walked on so +quickly that Miss Lydia could hardly keep up with her. She soon halted, +luckily, and said to her companion: + +“We won’t go any farther without warning them. We might have a bullet +flying at our heads.” + +She began to whistle through her fingers. Soon they heard a dog bark, +and the bandits’ advanced sentry shortly came in sight. This was our old +acquaintance Brusco, who recognised Colomba at once and undertook to be +her guide. After many windings through the narrow paths in the _maquis_ +they were met by two men, armed to the teeth. + +“Is that you, Brandolaccio?” inquired Colomba. “Where is my brother?” + +“Just over there,” replied the bandit. “But go quietly. He’s asleep, and +for the first time since his accident. Zounds, it’s clear that where the +devil gets through, a woman will get through too!” + +The two girls moved forward cautiously, and beside a fire, the blaze of +which was carefully concealed by a little wall of stones built round +it, they beheld Orso, lying on a pile of heather, and covered with a +_pilone_. He was very pale, and they could hear his laboured breathing. +Colomba sat down near him, and gazed at him silently, with her hands +clasped, as though she were praying in her heart. Miss Lydia hid her +face in her handkerchief, and nestled close against her friend, but +every now and then she lifted her head to take a look at the wounded man +over Colomba’s shoulder. Thus a quarter of an hour passed by without a +word being said by anybody. At a sign from the theologian, Brandolaccio +had plunged with him into the _maquis_, to the great relief of Miss +Lydia, who for the first time fancied the local colour of the bandits’ +wild beards and warlike equipment was a trifle too strong. + +At last Orso stirred. Instantly, Colomba bent over him, and kissed him +again and again, pouring out questions anent his wound, his suffering, +and his needs. After having answered that he was doing as well as +possible, Orso inquired, in his turn, whether Miss Nevil was still at +Pietranera, and whether she had written to him. Colomba, bending over +her brother, completely hid her companion from his sight, and indeed the +darkness would have made any recognition difficult. She was holding one +of Miss Nevil’s hands. With the other she slightly raised her wounded +brother’s head. + +“No, brother,” she replied. “She did not give me any letter for you. But +are you still thinking about Miss Nevil? You must love her very much!” + +“Love her, Colomba!--But--but now she may despise me!” + +At this point Miss Nevil made a struggle to withdraw her fingers. But +it was no easy matter to get Colomba to slacken her grasp. Small and +well-shaped though her hand was, it possessed a strength of which we +have already noticed certain proofs. + +“Despise you!” cried Colomba. “After what you’ve done? No, indeed! She +praises you! Oh, Orso, I could tell you so many things about her!” + +Lydia’s hand was still struggling for its freedom, but Colomba kept +drawing it closer to Orso. + +“But after all,” said the wounded man, “why didn’t she answer me? If she +had sent me a single line, I should have been happy.” + +By dint of pulling at Miss Nevil’s hand, Colomba contrived at last to +put it into her brother’s. Then, moving suddenly aside, she burst out +laughing. + +“Orso,” she cried, “mind you don’t speak evil of Miss Lydia--she +understands Corsican quite well.” + +Miss Lydia took back her hand at once and stammered some unintelligible +words. Orso thought he must be dreaming. + +“You here, Miss Nevil? Good heavens! how did you dare? Oh, how happy you +have made me!” + +And raising himself painfully, he strove to get closer to her. + +“I came with your sister,” said Miss Lydia, “so that nobody might +suspect where she was going. And then I--I wanted to make sure for +myself. Alas! how uncomfortable you are here!” + +Colomba had seated herself behind Orso. She raised him carefully so +that his head might rest on her lap. She put her arms round his neck and +signed to Miss Lydia to come near him. + +“Closer! closer!” she said. “A sick man mustn’t talk too loud.” And when +Miss Lydia hesitated, she caught her hand and forced her to sit down +so close to Orso that her dress touched him, and her hand, still in +Colomba’s grasp, lay on the wounded man’s shoulder. + +“Now he’s very comfortable!” said Colomba cheerily. “Isn’t it good to +lie out in the _maquis_ on such a lovely night? Eh, Orso?” + +“How you must be suffering!” exclaimed Miss Lydia. + +“My suffering is all gone now,” said Orso, “and I should like to die +here!” And his right hand crept up toward Miss Lydia’s, which Colomba +still held captive. + +“You really must be taken to some place where you can be properly cared +for, Signor della Rebbia,” said Miss Nevil. “I shall never be able to +sleep in my bed, now that I have seen you lying here, so uncomfortable, +in the open air.” + +“If I had not been afraid of meeting you, Miss Nevil, I should have +tried to get back to Pietranera, and I should have given myself up to +the authorities.” + +“And why were you afraid of meeting her, Orso?” inquired Colomba. + +“I had disobeyed you, Miss Nevil, and I should not have dared to look at +you just then.” + +“Do you know you make my brother do everything you choose, Miss Lydia?” + said Colomba, laughing. “I won’t let you see him any more.” + +“I hope this unlucky business will soon be cleared up, and that you will +have nothing more to fear,” said Miss Nevil. “I shall be so happy, +when we go away, to know justice has been done you, and that both your +loyalty and your bravery have been acknowledged.” + +“Going away, Miss Nevil! Don’t say that word yet!” + +“What are we to do? My father can not spend his whole life shooting. He +wants to go.” + +Orso’s hand, which had been touching Miss Lydia’s, dropped away, and +there was silence for a moment. + +“Nonsense!” said Colomba. “We won’t let you go yet. We have plenty of +things to show you still at Pietranera. Besides, you have promised to +paint my picture, and you haven’t even begun it so far. And then I’ve +promised to compose you a _serenata_, with seventy-five verses. And +then--but what can Brusco be growling about? And here’s Brandolaccio +running after him. I must go and see what’s amiss.” + +She rose at once, and laying Orso’s head, without further ceremony, on +Miss Lydia’s lap, she ran after the bandits. + +Miss Nevil, somewhat startled at finding herself thus left in sole +charge of a handsome young Corsican gentleman in the middle of a +_maquis_, was rather puzzled what to do next. + +For she was afraid that any sudden movement on her part might hurt the +wounded man. But Orso himself resigned the exquisite pillow on which his +sister had just laid his head, and raising himself on his right arm, he +said: + +“So you will soon be gone, Miss Lydia? I never expected your stay in +this unhappy country would have been a long one. And yet since you have +come to me here, the thought that I must bid you farewell has grown a +hundred times more bitter to me. I am only a poor lieutenant. I had no +future--and now I am an outlaw. What a moment in which to tell you that +I love you, Miss Lydia! But no doubt this is my only chance of saying +it. And I think I feel less wretched now I have unburdened my heart to +you.” + +Miss Lydia turned away her head, as if the darkness were not dark enough +to hide her blushes. + +“Signor della Rebbia,” she said, and her voice shook, “should I have +come here at all if----” and as she spoke she laid the Egyptian +talisman in Orso’s hand. Then, with a mighty effort to recover her +usual bantering tone--“It’s very wrong of you, Signor Orso, to say such +things! You know very well that here, in the middle of the _maquis_, +and with your bandits all about me, I should never dare to be angry with +you.” + +Orso made an attempt to kiss the hand that held out the talisman. Miss +Lydia drew it quickly back; he lost his balance, and fell on his wounded +arm. He could not stifle a moan of pain. + +“Oh, dear, you’ve hurt yourself, and it was my fault!” she cried, as she +raised him up. “Forgive me!” They talked for some time longer, very low, +and very close together. + +Colomba, running hastily up, found them in the very same position in +which she had left them. + +“The soldiers!” she cried. “Orso! try to get up and walk! I’ll help +you!” + +“Leave me!” said Orso. “Tell the bandits to escape. What do I care if +I am taken? But take away Miss Lydia. For God’s sake, don’t let anybody +see her here!” + +“I won’t leave you,” said Brandolaccio, who had come up on Colomba’s +heels. + +“The sergeant in charge is the lawyer’s godson. He’ll shoot you instead +of arresting you, and then he’ll say he didn’t do it on purpose.” + +Orso tried to rise; he even took a few steps. But he soon halted. “I +can’t walk,” he said. “Fly, all of you! Good-bye, Miss Nevil! Give me +your hand! Farewell!” + +“We won’t leave you!” cried the two girls. + +“If you can’t walk,” said Brandolaccio, “I must carry you. Come, sir, +a little courage! We shall have time to slip away by the ravine. The +Signor Padre will keep them busy.” + +“No, leave me!” said Orso, lying down on the ground. “Colomba, take Miss +Nevil away!--for God’s sake!” + +“You’re strong, Signorina Colomba,” said Brandolaccio. “Catch hold of +his shoulders; I’ll take his feet. That’s it! Now, then march!” + +In spite of his protests, they began to carry him rapidly along. Miss +Lydia was following them, in a terrible fright, when a gun was fired, +and five or six other reports instantly responded. Miss Lydia screamed +and Brandolaccio swore an oath, but he doubled his pace, and Colomba, +imitating him, tore through the thicket without paying the slightest +heed to the branches that slashed her face and tore her dress. + +“Bend down, bend down, dear!” she called out to her companion. “You may +be hit by some stray bullet!” + +They had walked, or rather run, some five hundred paces in this fashion +when Brandolaccio vowed he could go no further, and dropped on the +ground, regardless of all Colomba’s exhortations and reproaches. + +“Where is Miss Nevil?” was Orso’s one inquiry. + +Terrified by the firing, checked at every step by the thick growth of +the _maquis_, Miss Nevil had soon lost sight of the fugitives, and been +left all alone in a state of the most cruel alarm. + +“She has been left behind,” said Brandolaccio, “but she’ll not be +lost--women always turn up again. Do listen to the row the Padre is +making with your gun, Ors’ Anton’! Unluckily, it’s as black as pitch, +and nobody takes much harm from being shot at in the dark.” + +“Hush!” cried Colomba. “I hear a horse. We’re saved!” + +Startled by the firing, a horse which had been wandering through the +_maquis_, was really coming close up to them. + +“Saved, indeed!” repeated Brandolaccio. It did not take the bandit more +than an instant to rush up to the creature, catch hold of his mane, and +with Colomba’s assistance, bridle him with a bit of knotted rope. + +“Now we must warn the Padre,” he said. He whistled twice; another +distant whistle answered the signal, and the loud voice of the Manton +gun was hushed. Then Brandolaccio sprang on the horse’s back. Colomba +lifted her brother up in front of the bandit, who held him close with +one hand and managed his bridle with the other. + +In spite of the double load, the animal, urged by a brace of hearty +kicks, started off nimbly, and galloped headlong down a steep declivity +on which anything but a Corsican steed would have broken its neck a +dozen times. + +Then Colomba retraced her steps, calling Miss Nevil at the top of her +voice; but no answering cry was heard. + +After walking hither and thither for some time, trying to recover the +path, she stumbled on two riflemen, who shouted, “Who goes there?” + +“Well, gentlemen,” cried Colomba jeeringly, “here’s a pretty racket! How +many of you are killed?” + +“You were with the bandits!” said one of the soldiers. “You must come +with us.” + +“With pleasure!” she replied. “But there’s a friend of mine somewhere +close by, and we must find her first.” + +“You friend is caught already, and both of you will sleep in jail +to-night!” + +“In jail, you say? Well, that remains to be seen. But take me to her, +meanwhile.” + +The soldiers led her to the bandits’ camp, where they had collected the +trophies of their raid--to wit, the cloak which had covered Orso, an +old cooking-pot, and a pitcher of cold water. On the same spot she found +Miss Nevil, who had fallen among the soldiers, and, being half dead +with terror, did nothing but sob in answer to their questions as to the +number of the bandits, and the direction in which they had gone. + +Colomba threw herself into her arms and whispered in her ear, “They are +safe!” Then, turning to the sergeant, she said: “Sir, you can see this +young lady knows none of the things you are trying to find out from +her. Give us leave to go back to the village, where we are anxiously +expected.” + +“You’ll be taken there, and faster than you like, my beauty,” rejoined +the sergeant. “And you’ll have to explain what you were after at this +time of night with the ruffians who have just got away. I don’t know +what witchcraft those villains practise, but they certainly do bewitch +the women--for wherever there are bandits about, you are dead certain to +find pretty girls.” + +“You’re very flattering, sergeant!” said Colomba, “but you’ll do well to +be careful what you say. This young lady is related to the prefect, and +you’d better be careful of your language before her.” + +“A relation of the prefect’s,” whispered one of the soldiers to his +chief. “Why, she does wear a hat!” + +“Hats have nothing to do with it,” said the sergeant. “They were both of +them with the Padre--the greatest woman-wheedler in the whole country, +so it’s my business to march them off. And, indeed, there’s nothing +more for us to do here. But for that d----d Corporal Taupin--the drunken +Frenchman showed himself before I’d surrounded the _maquis_--we should +have had them all like fish in a net.” + +“Are there only seven of you here?” inquired Colomba. “It strikes me, +gentlemen, that if the three Poli brothers--Gambini, Sarocchi, and +Teodoro--should happen to be at the Cross of Santa Christina, with +Brandolaccio and the Padre, they might give you a good deal of corn to +grind. If you mean to have a talk with the Commandante della Campagna, +I’d just as soon not be there. In the dark, bullets don’t show any +respect for persons.” + +The idea of coming face to face with the dreaded bandits mentioned by +Colomba made an evident impression on the soldiers. The sergeant, still +cursing Corporal Taupin--“that dog of a Frenchman”--gave the order +to retire, and his little party moved toward Pietranera, carrying the +_pilone_ and the cooking-pot; as for the pitcher, its fate was settled +with a kick. + +One of the men would have laid hold of Miss Lydia’s arm, but Colomba +instantly pushed him away. + +“Let none of you dare to lay a finger on her!” she said. “Do you fancy +we want to run away? Come, Lydia, my dear, lean on me, and don’t cry +like a baby. We’ve had an adventure, but it will end all right. In half +an hour we shall be at our supper, and for my part I’m dying to get to +it.” + +“What will they think of me!” Miss Nevil whispered. + +“They’ll think you lost your way in the _maquis_, that’s all.” + +“What will the prefect say? Above all, what will my father say?” + +“The prefect? You can tell him to mind his own business! Your father? +I should have thought, from the way you and Orso were talking, that you +had something to say to your father.” + +Miss Nevil squeezed her arm, and answered nothing. + +“Doesn’t my brother deserve to be loved?” whispered Colomba in her ear. +“Don’t you love him a little?” + +“Oh, Colomba!” answered Miss Nevil, smiling in spite of her blushes, +“you’ve betrayed me! And I trusted you so!” + +Colomba slipped her arm round her, and kissed her forehead. + +“Little sister,” she whispered very low, “will you forgive me?” + +“Why, I suppose I must, my masterful sister,” answered Lydia, as she +kissed her back. + +The prefect and the public prosecutor were staying with the +deputy-mayor, and the colonel, who was very uneasy about his daughter, +was paying them his twentieth call, to ask if they had heard of her, +when a rifleman, whom the sergeant had sent on in advance, arrived with +the full story of the great fight with the brigands--a fight in which +nobody had been either killed or wounded, but which had resulted in +the capture of a cooking-pot, a _pilone_, and two girls, whom the man +described as the mistresses, or the spies, of the two bandits. + +Thus heralded, the two prisoners appeared, surrounded by their armed +escort. + +My readers will imagine Colomba’s radiant face, her companion’s +confusion, the prefect’s surprise, the colonel’s astonishment and joy. +The public prosecutor permitted himself the mischievous entertainment +of obliging poor Lydia to undergo a kind of cross-examination, which did +not conclude until he had quite put her out of countenance. + +“It seems to me,” said the prefect, “that we may release everybody. +These young ladies went out for a walk--nothing is more natural in fine +weather. They happened to meet a charming young man, who has been lately +wounded--nothing could be more natural, again.” Then, taking Colomba +aside-- + +“Signorina,” he said, “you can send word to your brother that +this business promises to turn out better than I had expected. The +post-mortem examination and the colonel’s deposition both prove that he +only defended himself, and that he was alone when the fight took place. +Everything will be settled--only he must leave the _maquis_ and give +himself up to the authorities.” + +It was almost eleven o’clock when the colonel, his daughter, and Colomba +sat down at last to their supper, which had grown cold. Colomba ate +heartily, and made great fun of the prefect, the public prosecutor, +and the soldiers. The colonel ate too, but never said a word, and gazed +steadily at his daughter, who would not lift her eyes from her plate. At +last, gently but seriously, he said in English: + +“Lydia, I suppose you are engaged to della Rebbia?” + +“Yes, father, to-day,” she answered, steadily, though she blushed. Then +she raised her eyes, and reading no sign of anger in her father’s face, +she threw herself into his arms and kissed him, as all well-brought-up +young ladies do on such occasions. + +“With all my heart!” said the colonel. “He’s a fine fellow. But, by +G--d, we won’t live in this d---d country of his, or I’ll refuse my +consent.” + +“I don’t know English,” said Colomba, who was watching them with an air +of the greatest curiosity, “but I’ll wager I’ve guessed what you are +saying!” + +“We are saying,” quoth the colonel, “that we are going to take you for a +trip to Ireland.” + +“Yes, with pleasure; and I’ll be the Surella Colomba. Is it settled, +colonel? Shall we shake hands on it?” + +“In such a case,” remarked the colonel, “people exchanges kisses!” + + + +CHAPTER XX + +One afternoon, a few months after the double shot which, as the +newspapers said, “plunged the village of Pietranera into a state of +consternation,” a young man with his left arm in a sling, rode out of +Bastia, toward the village of Cardo, celebrated for its spring, which +in summer supplies the more fastidious inhabitants of the town with +delicious water. He was accompanied by a young lady, tall and remarkably +handsome, mounted on a small black horse, the strength and shape of +which would have attracted the admiration of a connoisseur, although, by +some strange accident, one of its ears had been lacerated. On reaching +the village, the girl sprang nimbly to the ground, and, having helped +her comrade to dismount, she unfastened the somewhat heavy wallets +strapped to his saddle-bow. The horses were left in charge of a peasant. +The girl, laden with the wallets, which she had concealed under her +_mezzaro_, and the young man, carrying a double-barrelled gun, took +their way toward the mountain, along a very steep path that did not +appear to lead to any dwelling. When they had climbed to one of the +lower ridges of the Monte Querico, they halted, and sat down on the +grass. They were evidently expecting somebody, for they kept perpetually +looking toward the mountain, and the young lady often consulted a +pretty gold watch--as much, it may be, for the pleasure of admiring what +appeared a somewhat newly acquired trinket, as in order to know whether +the hour appointed for some meeting or other had come. They had not long +to wait. A dog ran out of the _maquis_, and when the girl called out +“Brusco!” it approached at once, and fawned upon them. Presently two +bearded men appeared, with guns under their arms, cartridge-belts round +their waists, and pistols hanging at their sides. Their torn and patched +garments contrasted oddly with their weapons, which were brilliantly +polished, and came from a famous Continental factory. In spite of the +apparent inequality of their positions, the four actors in this scene +greeted one another in terms of old and familiar friendship. + +“Well, Ors’ Anton’,” said the elder bandit to the young man, “so your +business is settled--the indictment against you has fallen through? I +congratulate you. I’m sorry the lawyer has left the island. I’d like to +see his rage. And how’s your arm?” + +“They tell me I shall get rid of my sling in a fortnight,” said the +young man. “Brando, my good friend, I’m going to Italy to-morrow--I +wanted to say good-bye to you and to the cure. That’s why I asked you to +come here.” + +“You’re in a fine hurry,” said Brandolaccio. “Only acquitted yesterday, +and you’re off to-morrow.” + +“Business must be attended to,” said the young lady merrily. “Gentlemen, +I’ve brought some supper. Fall to, if you please, and don’t you forget +my friend Brusco.” + +“You spoil Brusco, Mademoiselle Colomba. But he’s a grateful dog. You +shall see. Here, Brusco,” and he held out his gun horizontally, “jump +for the Barricini!” + +The dog stood motionless, licking his chops, and staring at his master. + +“Jump for the della Rebbia!” And he leaped two feet higher than he need +have done. + +“Look here, my friends,” said Orso, “you’re plying a bad trade; and even +if you don’t end your career on that square below us,[*] the best you +can look for is to die in the _maquis_ by some gendarme’s bullet.” + +[*] The square at Bastia on which executions take place. + +“Well, well,” said Castriconi, “that’s no more than death, anyhow; and +it’s better than being killed in your bed by a fever, with your +heirs snivelling more or less honestly all round you. To men who are +accustomed to the open air like us, there’s nothing so good as to die +‘in your shoes,’ as the village folk say.” + +“I should like to see you get out of this country,” said Orso, “and lead +a quieter life. For instance, why shouldn’t you settle in Sardinia, as +several of your comrades have done? I could make the matter easy for +you.” + +“In Sardinia!” cried Brandolaccio. “_Istos Sardos!_ Devil take them and +their lingo! We couldn’t live in such bad company.” + +“Sardinia’s a country without resources,” added the theologian. “For +my part, I despise the Sardinians. They keep mounted men to hunt their +bandits. That’s a stigma on both the bandits and the country.[*] Out +upon Sardinia, say I! The thing that astounds me, Signor della Rebbia, +is that you, who are a man of taste and understanding, should not have +taken to our life in the _maquis_, after having once tried it, as you +did.” + + [*] I owe this criticism of Sardinia to an ex-bandit of my + acquaintance, and he alone must bear the responsibility of + it. He means that bandits who let themselves be caught by + horse soldiers are idiots, and that soldiers who try to + catch bandits on horseback have very little chance of + getting at them. + +“Well,” said Orso, with a smile, “when I was lucky enough to be your +guest, I wasn’t in very good case for enjoying the charms of your +position, and my ribs still ache when I think of the ride I took one +lovely night, thrown like a bundle across an unsaddled horse that my +good friend Brandolaccio guided.” + +“And the delight of escaping from your pursuers,” rejoined Castriconi; +“is that nothing to you? How can you fail to realize the charm of +absolute freedom in such a beautiful climate as ours? With this to +insure respect,” and he held up his gun, “we are kings of everything +within its range. We can give orders, we can redress wrongs. That’s a +highly moral entertainment, monsieur, and a very pleasant one, which we +don’t deny ourselves. What can be more beautiful than a knight-errant’s +life, when he has good weapons, and more common sense than Don Quixote +had? Listen! The other day I was told that little Lilla Luigi’s +uncle--old miser that he is--wouldn’t give her a dowry. So I wrote to +him. I didn’t use threats--that’s not my way. Well, well, in one moment +the man was convinced. He married his niece, and I made two people +happy. Believe me, Orso, there’s no life like the bandit’s life! Pshaw! +You’d have joined us, perhaps, if it hadn’t been for a certain young +Englishwoman whom I have scarcely seen myself, but about whose beauty +every one in Bastia is talking.” + +“My future sister-in-law doesn’t like the _maquis_,” laughed Colomba. +“She got too great a fright in one of them.” + +“Well,” said Orso, “you are resolved to stay here? So be it! But tell me +whether there is anything I can do for you?” + +“Nothing,” said Brandolaccio. “You’ve heaped kindnesses upon us. Here’s +little Chilina with her dowry ready, so that there’ll be no necessity +for my friend the cure to write one of his persuasive letters to insure +her marrying well. We know the man on your farm will give us bread and +powder whenever we need them. So fare you well! I hope we shall see you +back in Corsica one of these days.” + +“In case of pressing need,” said Orso, “a few gold coins are very +useful. Now we are such old friends, you won’t refuse this little +_cartouche_.[*] It will help you to provide cartridges of another kind.” + + [*] _Cartouche_ means a collection of gold pieces as well as + a cartridge. + +“No money between you and me, sir,” said Brandolaccio resolutely. + +“In the world money is everything,” remarked Castriconi, “but in the +_maquis_, all a man need care for is a brave heart, and a gun that +carries true.” + +“I don’t want to leave you without giving you something to remember me +by,” persisted Orso. “Come, Brandolaccio, what can I leave with you?” + +The bandit scratched his head and cast a sidelong glance at Orso’s gun. + +“By my faith, if I dared--but no! you’re too fond of it.” + +“What would you like?” + +“Nothing! ‘Tisn’t anything at all. It’s knowing how to use it as well. I +keep thinking of that devil of a double-shot of yours--and with only one +hand, too! Oh! that never could happen twice over!” + +“Is it the gun you fancy? I bought it for you. But see you don’t use it +more than you are obliged.” + +“Oh, I won’t promise to make as good use of it as you. But make your +mind easy. When any other man has it, you may be certain it’s all over +with Brando Savelli.” + +“And you, Castriconi--what am I to give you?” + +“Since you really insist on giving me some tangible keepsake, I’ll +simply ask you to send me the smallest Horace you can get. It will amuse +me, and prevent me from forgetting all my Latin. There’s a little woman +who sells cigars on the jetty at Bastia. If you give it to her, she’ll +see I get it.” + +“You shall have an Elzevir, my erudite friend. There just happens to +be one among some books I was going to take away with me. Well, good +friends, we must part! Give me your hands. If you should ever think of +Sardinia write to me. Signor N., the notary, will give you my address on +the mainland.” + +“To-morrow, lieutenant,” said Brando, “when you get out in the harbour, +look up to this spot on the mountain-side. We shall be here, and we’ll +wave our handkerchiefs to you.” + +And so they parted. Orso and his sister took their way back to Cardo, +and the bandits departed up the mountain. + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +One lovely April morning, Sir Thomas Nevil, his daughter, a newly made +bride--Orso, and Colomba, drove out of Pisa to see a lately discovered +Etruscan vault to which all strangers who came to that part of the +country paid a visit. + +Orso and his wife went down into the ancient building, pulled out their +pencils, and began to sketch the mural paintings. But the colonel and +Colomba, who neither of them cared much for archaeology, left them to +themselves, and walked about in the neighbourhood. + +“My dear Colomba,” said the colonel, “we shall never get back to Pisa in +time for lunch. Aren’t you hungry? There are Orso and his wife buried +in their antiquities; when once they begin sketching together, it lasts +forever!” + +“Yes,” remarked Colomba. “And yet they never bring the smallest sketch +home with them.” + +“I think,” proceeded the colonel, “our best plan would be to make our +way to that little farm-house yonder. We should find bread there, and +perhaps some _aleatico_. Who knows, we might even find strawberries and +cream! And then we should be able to wait patiently for our artists.” + +“You are quite right, colonel. You and I are the reasonable members of +this family. We should be very foolish if we let ourselves by martyrized +by that pair of lovers, who live on poetry! Give me your arm! Don’t you +think I’m improving? I lean on people’s arms, wear fashionable hats and +gowns and trinkets--I’m learning I don’t know how many fine things--I’m +not at all a young savage any more. Just observe the grace with which I +wear this shawl. That fair-haired spark--that officer belonging to +your regiment who came to the wedding--oh, dear! I can’t recollect +his name!--a tall, curly-headed man, whom I could knock over with one +hand----” + +“Chatsworth?” suggested the colonel. + +“That’s it!--but I never shall be able to say it!--Well, you know he’s +over head and ears in love with me!” + +“O Colomba, you’re growing a terrible flirt! We shall have another +wedding before long.” + +“I! Marry! And then who will there be to bring up my nephew--when Orso +provides me with a nephew? And who’ll teach him to talk Corsican? Yes, +he shall talk Corsican, and I’ll make him a peaked cap, just to vex +you.” + +“Well, well, wait till you have your nephew, and then you shall teach +him to use a dagger, if you choose.” + +“Farewell to daggers!” said Colomba merrily. “I have a fan now, to rap +your fingers with when you speak ill of my country.” + +Chatting thus, they reached the farm-house, where they found wine, +strawberries, and cream. Colomba helped the farmer’s wife to gather the +strawberries, while the colonel drank his _aleatico_. At the turning of +a path she caught sight of an old man, sitting in the sun, on a straw +chair. He seemed ill, his cheeks were fallen in, his eyes were hollow, +he was frightfully thin; as he sat there, motionless, pallid, staring +fixedly in front of him, he looked more like a corpse than like a living +creature. Colomba watched him for some minutes, and with a curiosity so +great that it attracted the woman’s attention. + +“That poor old fellow is a countryman of yours,” she said. “For I know +you are from Corsica by the way you talk, signorina! He has had great +trouble in his own country. His children met with some terrible death. +They say--you’ll excuse me, signorina--that when they quarrel, your +compatriots don’t show each other very much mercy. Then the poor +old gentleman, being left all alone, came over to Pisa, to a distant +relation of his, who owns this farm. Between his misfortunes and his +sorrow, the good man is a little cracked. . . . The lady found him +troublesome--for she sees a great deal of company. So she sent him out +here. He’s very gentle--no worry at all. He doesn’t speak three words +the whole day long. In fact, his brain’s quite gone. The doctor comes to +see him every week. He says he won’t live long.” + +“There’s no hope for him, then!” said Colomba. “In such a case, death +will be a mercy.” + +“You might say a word to him in Corsican, signorina. Perhaps it would +cheer him up to hear the speech of his own country.” + +“I’ll see!” said Colomba, and her smile was mysterious. + +She drew nearer to the old man, till her shadow fell across his chair. +Then the poor idiot lifted his head and stared at Colomba, while she +looked at him, smiling still. After a moment, the old man passed his +hand across his forehead, and closed his eyes, as though he would have +shut out the sight of Colomba. He opened them again, desperately wide +this time. His lips began to work, he tried to stretch out his hands, +but, fascinated by Colomba’s glance, he sat, nailed, as it were, to his +chair, unable to move or utter a word. At last great tears dropped from +his eyes, and a few sobs escaped from his heaving chest. + +“‘Tis the first time I’ve seen him like this,” said the good woman. +“This signorina belongs to your own country; she has come to see you,” + said she to the old man. + +“Mercy!” he cried in a hoarse voice. “Mercy! Are you not content? The +leaf I burned. How did you read it? But why did you take them both? +Orlanduccio! You can’t have read anything against him! You should have +left me one, only one! Orlanduccio--you didn’t read _his_ name!” + +“I had to have them both!” answered Colomba, speaking low and in the +Corsican dialect. “The branches are topped off! If the stem had not been +rotten, I would have torn it up! Come! make no moan. You will not suffer +long! _I_ suffered for two years!” + +The old man cried out, and then his head dropped on his breast. Colomba +turned her back on him, and went slowly into the house, humming some +meaningless lines out of a _ballata_: + + “I must have the hand + that fired, the eye that aimed, the heart + that planned.” + +While the farmer’s wife ran to attend on the old man, Colomba, with +blazing eyes and brilliant cheeks, sat down to luncheon opposite the +colonel. + +“What’s the matter with you?” he said. “You look just as you did that +day at Pietranera, when they fired at us while we were at dinner.” + +“Old Corsican memories had come back to me. But all that’s done with. +I shall be godmother, sha’n’t I? Oh! what fine names I’ll give him! +Ghilfuccio--Tomaso--Orso--Leone!” + +The farmer’s wife came back into the room. + +“Well?” inquired Colomba, with the most perfect composure. “Is he dead, +or had he only fainted?” + +“It was nothing, signorina. But it’s curious what an effect the sight of +you had on him.” + +“And the doctor says he won’t last long?” + +“Not two months, very likely.” + +“He’ll be no great loss!” remarked Colomba. + +“What the devil are you talking about?” inquired the colonel. + +“About an idiot from my own country, who is boarded out here. I’ll send +from time to time to find out how he is. Why, Colonel Nevil, aren’t you +going to leave any strawberries for Lydia and my brother?” + +When Colomba left the farm-house and got into the carriage, the farmer’s +wife looked after her for a while. Then, turning to her daughter: + +“Dost see that pretty young lady yonder?” she said. “Well, I’m certain +she has the evil eye!” + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Columba, by Prosper Merimee + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK COLUMBA *** + +***** This file should be named 2708-0.txt or 2708-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/7/0/2708/ + +Produced by Dagny; Emma Dudding; John Bickers; David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/2708-0.zip b/2708-0.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..5db26ef --- /dev/null +++ b/2708-0.zip diff --git a/2708-8.txt b/2708-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6ccf382 --- /dev/null +++ b/2708-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5925 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Columba, by Prosper Merimee + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Columba + +Author: Prosper Merimee + +Release Date: March 28, 2006 [EBook #2708] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK COLUMBA *** + + + + +Produced by Dagny; Emma Dudding; John Bickers + + + + + +COLOMBA + +By Prosper Merimee + + + + +Translated By The Lady Mary Loyd + + + + +CHAPTER I + + + "Pe far la to vendetta, + Sta sigur', vasta anche ella." + + --Vocero du Niolo. + + +Early in the month of October, 181-, Colonel Sir Thomas Nevil, a +distinguished Irish officer of the English army, alighted with his +daughter at the Hotel Beauveau, Marseilles, on their return from a +tour in Italy. The perpetual and universal admiration of enthusiastic +travellers has produced a sort of reaction, and many tourists, in their +desire to appear singular, now take the _nil admirari_ of Horace for +their motto. To this dissatisfied class the colonel's only daughter, +Miss Lydia, belonged. "The Transfiguration" has seemed to her mediocre, +and Vesuvius in eruption an effect not greatly superior to that produced +by the Birmingham factory chimneys. Her great objection to Italy, on +the whole, was its lack of local colour and character. My readers must +discover the sense of these expressions as best they may. A few years +ago I understood them very well myself, but at the present time I can +make nothing of them. At first, Miss Lydia had flattered herself she had +found things on the other side of the Alps which nobody had ever before +seen, about which she could converse _avec les honnetes gens_, as M. +Jourdain calls them. But soon, anticipated in every direction by her +countrymen, she despaired of making any fresh discoveries, and went over +to the party of the opposition. It is really very tiresome not to be +able to talk abut the wonders of Italy without hearing somebody say "Of +course you know the Raphael in the Palazzo---- at ----? It is the finest +thing in Italy!" and just the thing _you_ happen to have overlooked! +As it would take too long to see everything, the simplest course is to +resort to deliberate and universal censure. + +At the Hotel Beauveau Miss Lydia met with a bitter disappointment. She +had brought back a pretty sketch of the Pelasgic or Cyclopean Gate +at Segni, which, as she believed, all other artists had completely +overlooked. Now, at Marseilles, she met Lady Frances Fenwick, who showed +her her album, in which appeared, between a sonnet and a dried flower, +the very gate in question, brilliantly touched in with sienna. Miss +Lydia gave her drawing to her maid--and lost all admiration for Pelasgic +structures. + +This unhappy frame of mind was shared by Colonel Nevil, who, since the +death of his wife, looked at everything through his daughter's eyes. In +his estimation, Italy had committed the unpardonable sin of boring his +child, and was, in consequence, the most wearisome country on the face +of the earth. He had no fault to find, indeed, with the pictures and +statues, but he was in a position to assert that Italian sport was +utterly wretched, and that he had been obliged to tramp ten leagues +over the Roman Campagna, under a burning sun, to kill a few worthless +red-legged partridges. + +The morning after his arrival at Marseilles he invited Captain +Ellis--his former adjutant, who had just been spending six weeks in +Corsica--to dine with him. The captain told Miss Lydia a story about +bandits, which had the advantage of bearing no resemblance to the robber +tales with which she had been so frequently regaled, on the road between +Naples and Rome, and he told it well. At dessert, the two men, left +alone over their claret, talked of hunting--and the colonel learned that +nowhere is there more excellent sport, or game more varied and abundant, +than in Corsica. "There are plenty of wild boars," said Captain Ellis. +"And you have to learn to distinguish them from the domestic pigs, which +are astonishingly like them. For if you kill a pig, you find yourself in +difficulties with the swine-herds. They rush out of the thickets (which +they call _maquis_) armed to the teeth, make you pay for their beasts, +and laugh at you besides. Then there is the mouflon, a strange animal, +which you will not find anywhere else--splendid game, but hard to +get--and stags, deer, pheasants, and partridges--it would be impossible +to enumerate all the kinds with which Corsica swarms. If you want +shooting, colonel, go to Corsica! There, as one of my entertainers +said to me, you can get a shot at every imaginable kind of game, from a +thrush to a man!" + +At tea, the captain once more delighted Lydia with the tale of a +_vendetta transversale_ (A vendetta in which vengeance falls on a more +or less distant relation of the author of the original offence.), +even more strange than his first story, and he thoroughly stirred +her enthusiasm by his descriptions of the strange wild beauty of the +country, the peculiarities of its inhabitants, and their primitive +hospitality and customs. Finally, he offered her a pretty little +stiletto, less remarkable for its shape and copper mounting than for its +origin. A famous bandit had given it to Captain Ellis, and had assured +him it had been buried in four human bodies. Miss Lydia thrust it +through her girdle, laid it on the table beside her bed, and unsheathed +it twice over before she fell asleep. Her father meanwhile was dreaming +he had slain a mouflon, and that its owner insisted on his paying for +it, a demand to which he gladly acceded, seeing it was a most curious +creature, like a boar, with stag's horns and a pheasant's tail. + +"Ellis tells me there's splendid shooting in Corsica," said the colonel, +as he sat at breakfast, alone with his daughter. "If it hadn't been for +the distance, I should like to spend a fortnight there." + +"Well," replied Miss Lydia, "why shouldn't we go to Corsica? While you +are hunting I can sketch--I should love to have that grotto Captain +Ellis talked about, where Napoleon used to go and study when he was a +child, in my album." + +It was the first time, probably, that any wish expressed by the +colonel had won his daughter's approbation. Delighted as he was by the +unexpected harmony on their opinions, he was nevertheless wise enough +to put forward various objections, calculated to sharpen Miss Lydia's +welcome whim. In vain did he dwell on the wildness of the country, and +the difficulties of travel there for a lady. Nothing frightened her; she +liked travelling on horseback of all things; she delighted in the idea +of bivouacking in the open; she even threatened to go as far as Asia +Minor--in short, she found an answer to everything. No Englishwoman had +ever been to Corsica; therefore she must go. What a pleasure it would +be, when she got back to St. James's Place, to exhibit her album! "But, +my dear creature, why do you pass over that delightful drawing?" "That's +only a trifle--just a sketch I made of a famous Corsican bandit who was +our guide." "What! you don't mean to say you have been to Corsica?" + +As there were no steamboats between France and Corsica, in those days, +inquiries were made for some ship about to sail for the island Miss +Lydia proposed to discover. That very day the colonel wrote to Paris, +to countermand his order for the suite of apartments in which he was +to have made some stay, and bargained with the skipper of a Corsican +schooner, just about to set sail for Ajaccio, for two poor cabins, but +the best that could be had. Provisions were sent on board, the skipper +swore that one of his sailors was an excellent cook, and had not +his equal for _bouilleabaisse_; he promised mademoiselle should be +comfortable, and have a fair wind and a calm sea. + +The colonel further stipulated, in obedience to his daughter's wishes, +that no other passenger should be taken on board, and that the captain +should skirt the coast of the island, so that Miss Lydia might enjoy the +view of the mountains. + + + +CHAPTER II + +On the day of their departure everything was packed and sent on board +early in the morning. The schooner was to sail with the evening +breeze. Meanwhile, as the colonel and his daughter were walking on the +Canebiere, the skipper addressed them, and craved permission to take on +board one of his relations, his eldest son's godfather's second +cousin, who was going back to Corsica, his native country, on important +business, and could not find any ship to take him over. + +"He's a charming fellow," added Captain Mattei, "a soldier, an officer +in the Infantry of the Guard, and would have been a colonel already if +_the other_ (meaning Napoleon) had still been emperor!" + +"As he is a soldier," began the colonel--he was about to add, "I shall +be very glad he should come with us," when Miss Lydia exclaimed in +English: + +"An infantry officer!" (Her father had been in the cavalry, and she +consequently looked down on every other branch of the service.) "An +uneducated man, very likely, who would be sea-sick, and spoil all the +pleasure of our trip!" + +The captain did not understand a word of English, but he seemed to catch +what Miss Lydia was saying by the pursing up of her pretty mouth, and +immediately entered upon an elaborate panegyric of his relative, which +he wound up by declaring him to be a gentleman, belonging to a family of +_corporals_, and that he would not be in the very least in the colonel's +way, for that he, the skipper, would undertake to stow him in some +corner, where they should not be aware of his presence. + +The colonel and Miss Nevil thought it peculiar that there should be +Corsican families in which the dignity of corporal was handed down from +father to son. But, as they really believed the individual in question +to be some infantry corporal, they concluded he was some poor devil +whom the skipper desired to take out of pure charity. If he had been an +officer, they would have been obliged to speak to him and live with +him; but there was no reason why they should put themselves out for a +corporal--who is a person of no consequence unless his detachment is +also at hand, with bayonets fixed, ready to convey a person to a place +to which he would rather not be taken. + +"Is your kinsman ever sea-sick?" demanded Miss Nevil sharply. + +"Never, mademoiselle, he is as steady as a rock, either on sea or land!" + +"Very good then, you can take him," said she. + +"You can take him!" echoed the colonel, and they passed on their way. + +Toward five o'clock in the evening Captain Mattei came to escort them +on board the schooner. On the jetty, near the captain's gig, they met a +tall young man wearing a blue frock-coat, buttoned up to his chin; his +face was tanned, his eyes were black, brilliant, wide open, his whole +appearance intelligent and frank. His shoulders, well thrown back, and +his little twisted mustache clearly revealed the soldier--for at that +period mustaches were by no means common, and the National Guard had not +carried the habits and appearance of the guard-room into the bosom of +every family. + +When the young man saw the colonel he doffed his cap, and thanked him in +excellent language, and without the slightest shyness, for the service +he was rendering him. + +"Delighted to be of use to you, my good fellow!" said the colonel, with +a friendly nod, and he stepped into the gig. + +"He's not very ceremonious, this Englishman of yours," said the young +man in Italian, and in an undertone, to the captain. + +The skipper laid his forefinger under his left eye, and pulled down the +corners of his mouth. To a man acquainted with the language of signs, +this meant that the Englishman understood Italian, and was an oddity +into the bargain. The young man smiled slightly and touched his +forehead, in answer to Mattei's sign, as though to indicate that every +Englishman had a bee in his bonnet. Then he sat down beside them, and +began to look very attentively, though not impertinently, at his pretty +fellow-traveller. + +"These French soldiers all have a good appearance," remarked the +colonel in English to his daughter, "and so it is easy to turn them into +officers." Then addressing the young man in French, he said, "Tell me, +my good man, what regiment have you served in?" The young man nudged his +second cousin's godson's father gently with his elbow, and suppressing +an ironic smile, replied that he had served in the Infantry of the +Guard, and that he had just quitted the Seventh Regiment of Light +Infantry. + +"Were you at Waterloo? You are very young!" + +"I beg your pardon, colonel, that was my only campaign." + +"It counts as two," said the colonel. + +The young Corsican bit his lips. + +"Papa," said Miss Lydia in English, "do ask him if the Corsicans are +very fond of their Buonaparte." + +Before the colonel could translate her question into French, the young +man answered in fairly good English, though with a marked accent: + +"You know, mademoiselle, that no man is ever a prophet in his own +country. We, who are Napoleon's fellow-countrymen, are perhaps less +attached to him than the French. As for myself, though my family was +formerly at enmity with his, I both love and admire him." + +"You speak English!" exclaimed the colonel. + +"Very ill, as you may perceive!" + +Miss Lydia, though somewhat shocked by the young man's easy tone, could +not help laughing at the idea of a personal enmity between a corporal +and an emperor. She took this as a foretaste of Corsican peculiarities, +and made up her mind to note it down in her journal. + +"Perhaps you were a prisoner in England?" asked the colonel. + +"No, colonel, I learned English in France, when I was very young, from a +prisoner of your nation." + +Then, addressing Miss Nevil: + +"Mattei tells me you have just come back from Italy. No doubt, +mademoiselle, you speak the purest Tuscan--I fear you'll find it +somewhat difficult to understand our dialect." + +"My daughter understands every Italian dialect," said the colonel. "She +has the gift of languages. She doesn't get it from me." + +"Would mademoiselle understand, for instance, these lines from one of +our Corsican songs in which a shepherd says to his shepherdess: + + "S'entrassi 'ndru paradisu santu, santu, + E nun truvassi a tia, mi n'escriria." + + ("If I entered the holy land of paradise + and found thee not, I would depart!") + + --_Serenata di Zicavo_. + +Miss Lydia did understand. She thought the quotation bold, and the look +which accompanied it still bolder, and replied, with a blush, "Capisco." + +"And are you going back to your own country on furlough?" inquired the +colonel. + +"No, colonel, they have put me on half-pay, because I was at Waterloo, +probably, and because I am Napoleon's fellow-countryman. I am going +home, as the song says, low in hope and low in purse," and he looked up +to the sky and sighed. + +The colonel slipped his hand into his pocket, and tried to think of some +civil phrase with which he might slip the gold coin he was fingering +into the palm of his unfortunate enemy. + +"And I too," he said good-humouredly, "have been put on half-pay, +but your half-pay can hardly give you enough to buy tobacco! Here, +corporal!" and he tried to force the gold coin into the young man's +closed hand, which rested on the gunwale of the gig. + +The young Corsican reddened, drew himself up, bit his lips, and seemed, +for a moment, on the brink of some angry reply. Then suddenly his +expression changed and he burst out laughing. The colonel, grasping his +gold piece still in his hand, sat staring at him. + +"Colonel," said the young man, when he had recovered his gravity, "allow +me to offer you two pieces of advice--the first is never to offer money +to a Corsican, for some of my fellow-countrymen would be rude enough to +throw it back in your face; the second is not to give people titles +they do not claim. You call me 'corporal,' and I am a lieutenant--the +difference is not very great, no doubt, still----" + +"Lieutenant! Lieutenant!" exclaimed Sir Thomas. "But the skipper told me +you were a corporal, and that your father and all your family had been +corporals before you!" + +At these words the young man threw himself back and laughed louder than +ever, so merrily that the skipper and his two sailors joined the chorus. + +"Forgive me, colonel!" he cried at last. "The mistake is so comical, and +I have only just realized it. It is quite true that my family glories in +the fact that it can reckon many corporals among its ancestors--but our +Corsican corporals never wore stripes upon their sleeves! Toward the +year of grace 1100 certain villages revolted against the tyranny of the +great mountain nobles, and chose leaders of their own, whom they called +_corporals_. In our island we think a great deal of being descended from +these tribunes." + +"I beg your pardon, sir," exclaimed the colonel, "I beg your pardon a +thousand times! As you understand the cause of my mistake, I hope you +will do me the kindness of forgiving it!" and he held out his hand. + +"It is the just punishment of my petty pride," said the young man, still +laughing, and cordially shaking the Englishman's hand. "I am not at all +offended. As my friend Mattei has introduced me so unsuccessfully, allow +me to introduce myself. My name is Orso della Rebbia; I am a lieutenant +on half-pay; and if, as the sight of those two fine dogs of yours leads +me to believe, you are coming to Corsica to hunt, I shall be very proud +to do you the honours of our mountains and our _maquis_--if, indeed, I +have not forgotten them altogether!" he added, with a sigh. + +At this moment the gig came alongside the schooner, the lieutenant +offered his hand to Miss Lydia, and then helped the colonel to swing +himself up on deck. Once there, Sir Thomas, who was still very much +ashamed of his blunder, and at a loss to know what he had better do to +make the man whose ancestry dated from the year 1100 forget it, invited +him to supper, without waiting for his daughter's consent, and with many +fresh apologies and handshakes. Miss Lydia frowned a little, but, after +all, she was not sorry to know what a corporal really was. She rather +liked there guest, and was even beginning to fancy there was something +aristocratic about him--only she thought him too frank and merry for a +hero of romance. + +"Lieutenant della Rebbia," said the colonel, bowing to him, English +fashion, over a glass of Madeira, "I met a great many of your countrymen +in Spain--they were splendid sharp-shooters." + +"Yes, and a great many of them have stayed in Spain," replied the young +lieutenant gravely. + +"I shall never forget the behaviour of a Corsican battalion at the +Battle of Vittoria," said the colonel; "I have good reason to remember +it, indeed," he added, rubbing his chest. "All day long they had been +skirmishing in the gardens, behind the hedges, and had killed I don't +know how many of our horses and men. When the retreat was sounded, they +rallied and made off at a great pace. We had hoped to take our revenge +on them in the open plain, but the scoundrels--I beg your pardon, +lieutenant; the brave fellows, I should have said--had formed a square, +and there was no breaking it. In the middle of the square--I fancy I can +see him still--rode an officer on a little black horse. He kept close +beside the standard, smoking his cigar as coolly as if he had been in a +caf. Every now and then their bugles played a flourish, as if to defy +us. I sent my two leading squadrons at them. Whew! Instead of breaking +the front of the square, my dragoons passed along the sides, wheeled, +and came back in great disorder, and with several riderless horses--and +all the time those cursed bugles went on playing. When the smoke which +had hung over the battalion cleared away, I saw the officer still +puffing at his cigar beside his eagle. I was furious, and led a final +charge myself. Their muskets, foul with continual firing, would not go +off, but the men had drawn up, six deep, with their bayonets pointed +at the noses of our horses; you might have taken them for a wall. I was +shouting, urging on my dragoons, and spurring my horse forward, when the +officer I have mentioned, at length throwing away his cigar, pointed me +out to one of his men, and I heard him say something like _'Al capello +bianco!'_--I wore a white plume. Then I did not hear any more, for a +bullet passed through my chest. That was a splendid battalion, M. della +Rebbia, that first battalion of the Eighteenth--all of them Corsicans, +as I was afterward told!" + +"Yes," said Orso, whose eyes had shone as he listened to the story. +"They covered the retreat, and brought back their eagle. Two thirds of +those brave fellows are sleeping now on the plains of Vittoria!" + +"And, perhaps, you can tell me the name of the officer in command?" + +"It was my father--he was then a major in the Eighteenth, and was +promoted colonel for his conduct on that terrible day." + +"Your father! Upon my word, he was a brave man! I should be glad to see +him again, and I am certain I should recognise him. Is he still alive?" + +"No, colonel," said the young man, turning slightly pale. + +"Was he at Waterloo?" + +"Yes, colonel; but he had not the happiness of dying on the field of +battle. He died in Corsica two years ago. How beautiful the sea is! It +is ten years since I have seen the Mediterranean! Don't you think the +Mediterranean much more beautiful than the ocean, mademoiselle?" + +"I think it too blue, and its waves lack grandeur." + +"You like wild beauty then, mademoiselle! In that case, I am sure you +will be delighted with Corsica." + +"My daughter," said the colonel, "delights in everything that is out of +the common, and for that reason she did not care much for Italy." + +"The only place in Italy that I know," said Orso, "is Pisa, where I was +at school for some time. But I can not think, without admiration, of +the Campo-Santo, the Duomo, and the Leaning Tower--especially of the +Campo-Santo. Do you remember Orcagna's 'Death'? I think I could draw +every line of it--it is so graven on my memory." + +Miss Lydia was afraid the lieutenant was going to deliver an +enthusiastic tirade. + +"It is very pretty," she said, with a yawn. "Excuse me, papa, my head +aches a little; I am going down to my cabin." + +She kissed her father on the forehead, inclined her head majestically +to Orso, and disappeared. Then the two men talked about hunting and +war. They discovered that at Waterloo they had been posted opposite +each other, and had no doubt exchanged many a bullet. This knowledge +strengthened their good understanding. Turning about, they criticised +Napoleon, Wellington, and Blucher, and then they hunted buck, boar, and +mountain sheep in company. At last, when night was far advanced, and +the last bottle of claret had been emptied, the colonel wrung the +lieutenant's hand once more and wished him good-night, expressing his +hope that an acquaintance, which had begun in such ridiculous fashion, +might be continued. They parted, and each went to bed. + + + +CHAPTER III + +It was a lovely night. The moonlight was dancing on the waves, the ship +glided smoothly on before a gentle breeze. Miss Lydia was not sleepy, +and nothing but the presence of an unpoetical person had prevented her +from enjoying those emotions which every human being possessing a touch +of poetry must experience at sea by moonlight. When she felt sure the +young lieutenant must be sound asleep, like the prosaic creature he was, +she got up, took her cloak, woke her maid, and went on deck. Nobody +was to be seen except the sailor at the helm, who was singing a sort of +dirge in the Corsican dialect, to some wild and monotonous tune. In the +silence of the night this strange music had its charm. Unluckily Miss +Lydia did not understand perfectly what the sailor was singing. Amid +a good deal that was commonplace, a passionate line would occasionally +excite her liveliest curiosity. But just at the most important moment +some words of _patois_ would occur, the sense of which utterly escaped +her. Yet she did make out that the subject was connected with a murder. +Curses against the assassin, threats of vengeance, praise of the dead +were all mingled confusedly. She remembered some of the lines. I will +endeavour to translate them here. + +. . . "Neither cannon nor bayonets . . . Brought pallor to his +brow. . . As serene on the battlefield . . . as a summer sky. He was the +falcon--the eagle's friend . . . Honey of the sand to his friends . . . +To his enemies, a tempestuous sea. . . . . . . Prouder than the sun +. . . gentler than the moon . . . He for whom the enemies of France +. . . never waited . . . Murderers in his own land . . . struck him from +behind . . . As Vittolo slew Sampiero Corso . . . Never would they have +dared to look him in The face . . . Set up on the wall Before my bed +. . . my well-earned cross of honour . . . red is its ribbon . . . redder +is my shirt! . . . For my son, my son in a far country . . . keep my cross +and my blood-stained shirt! . . . + +". . . He will see two holes in it . . . For each hole a hole in another +shirt! . . . But will that accomplish the vengeance? . . . I must have +the hand that fired, the eye that aimed . . . the heart that +planned!" . . . + +Suddenly the sailor stopped short. + +"Why don't you go on, my good man?" inquired Miss Nevil. + +The sailor, with a jerk of his head, pointed to a figure appearing +through the main hatchway of the schooner: it was Orso, coming up to +enjoy the moonlight. "Pray finish your song," said Miss Lydia. "It +interests me greatly!" + +The sailor leaned toward her, and said, in a very low tone, "I don't +give the _rimbecco_ to anybody!" + +"The what?" + +The sailor, without replying, began to whistle. + +"I have caught you admiring our Mediterranean, Miss Nevil," said Orso, +coming toward her. "You must allow you never see a moon like this +anywhere else!" + +"I was not looking at it, I was altogether occupied in studying +Corsican. That sailor, who has been singing a most tragic dirge, stopped +short at the most interesting point." + +The sailor bent down, as if to see the compass more clearly, and tugged +sharply at Miss Nevil's fur cloak. It was quite evident his lament could +not be sung before Lieutenant Orso. + +"What were you singing, Paolo France?" said Orso. "Was it a _ballata_ +or a _vocero_? Mademoiselle understands you, and would like to hear the +end." + +"I have forgotten it, Ors' Anton'," said the sailor. + +And instantly he began a hymn to the Virgin, at the top of his voice. + +Miss Lydia listened absent-mindedly to the hymn, and did not press the +singer any further--though she was quite resolved, in her own mind, to +find out the meaning of the riddle later. But her maid, who, being a +Florentine, could not understand the Corsican dialect any better than +her mistress, was as eager as Miss Lydia for information, and, turning +to Orso, before the English lady could warn her by a nudge, she said: +"Captain what does _giving the rimbecco_ mean?" + +"The rimbecco!" said Orso. "Why, it's the most deadly insult that can be +offered to a Corsican. It means reproaching him with not having avenged +his wrong. Who mentioned the rimbecco to you?" + +"Yesterday, at Marseilles," replied Miss Lydia hurriedly, "the captain +of the schooner used the word." + +"And whom was he talking about?" inquired Orso eagerly. + +"Oh, he was telling us some odd story about the time--yes, I think it +was about Vannina d'Ornano." + +"I suppose, mademoiselle, that Vannina's death has not inspired you with +any great love for our national hero, the brave Sampiero?" + +"But do you think his conduct was so very heroic?" + +"The excuse for his crime lies in the savage customs of the period. And +then Sampiero was waging deadly war against the Genoese. What confidence +could his fellow-countrymen have felt in him if he had not punished his +wife, who tried to treat with Genoa?" + +"Vannina," said the sailor, "had started off without her husband's +leave. Sampiero did quite right to wring her neck!" + +"But," said Miss Lydia, "it was to save her husband, it was out of love +for him, that she was going to ask his pardon from the Genoese." + +"To ask his pardon was to degrade him!" exclaimed Orso. + +"And then to kill her himself!" said Miss Lydia. "What a monster he must +have been!" + +"You know she begged as a favour that she might die by his hand. What +about Othello, mademoiselle, do you look on him, too, as a monster?" + +"There is a difference; he was jealous. Sampiero was only vain!" + +"And after all is not jealousy a kind of vanity? It is the vanity of +love; will you not excuse it on account of its motive?" + +Miss Lydia looked at him with an air of great dignity, and turning to +the sailor, inquired when the schooner would reach port. + +"The day after to-morrow," said he, "if the wind holds." + +"I wish Ajaccio were in sight already, for I am sick of this ship." +She rose, took her maid's arm, and walked a few paces on the deck. Orso +stood motionless beside the helm, not knowing whether he had better walk +beside her, or end a conversation which seemed displeasing to her. + +"Blood of the Madonna, what a handsome girl!" said the sailor. "If every +flea in my bed were like her, I shouldn't complain of their biting me!" + +Miss Lydia may possibly have overheard this artless praise of her beauty +and been startled by it; for she went below almost immediately. Shortly +after Orso also retired. As soon as he had left the deck the maid +reappeared, and, having cross-questioned the sailor, carried back the +following information to her mistress. The _ballata_ which had been +broken off on Orso's appearance had been composed on the occasion of +the death of his father, Colonel della Rebbia, who had been murdered two +years previously. The sailor had no doubt at all that Orso was coming +back to Corsica _per fare la vendetta_, such was his expression, and he +affirmed that before long there would be _fresh meat_ to be seen in +the village of Pietranera. This national expression, being interpreted, +meant that Signor Orso proposed to murder two or three individuals +suspected of having assassinated his father--individuals who had, +indeed, been prosecuted on that account, but had come out of the trial +as white as snow, for they were hand and glove with the judges, lawyers, +prefect, and gendarmes. + +"There is no justice in Corsica," added the sailor, "and I put much more +faith in a good gun than in a judge of the Royal Court. If a man has +an enemy he must choose one of the three S's." (A national expression +meaning _schioppetto_, _stiletto_, _strada_--that is, _gun_, _dagger_, +or _flight_.) + +These interesting pieces of information wrought a notable change in Miss +Lydia's manner and feeling with regard to Lieutenant della Rebbia. +From that moment he became a person of importance in the romantic +Englishwoman's eyes. + +His careless air, his frank and good humour, which had at first +impressed her so unfavourably, now seemed to her an additional merit, +as being proofs of the deep dissimulation of a strong nature, which will +not allow any inner feeling to appear upon the surface. Orso seemed to +her a sort of Fieschi, who hid mighty designs under an appearance of +frivolity, and, though it is less noble to kill a few rascals than to +free one's country, still a fine deed of vengeance is a fine thing, and +besides, women are rather glad to find their hero is not a politician. +Then Miss Nevil remarked for the first time that the young lieutenant +had large eyes, white teeth, an elegant figure, that he was +well-educated, and possessed the habits of good society. During the +following day she talked to him frequently, and found his conversation +interesting. He was asked many questions about his own country, and +described it well. Corsica, which he had left when young, to go first +to college, and then to the Ecole militaire, had remained in his +imagination surrounded with poetic associations. When he talked of its +mountains, its forests, and the quaint customs of its inhabitants +he grew eager and animated. As may be imagined, the word _vengeance_ +occurred more than once in the stories he told--for it is impossible +to speak of the Corsicans without either attacking or justifying their +proverbial passion. Orso somewhat surprised Miss Nevil by his general +condemnation of the undying hatreds nursed by his fellow-countrymen. +As regarded the peasants, however, he endeavoured to excuse them, and +claimed that the _vendetta_ is the poor man's duel. "So true is this," +he said, "that no assassination takes place till a formal challenge +has been delivered. 'Be on your guard yourself, I am on mine!' are the +sacramental words exchanged, from time immemorial, between two enemies, +before they begin to lie in wait for each other. There are more +assassinations among us," he added, "than anywhere else. But you will +never discover an ignoble cause for any of these crimes. We have many +murderers, it is true, but not a single thief." + +When he spoke about vengeance and murder Miss Lydia looked at him +closely, but she could not detect the slightest trace of emotion on +his features. As she had made up her mind, however, that he possessed +sufficient strength of mind to be able to hide his thoughts from every +eye (her own, of course, excepted), she continued in her firm belief +that Colonel della Rebbia's shade would not have to wait long for the +atonement it claimed. + +The schooner was already within sight of Corsica. The captain pointed +out the principal features of the coast, and, though all of these +were absolutely unknown to Miss Lydia, she found a certain pleasure +in hearing their names; nothing is more tiresome than an anonymous +landscape. From time to time the colonel's telescope revealed to her +the form of some islander clad in brown cloth, armed with a long gun, +bestriding a small horse, and galloping down steep slopes. In each of +these Miss Lydia believed she beheld either a brigand or a son going +forth to avenge his father's death. But Orso always declared it was some +peaceful denizen of a neighbouring village travelling on business, +and that he carried a gun less from necessity than because it was the +fashion, just as no dandy ever takes a walk without an elegant cane. +Though a gun is a less noble and poetic weapon than a stiletto, Miss +Lydia thought it much more stylish for a man than any cane, and she +remembered that all Lord Byron's heroes died by a bullet, and not by the +classic poniard. + +After three days' sailing, the ship reached Les Sanguinaires (The +Bloody Islands), and the magnificent panorama of the Gulf of Ajaccio was +unrolled before our travellers' eyes. It is compared, with justice, to +the Bay of Naples, and just as the schooner was entering the harbour +a burning _maquis_, which covered the Punta di Girato, brought back +memories of Vesuvius and heightened the resemblance. To make it quite +complete, Naples should be seen after one of Attila's armies had +devastated its suburbs--for round Ajaccio everything looks dead and +deserted. Instead of the handsome buildings observable on every +side from Castellamare to Cape Misena, nothing is to be seen in the +neighbourhood of the Gulf of Ajaccio but gloomy _maquis_ with bare +mountains rising behind them. Not a villa, not a dwelling of any +kind--only here and there, on the heights about the town, a few isolated +white structures stand out against a background of green. These are +mortuary chapels or family tombs. Everything in this landscape is +gravely and sadly beautiful. + +The appearance of the town, at that period especially, deepened the +impression caused by the loneliness of its surroundings. There was +no stir in the streets, where only a few listless idlers--always the +same--were to be seen; no women at all, except an odd peasant come in to +sell her produce; no loud talk, laughter, and singing, as in the Italian +towns. Sometimes, under the shade of a tree on the public promenade, a +dozen armed peasants will play at cards or watch each other play; they +never shout or wrangle; if they get hot over the game, pistol shots ring +out, and this always before the utterance of any threat. The Corsican +is grave and silent by nature. In the evening, a few persons come out to +enjoy the cool air, but the promenaders on the Corso are nearly all of +them foreigners; the islanders stay in front of their own doors; each +one seems on the watch, like a falcon over its nest. + + + +CHAPTER IV + +When Miss Lydia had visited the house in which Napoleon was born, and +had procured, by means more or less moral, a fragment of the wall-paper +belonging to it, she, within two days of her landing in Corsica, began +to feel that profound melancholy which must overcome every foreigner in +a country whose unsociable inhabitants appear to condemn him or her to a +condition of utter isolation. She was already regretting her headstrong +caprice; but to go back at once would have been to risk her reputation +as an intrepid traveller, so she made up her mind to be patient, and +kill time as best she could. With this noble resolution, she brought +out her crayons and colours, sketched views of the gulf, and did +the portrait of a sunburnt peasant, who sold melons, like any +market-gardener on the Continent, but who wore a long white beard, and +looked the fiercest rascal that had ever been seen. As all that was not +enough to amuse her, she determined to turn the head of the descendant +of the corporals, and this was no difficult matter, since, far from +being in a hurry to get back to his village, Orso seemed very happy at +Ajaccio, although he knew nobody there. Furthermore, Miss Lydia had a +lofty purpose in her mind; it was nothing less than to civilize this +mountain bear, and induce him to relinquish the sinister design which +had recalled him to his island. Since she had taken the trouble to study +the young man, she had told herself it would be a pity to let him +rush upon his ruin, and that it would be a glorious thing to convert a +Corsican. + +Our travellers spent the day in the following manner: Every morning the +colonel and Orso went out shooting. Miss Lydia sketched or wrote letters +to her friends, chiefly for the sake of dating them from Ajaccio. +Toward six o'clock the gentlemen came in, laden with game. Then followed +dinner. Miss Lydia sang, the colonel went to sleep, and the young people +sat talking till very late. + +Some formality or other, connected with his passports, had made it +necessary for Colonel Nevil to call on the prefect. This gentleman, +who, like most of his colleagues, found his life very dull, had been +delighted to hear of the arrival of an Englishman who was rich, a man of +the world, and the father of a pretty daughter. He had, therefore, given +him the most friendly reception, and overwhelmed him with offers of +service; further, within a very few days, he came to return his visit. +The colonel, who had just dined, was comfortably stretched out upon his +sofa, and very nearly asleep. His daughter was singing at a broken-down +piano; Orso was turning over the leaves of her music, and gazing at the +fair singer's shoulders and golden hair. The prefect was announced, the +piano stopped, the colonel got up, rubbed his eyes, and introduced the +prefect to his daughter. + +"I do not introduce M. della Rebbia to you," said he, "for no doubt you +know him already." + +"Is this gentleman Colonel della Rebbia's son?" said the prefect, +looking a trifle embarrassed. + +"Yes, monsieur," replied Orso. + +"I had the honour of knowing your father." + +The ordinary commonplaces of conversation were soon exhausted. The +colonel, in spite of himself, yawned pretty frequently. Orso, as a +liberal, did not care to converse with a satellite of the Government. +The burden of the conversation fell on Miss Lydia. The prefect, on his +side, did not let it drop, and it was clear that he found the greatest +pleasure in talking of Paris, and of the great world, to a woman who +was acquainted with all the foremost people in European society. As he +talked, he now and then glanced at Orso, with an expression of singular +curiosity. + +"Was it on the Continent that you made M. della Rebbia's acquaintance?" +he inquired. + +Somewhat embarrassed, Miss Lydia replied that she had made his +acquaintance on the ship which had carried them to Corsica. + +"He is a very gentlemanly young fellow," said the prefect, in an +undertone; "and has he told you," he added, dropping his voice still +lower, "why he has returned to Corsica?" + +Miss Lydia put on her most majestic air and answered: + +"I have not asked him," she said. "You may do so." + +The prefect kept silence, but, an instant later, hearing Orso speak a +few words of English to the colonel, he said: + +"You seem to have travelled a great deal, monsieur. You must have +forgotten Corsica and Corsican habits." + +"It is quite true that I was very young when I went away." + +"You still belong to the army?" + +"I am on half-pay, monsieur." + +"You have been too long in the French army not to have become a thorough +Frenchman, I have no doubt?" + +The last words of the sentence were spoken with marked emphasis. + +The Corsicans are not particularly flattered at being reminded that they +belong to the "Great Nations." They claim to be a people apart, and so +well do they justify their claim that it may very well be granted them. + +Somewhat nettled, Orso replied: "Do you think, M. le Prefet, that +a Corsican must necessarily serve in the French army to become an +honourable man?" + +"No, indeed," said the prefect, "that is not my idea at all; I am only +speaking of certain _customs_ belonging to this country, some of which +are not such as a Government official would like to see." + +He emphasized the word _customs_, and put on as grave an expression +as his features could assume. Soon after he got up and took his leave, +bearing with him Miss Lydia's promise that she would go and call on his +wife at the prefecture. + +When he had departed: "I had to come to Corsica," said Miss Lydia, "to +find out what a prefect is like. This one strikes me as rather amiable." + +"For my part," said Orso, "I can't say as much. He strikes me as a very +queer individual, with his airs of emphasis and mystery." + +The colonel was extremely drowsy. Miss Lydia cast a glance in his +direction, and, lowering her voice: + +"And I," she said, "do not think him so mysterious as you pretend; for I +believe I understood him!" + +"Then you are clear-sighted indeed, Miss Nevil. If you have seen any wit +in what he has just said you must certainly have put it there yourself." + +"It is the Marquis de Mascarille, I think, who says that, M. +della Rebbia. But would you like me to give you a proof of my +clear-sightedness? I am something of a witch, and I can read the +thoughts of people I have seen only twice." + +"Good heavens! you alarm me. If you really can read my thoughts I don't +know whether I should be glad or sorry." + +"M. della Rebbia," went on Miss Lydia, with a blush, "we have only known +each other for a few days. But at sea, and in savage countries (you will +excuse me, I hope)--in savage countries friendships grow more quickly +than they do in society . . . so you must not be astonished if I speak +to you, as a friend, upon private matters, with which, perhaps, a +stranger ought not to interfere." + +"Ah, do not say that word, Miss Nevil. I like the other far better." + +"Well, then, monsieur, I must tell you that without having tried to find +out your secrets, I have learned some of them, and they grieve me. I +have heard, monsieur, of the misfortune which has overtaken your family. +A great deal has been said to me about the vindictive nature of your +fellow-countrymen, and the fashion in which they take their vengeance. +Was it not to that the prefect was alluding?" + +"Miss Lydia! Can you believe it!" and Orso turned deadly pale. + +"No, M. della Rebbia," she said, interrupting him, "I know you to be a +most honourable gentleman. You have told me yourself that it was +only the common people in your country who still practised the +_vendetta_--which you are pleased to describe as a kind of duel." + +"Do you, then, believe me capable of ever becoming a murderer?" + +"Since I have mentioned the subject at all, Monsieur Orso, you must +clearly see that I do not suspect you, and if I have spoken to you at +all," she added, dropping her eyes, "it is because I have realized that +surrounded, it may be, by barbarous prejudices on your return home, you +will be glad to know that there is somebody who esteems you for having +the courage to resist them. Come!" said she, rising to her feet, "don't +let us talk again of such horrid things, they make my head ache, and +besides it's very late. You are not angry with me, are you? Let us say +good-night in the English fashion," and she held out her hand. + +Orso pressed it, looking grave and deeply moved. + +"Mademoiselle," he said, "do you know that there are moments when the +instincts of my country wake up within me. Sometimes, when I think of +my poor father, horrible thoughts assail me. Thanks to you, I am rid of +them forever. Thank you! thank you!" + +He would have continued, but Miss Lydia dropped a teaspoon, and the +noise woke up the colonel. + +"Della Rebbia, we'll start at five o'clock to-morrow morning. Be +punctual!" + +"Yes, colonel." + + + +CHAPTER V + +The next day, a short time before the sportsmen came back, Miss Nevil, +returning with her maid from a walk along the seashore, was just about +to enter the inn, when she noticed a young woman, dressed in black, +riding into the town on a small but strong horse. She was followed by a +sort of peasant, also on horseback, who wore a brown cloth jacket cut at +the elbows. A gourd was slung over his shoulder and a pistol was hanging +at his belt, his hand grasped a gun, the butt of which rested in a +leathern pocket fastened to his saddle-bow--in short, he wore the +complete costume of a brigand in a melodrama, or of the middle-class +Corsican on his travels. Miss Nevil's attention was first attracted by +the woman's remarkable beauty. She seemed about twenty years of age; she +was tall and pale, with dark blue eyes, red lips, and teeth like enamel. +In her expression pride, anxiety, and sadness were all legible. On her +head she wore a black silk veil called a _mezzaro_, which the Genoese +introduced into Corsica, and which is so becoming to women. Long braids +of chestnut hair formed a sort of turban round her head. Her dress was +neat, but simple in the extreme. + +Miss Nevil had plenty of time to observe her, for the lady in the +_mezzaro_ had halted in the street, and was questioning somebody on +a subject which, to judge from the expression of her eyes, must have +interested her exceedingly. Then, as soon as she received an answer, +she touched her mount with her riding-switch, and, breaking into a quick +trot, never halted till she reached the door of the hotel in which Sir +Thomas Nevil and Orso were staying. There, after exchanging a few words +with the host, the girl sprang nimbly from her saddle and seated herself +on a stone bench beside the entrance door, while her groom led the +horses away to the stable. Miss Lydia, in her Paris gown, passed close +beside the stranger, who did not raise her eyes. A quarter of an hour +later she opened her window, and saw the lady in the _mezzaro_ still +sitting in the same place and in the same attitude. Not long afterward +the colonel and Orso returned from hunting. Then the landlord said a few +words to the young lady in mourning, and pointed to della Rebbia with +his finger. She coloured deeply, rose eagerly, went a few paces forward, +and then stopped short, apparently much confused. Orso was quite close +to her, and was looking at her curiously. + +"Are you Orso Antonio della Rebbia?" said she in a tremulous voice. "I +am Colomba." + +"Colomba!" cried Orso. + +And taking her in his arms he kissed her tenderly, somewhat to the +surprise of the colonel and his daughter--but in England people do not +kiss each other in the street. + +"Brother," said Colomba, "you must forgive me for having come without +your permission. But I heard from our friends that you had arrived, and +it is such a great consolation to me to see you." + +Again Orso kissed her. Then, turning to the colonel: + +"This is my sister," said he, "whom I never should have recognised +if she had not told me her name--Colomba--Colonel Sir Thomas +Nevil--colonel, you will kindly excuse me, but I can not have the honour +of dining with you to-day. My sister--" + +"But, my dear fellow, where the devil do you expect to dine? You know +very well there is only one dinner in this infernal tavern, and we have +bespoken it. It will afford my daughter great pleasure if this young +lady will join us." + +Colomba looked at her brother, who did not need much pressing, and they +all passed together into the largest room in the inn, which the colonel +used as his sitting and dining room. Mademoiselle della Rebbia, on being +introduced to Miss Nevil, made her a deep courtesy, but she did +not utter a single word. It was easy to see that she was very much +frightened at finding herself, perhaps for the first time in her life, +in the company of strangers belonging to the great world. Yet there was +nothing provincial in her manners. The novelty of her position excused +her awkwardness. Miss Nevil took a liking to her at once, and, as there +was no room disengaged in the hotel, the whole of which was occupied by +the colonel and his attendants, she offered, either out of condescension +or curiosity, to have a bed prepared in her own room for Mademoiselle +della Rebbia. + +Colomba stammered a few words of thanks, and hastened after Miss Nevil's +maid, to make such changes in her toilet as were rendered necessary by a +journey on horseback in the dust and heat. + +When she re-entered the sitting-room, she paused in front of the +colonel's guns, which the hunters had left in a corner. + +"What fine weapons," said she. "Are they yours, brother?" + +"No, they are the colonel's English guns--and they are as good as they +are handsome." + +"How much I wish you had one like them!" said Colomba. + +"One of those three certainly does belong to della Rebbia," exclaimed +the colonel. "He really shoots almost too well! To-day he fired fourteen +shots, and brought down fourteen head of game." + +A friendly dispute at once ensued, in which Orso was vanquished, to +his sister's great satisfaction, as it was easy to perceive from the +childish expression of delight which illumined her face, so serious a +moment before. + +"Choose, my dear fellow," said the colonel; but Orso refused. + +"Very well, then. Your sister shall choose for you." + +Colomba did not wait for a second invitation. She took up the plainest +of the guns, but it was a first-rate Manton of large calibre. + +"This one," she said, "must carry a ball a long distance." + +Her brother was growing quite confused in his expressions of gratitude, +when dinner appeared, very opportunely, to help him out of his +embarrassment. + +Miss Lydia was delighted to notice that Colomba, who had shown +considerable reluctance to sit down with them, and had yielded only at +a glance from her brother, crossed herself, like a good Catholic, before +she began to eat. + +"Good!" said she to herself, "that is primitive!" and she anticipated +acquiring many interesting facts by observing this youthful +representative of ancient Corsican manners. As for Orso, he was +evidently a trifle uneasy, fearing, doubtless, that his sister might +say or do something which savoured too much of her native village. But +Colomba watched him constantly, and regulated all her own movements by +his. Sometimes she looked at him fixedly, with a strange expression of +sadness, and then, if Orso's eyes met hers, he was the first to turn +them away, as though he would evade some question which his sister was +mentally addressing to him, the sense of which he understood only +too well. Everybody talked French, for the colonel could only express +himself very badly in Italian. Colomba understood French, and +even pronounced the few words she was obliged to exchange with her +entertainers tolerably well. + +After dinner, the colonel, who had noticed the sort of constraint which +existed between the brother and sister, inquired of Orso, with +his customary frankness, whether he did not wish to be alone with +Mademoiselle Colomba, offering, in that case, to go into the next room +with his daughter. But Orso hastened to thank him, and to assure him +they would have plenty of time to talk at Pietranera--this was the name +of the village where he was to take up his abode. + +The colonel then resumed his customary position on the sofa, and Miss +Nevil, after attempting several subjects of conversation, gave up all +hope of inducing the fair Colomba to talk, and begged Orso to read her +a canto out of Dante, her favourite poet. Orso chose the canto of the +Inferno, containing the episode of Francesca da Rimini, and began to +read, as impressively as he was able, the glorious tiercets which so +admirably express the risk run by two young persons who venture to read +a love-story together. As he read on Colomba drew nearer to the table, +and raised her head, which she had kept lowered. Her wide-open eyes, +shone with extraordinary fire, she grew red and pale by turns, and +stirred convulsively in her chair. How admirable is the Italian +organization, which can understand poetry without needing a pedant to +explain its beauties! + +When the canto was finished: + +"How beautiful that is!" she exclaimed. "Who wrote it, brother?" + +Orso was a little disconcerted, and Miss Lydia answered with a smile +that it was written by a Florentine poet, who had been dead for +centuries. + +"You shall read Dante," said Orso, "when you are at Pietranera." + +"Good heavens, how beautiful it is!" said Colomba again, and she +repeated three or four tiercets which she had remembered, speaking at +first in an undertone; then, growing excited, she declaimed them aloud, +with far more expression than her brother had put into his reading. + +Miss Lydia was very much astonished. + +"You seem very fond of poetry," she said. "How I envy you the delight +you will find in reading Dante for the first time!" + +"You see, Miss Nevil," said Orso, "what a power Dante's lines must have, +when they so move a wild young savage who knows nothing but her _Pater_. +But I am mistaken! I recollect now that Colomba belongs to the guild. +Even when she was quite a little child she used to try her hand at +verse-making, and my father used to write me word that she was the best +_voceratrice_ in Pietranera, and for two leagues round about." + +Colomba cast an imploring glance at her brother. Miss Nevil had heard +of the Corsican _improvisatrici_, and was dying to hear one. She begged +Colomba, then, to give her a specimen of her powers. Very much vexed +now at having made any mention of his sister's poetic gifts, Orso +interposed. In vain did he protest that nothing was so insipid as a +Corsican _ballata_, and that to recite the Corsican verses after those +of Dante was like betraying his country. All he did was to stimulate +Miss Nevil's curiosity, and at last he was obliged to say to his sister: + +"Well! well! improvise something--but let it be short!" + +Colomba heaved a sigh, looked fixedly for a moment, first at the +table-cloth, and then at the rafters of the ceiling; at last, covering +her eyes with her hand like those birds that gather courage, and fancy +they are not seen when they no longer see themselves, she sang, or +rather declaimed, in an unsteady voice, the following _serenata_: + + + +"THE MAIDEN AND THE TURTLE-DOVE + +"In the valley, far away among the mountains, the sun only shines for +an hour every day. In the valley there stands a gloomy house, and grass +grows on its threshold. Doors and windows are always shut. No smoke +rises from the roof. But at noon, when the sunshine falls, a window +opens, and the orphan girl sits spinning at her wheel. She spins, and +as she works, she sings--a song of sadness. But no other song comes to +answer hers! One day--a day in spring-time--a turtle-dove settled on a +tree hard by, and heard the maiden's song. 'Maiden,' it said, 'thou +art not the only mourner! A cruel hawk has snatched my mate from me!' +'Turtle-dove, show me that cruel hawk; were it to soar higher than the +clouds I would soon bring it down to earth! But who will restore to me, +unhappy that I am, my brother, now in a far country?' 'Maiden, tell me, +where thy brother is, and my wings shall bear me to him.'" + + + +"A well-bred turtle-dove, indeed!" exclaimed Orso, and the emotion with +which he kissed his sister contrasted strongly with the jesting tone in +which he spoke. + +"Your song is delightful," said Miss Lydia. "You must write it in my +album; I'll translate it into English, and have it set to music." + +The worthy colonel, who had not understood a single word, added his +compliments to his daughter's and added: "Is this dove you speak of the +bird we ate broiled at dinner to-day?" + +Miss Nevil fetched her album, and was not a little surprised to see the +_improvisatrice_ write down her song, with so much care in the matter of +economizing space. + +The lines, instead of being separate, were all run together, as far as +the breadth of the paper would permit, so that they did not agree with +the accepted definition of poetic composition--"short lines of unequal +length, with a margin on each side of them." Mademoiselle Colomba's +somewhat fanciful spelling might also have excited comment. More than +once Miss Nevil was seen to smile, and Orso's fraternal vanity suffered +tortures. + +Bedtime came, and the two young girls retired to their room. There, +while Miss Lydia unclasped her necklace, ear-rings, and bracelets, she +watched her companion draw something out of her gown--something as +long as a stay-busk, but very different in shape. Carefully, almost +stealthily, Colomba slipped this object under her _mezzaro_, which she +laid on the table. Then she knelt down, and said her prayers devoutly. +Two minutes afterward she was in her bed. Miss Lydia, naturally very +inquisitive, and as slow as every Englishwoman is about undressing +herself, moved over to the table, pretended she was looking for a pin, +lifted up the _mezzaro_, and saw a long stiletto--curiously mounted in +silver and mother-of-pearl. The workmanship was remarkably fine. It was +an ancient weapon, and just the sort of one an amateur would have prized +very highly. + +"Is it the custom here," inquired Miss Nevil, with a smile, "for young +ladies to wear such little instruments as these in their bodices?" + +"It is," answered Colomba, with a sigh. "There are so many wicked people +about!" + +"And would you really have the courage to strike with it, like this?" +And Miss Nevil, dagger in hand, made a gesture of stabbing from above, +as actors do on the stage. + +"Yes," said Colomba, in her soft, musical voice, "if I had to do it to +protect myself or my friends. But you must not hold it like that, you +might wound yourself if the person you were going to stab were to draw +back." Then, sitting up in bed, "See," she added, "you must strike like +this--upward! If you do so, the thrust is sure to kill, they say. Happy +are they who never need such weapons." + +She sighed, dropped her head back on the pillow, and closed her eyes. A +more noble, beautiful, virginal head it would be impossible to imagine. +Phidias would have asked no other model for Minerva. + + + +CHAPTER VI + +It is in obedience to the precept of Horace that I have begun by +plunging _in media res_. Now that every one is asleep--the beautiful +Colomba, the colonel, and his daughter--I will seize the opportunity +to acquaint my reader with certain details of which he must not be +ignorant, if he desires to follow the further course of this veracious +history. He is already aware that Colonel della Rebbia, Orso's father, +had been assassinated. Now, in Corsica, people are not murdered, as they +are in France, by the first escaped convict who can devise no better +means of relieving a man of his silver-plate. In Corsica a man is +murdered by his enemies--but the reason he has enemies is often very +difficult to discover. Many families hate each other because it has been +an old-standing habit of theirs to hate each other; but the tradition of +the original cause of their hatred may have completely disappeared. + +The family to which Colonel della Rebbia belonged hated several other +families, but that of the Barricini particularly. Some people asserted +that in the sixteenth century a della Rebbia had seduced a lady of the +Barricini family, and had afterward been poniarded by a relative of the +outraged damsel. Others, indeed, told the story in a different fashion, +declaring that it was a della Rebbia who had been seduced, and a +Barricini who had been poniarded. However that may be, there was, to +use the time-honoured expression, "blood between the two houses." +Nevertheless, and contrary to custom, this murder had not resulted +in others; for the della Rebbia and the Barricini had been equally +persecuted by the Genoese Government, and as the young men had all left +the country, the two families were deprived, during several generations, +of their more energetic representatives. At the close of the last +century, one of the della Rebbias, an officer in the Neapolitan service, +quarrelled, in a gambling hell, with some soldiers, who called him a +Corsican goatherd, and other insulting names. He drew his sword, +but being only one against three, he would have fared very ill if a +stranger, who was playing in the same room, had not exclaimed, "I, too, +am a Corsican," and come to his rescue. This stranger was one of the +Barricini, who, for that matter, was not acquainted with his countryman. +After mutual explanations, they interchanged courtesies and vowed +eternal friendship. For on the Continent, quite contrary to their +practice in their own island, Corsicans quickly become friends. This +fact was clearly exemplified on the present occasion. As long as della +Rebbia and Barricini remained in Italy they were close friends. Once +they were back in Corsica, they saw each other but very seldom, although +they both lived in the same village; and when they died, it was reported +that they had not spoken to each other for five or six years. Their sons +lived in the same fashion--"on ceremony," as they say in the island; +one of them Ghilfuccio, Orso's father, was a soldier; the other Giudice +Barricini, was a lawyer. Having both become heads of families, and being +separated by their professions, they scarcely ever had an opportunity of +seeing or hearing of each other. + +One day, however, about the year 1809, Giudice read in a newspaper at +Bastia that Captain Ghilfuccio had just been decorated, and remarked, +before witnesses, that he was not at all surprised, considering that the +family enjoyed the protection of General -----. This remark was reported +at Vienna to Ghilfuccio, who told one of his countrymen that, when he +got back to Corsica, he would find Giudice a very rich man, because he +made more money out of the suits he lost than out of those he won. It +was never known whether he meant this as an insinuation that the lawyer +cheated his clients, or as a mere allusion to the commonplace truth that +a bad cause often brings a lawyer more profit than a good one. However +that may have been, the lawyer Barricini heard of the epigram, and never +forgot it. In 1812 he applied for the post of mayor of his commune, +and had every hope of being appointed, when General ----- wrote to the +prefect, to recommend one of Ghilfuccio's wife's relations. The prefect +lost no time in carrying out the general's wish, and Barricini felt no +doubt that he owed his failure to the intrigues of Ghilfuccio. In 1814, +after the emperor's fall, the general's protg was denounced as a +Bonapartist, and his place was taken by Barricini. He, in his turn, was +dismissed during the Hundred Days, but when the storm had blown over, +he again took possession, with great pomp, of the mayoral seal and the +municipal registers. + +From this moment his star shone brighter than ever. Colonel della +Rebbia, now living on half-pay at Pietranera, had to defend himself +against covert and repeated attacks due to the pettifogging malignity of +his enemy. At one time he was summoned to pay for the damage his horse +had done to the mayor's fences, at another, the latter, under pretence +of repairing the floor of the church, ordered the removal of a broken +flagstone bearing the della Rebbia arms, which covered the grave of +some member of the family. If the village goats ate the colonel's young +plants, the mayor always protected their owners. The grocer who kept the +post-office at Pietranera, and the old maimed soldier who had been +the village policeman--both of them attached to the della Rebbia +family--were turned adrift, and their places filled by Barricini's +creatures. + +The colonel's wife died, and her last wish was that she might be buried +in the middle of the little wood in which she had been fond of walking. +Forthwith the mayor declared she should be buried in the village +cemetery, because he had no authority to permit burial in any other +spot. The colonel, in a fury, declared that until the permit came, his +wife would be interred in the spot she had chosen. He had her grave dug +there. The mayor, on his side, had another grave dug in the cemetery, +and sent for the police, that the law, so he declared, might be duly +enforced. On the day of the funeral, the two parties came face to face, +and, for a moment, there was reason to fear a struggle might ensue for +the possession of Signora della Rebbia's corpse. Some forty well-armed +peasants, mustered by the dead woman's relatives, forced the priest, +when he issued from the church, to take the road to the wood. On the +other hand, the mayor, at the head of his two sons, his dependents, and +the gendarmes, advanced to oppose their march. When he appeared, and +called on the procession to turn back, he was greeted with howls and +threats. The advantage of numbers was with his opponents, and they +seemed thoroughly determined. At sight of him several guns were loaded, +and one shepherd is even said to have levelled his musket at him, but +the colonel knocked up the barrel, and said, "Let no man fire without +my orders!" The mayor, who, like Panurge, had "a natural fear of blows," +refused to give battle, and retired, with his escort. Then the funeral +procession started, carefully choosing the longest way, so as to pass +in front of the mayor's house. As it was filing by, an idiot, who had +joined its ranks, took it into his head to shout, "Vive l'Empereur!" +Two or three voices answered him, and the Rebbianites, growing hotter, +proposed killing one of the mayor's oxen, which chanced to bar their +way. Fortunately the colonel stopped this act of violence. + +It is hardly necessary to mention that an official statement was at once +drawn up, or that the mayor sent the prefect a report, in his sublimest +style, describing the manner in which all laws, human and divine, had +been trodden under foot--how the majesty of himself, the mayor, and of +the priest had been flouted and insulted, and how Colonel della Rebbia +had put himself at the head of a Bonapartist plot, to change the order +of succession to the throne, and to excite peaceful citizens to take +arms against one another--crimes provided against by Articles 86 and 91 +of the Penal Code. + +The exaggerated tone of this complaint diminished its effect. The +colonel wrote to the prefect and to the public prosecutor. One of his +wife's kinsmen was related to one of the deputies of the island, another +was cousin to the president of the Royal Court. Thanks to this interest, +the plot faded out of sight, Signora della Rebbia was left quiet in the +wood, and the idiot alone was sentenced to a fortnight's imprisonment. + +Lawyer Barricini, dissatisfied with the result of this affair, turned +his batteries in a different direction. He dug out some old claim, +whereby he undertook to contest the colonel's ownership of a certain +water-course which turned a mill-wheel. A lawsuit began and dragged +slowly along. At the end of twelve months, the court was about to give +its decision, and according to all appearances in favour of the colonel, +when Barricini placed in the hands of the public prosecutor a letter, +signed by a certain Agostini, a well-known bandit, threatening him, the +mayor, with fire and sword if he did not relinquish his pretensions. It +is well known that in Corsica the protection of these brigands is +much sought after, and that, to oblige their friends, they frequently +intervene in private quarrels. The mayor was deriving considerable +advantage from this letter, when the business was further complicated by +a fresh incident. Agostini, the bandit, wrote to the public prosecutor, +to complain that his handwriting had been counterfeited, and his +character aspersed, by some one who desired to represent him as a man +who made a traffic of his influence. "If I can discover the forger," he +said at the end of his letter, "I will make a striking example of him." + +It was quite clear that Agostini did not write the threatening letter +to the mayor. The della Rebbia accused the Barricini of it and _vice +versa_. Both parties broke into open threats, and the authorities did +not know where to find the culprit. + +In the midst of all this Colonel Ghilfuccio was murdered. Here are +the facts, as they were elicited at the official inquiry. On the 2d of +August, 18--, toward nightfall, a woman named Maddalena Pietri, who was +carrying corn to Pietranera, heard two shots fired, very close together, +the reports, as it seemed to her, coming from the deep lane leading to +the village, about a hundred and fifty paces from the spot on which she +stood. Almost immediately afterward she saw a man running, crouching +along a footpath among the vines, and making for the village. The man +stopped for a minute, and turned round, but the distance prevented the +woman Pietri from seeing his features, and besides, he had a vine-leaf +in his mouth, which hid almost the whole of his face. He made a signal +with his head to some comrade, whom the witness could not see, and then +disappeared among the vines. + +The woman Pietri dropped her burden, ran up the path, and found Colonel +della Rebbia, bathed in his own blood from two bullet wounds, but still +breathing. Close beside him lay his gun, loaded and cocked, as if he had +been defending himself against a person who had attacked him in front, +just when another had struck him from behind. Although the rattle was +in his throat, he struggled against the grip of death, but he could not +utter a word--this the doctors explained by the nature of the wounds, +which had cut through his lungs: the blood was choking him, it flowed +slowly, like red froth. In vain did the woman lift him up, and ask him +several questions. She saw plainly enough that he desired to speak, but +he could not make himself understood. Noticing that he was trying to get +his hand to his pocket, she quickly drew out of it a little note-book, +which she opened and gave to him. + +The wounded man took the pencil out of the note-book and tried to +write. In fact, the witness saw him form several letters, but with great +difficulty. As she could not read, however, she was unable to understand +their meaning. Exhausted by the effort, the colonel left the note-book +in the woman's hand, which he squeezed tightly, looking at her +strangely, as if he wanted to say (these are the witness's own words): +"It is important--it is my murderer's name!" + +Maddalena Pietri was going up to the village, when she met Barricini, +the mayor, with his son Vincentello. It was then almost dark. She told +them what she had seen. The mayor took the note-book, hurried up to his +house, put on his sash, and fetched his secretary and the gendarmes. +Left alone with young Vincentello, Maddalena Pietri suggested that he +should go to the colonel's assistance, in case he was still alive, but +Vincentello replied that if he were to go near a man who had been the +bitter enemy of his family, he would certainly be accused of having +killed him. A very short time afterward the mayor arrived, found the +colonel dead, had the corpse carried away, and drew up his report. + +In spite of the agitation so natural on such an occasion, Monsieur +Barricini had hastened to place the colonel's note-book under seal, and +to make all the inquiries in his power, but none of them resulted in any +discovery of importance. + +When the examining magistrate arrived the note-book was opened, and on +a blood-stained page were seen letters written in a trembling hand, but +still quite legible; the sheet bore the word _Agosti_--and the judge +did not doubt that the colonel had intended to point out Agostini as his +murderer. Nevertheless, Colomba della Rebbia, who had been summoned by +the magistrate, asked leave to examine the note-book. After turning the +leaves for a few moments, she stretched out her hand toward the mayor +and cried, "There stands the murderer!" Then with a precision and a +clearness which were astonishing, considering the passion of sorrow +that shook her, she related that, a few days previously, her father had +received a letter from his son, which he had burned, but that before +doing so he had written Orso's address (he had just changed his +garrison) in the note-book with his pencil. Now, his address was no +longer in the note-book, and Colomba concluded that the mayor had torn +out the leaf on which it was written, which probably was that on which +her father had traced the murderer's name, and for that name the mayor, +according to Colomba, had substituted Agostini's. The magistrate, in +fact, noticed that one sheet was missing from the quire on which the +name was written, but he remarked also that leaves were likewise missing +from other quires in the same note-book, and certain witnesses testified +that the colonel had a habit of tearing out pages when he wanted to +light a cigar--therefore nothing was more probable than that, by an +oversight, he had burned the address he had copied. Further, it was +shown that the mayor could not have read the note-book on receiving it +from Maddalena Pietri, on account of the darkness, and it was proved +that he had not stopped an instant before he went into his house, that +the sergeant of the gendarmes had gone there with him, and had seen him +light a lamp and put the note-book into an envelope which he had sealed +before his eyes. + +When this officer had concluded his deposition, Colomba, +half-distracted, cast herself at his feet, and besought him, by all he +held most sacred, to say whether he had not left the mayor alone for a +single moment. After a certain amount of hesitation, the man, who was +evidently affected by the young girl's excitement, admitted that he had +gone into the next room to fetch a sheet of foolscap, but that he had +not been away a minute, and that the mayor had talked to him all the +time he was groping for the paper in a drawer. Moreover, he deposed that +when he came back the blood-stained note-book was still on the table, in +the very place where the mayor had thrown it when he first came in. + +Monsieur Barricini gave his evidence with the utmost coolness. He made +allowances, he said, for Mademoiselle della Rebbia's excitement, and was +ready to condescend to justify himself. He proved that he had spent his +whole evening in the village, that his son Vincentello had been with him +in front of the house at the moment when the crime was committed, and +that his son Orlanduccio, who had had an attack of fever that very day, +had never left his bed. He produced every gun in his house, and not one +of them had been recently discharged. He added, that, as regarded the +note-book, he had at once realized its importance; that he had sealed it +up, and placed it in the hands of his deputy, foreseeing that he himself +might be suspected, on account of his quarrel with the colonel. Finally, +he reminded the court that Agostini had threatened to kill the man who +had written a letter in his name, and he insinuated that this ruffian +had probably suspected the colonel, and murdered him. Such a vengeance, +for a similar reason, is by no means unprecedented in the history of +brigandage. + +Five days after Colonel della Rebbia's death, Agostini was surprised by +a detachment of riflemen, and killed, fighting desperately to the last. +On his person was found a letter from Colomba, beseeching him to declare +whether he was guilty of the murder imputed to him, or not. As the +bandit had sent no answer, it was pretty generally concluded that he had +not the courage to tell a daughter he had murdered her father. Yet those +who claimed to know Agostini's nature thoroughly, whispered that if +he had killed the colonel, he would have boasted of the deed. Another +bandit, known by the name of Brandolaccio, sent Colomba a declaration +in which he bore witness "on his honour" to his comrade's innocence--but +the only proof he put forward was that Agostini had never told him that +he suspected the colonel. + +The upshot was that the Barricini suffered no inconvenience, the +examining magistrate was loud in his praise of the mayor, and the mayor, +on his side, crowned his handsome behaviour by relinquishing all his +claims over the stream, concerning which he had brought the lawsuit +against Colonel della Rebbia. + +According to the custom of her country, Colomba improvised a _ballata_ +in presence of her father's corpse, and before his assembled friends. In +it she poured out all her hatred against the Barricini, formally charged +them with the murder, and threatened them with her brother's vengeance. +It was this same _ballata_, which had grown very popular, that the +sailor had sung before Miss Lydia. When Orso, who was in the north of +France, heard of his father's death, he applied for leave, but failed to +obtain it. A letter from his sister led him to believe at first in the +guilt of the Barricini, but he soon received copies of all the documents +connected with the inquiry and a private letter from the judge, which +almost convinced him that the bandit Agostini was the only culprit. +Every three months Colomba had written to him, reiterating her +suspicions, which she called her "proofs." In spite of himself, these +accusations made his Corsican blood boil, and sometimes he was very near +sharing his sister's prejudices. Nevertheless, every time he wrote to +her he repeated his conviction that her allegations possessed no solid +foundation, and were quite unworthy of belief. He even forbade her, but +always vainly, to mention them to him again. + +Thus two years went by. At the end of that time Orso was placed on +half-pay, and then it occurred to him to go back to his own country--not +at all for the purpose of taking vengeance on people whom he believed +innocent, but to arrange a marriage for his sister, and the sale of his +own small property--if its value should prove sufficient to enable him +to live on the Continent. + + + +CHAPTER VII + +Whether it was that the arrival of his sister had reminded Orso forcibly +of his paternal home, or that Colomba's unconventional dress and manners +made him feel shy before his civilized friends, he announced, the +very next day, his determination to leave Ajaccio, and to return to +Pietranera. But he made the colonel promise that when he went to Bastia +he would come and stay in his modest manor-house, and undertook, in +return, to provide him with plenty of buck, pheasant, boar, and other +game. + +On the day before that of his departure Orso proposed that, instead of +going out shooting, they should all take a walk along the shores of +the gulf. With Miss Lydia on his arm he was able to talk in perfect +freedom--for Colomba had stayed in the town to do her shopping, and +the colonel was perpetually leaving the young people to fire shots at +sea-gulls and gannets, greatly to the astonishment of the passers-by, +who could not conceive why any man should waste his powder on such +paltry game. + +They were walking along the path leading to the Greek Chapel, which +commands the finest view to be had of the bay, but they paid no +attention to it. + +"Miss Lydia," said Orso, after a silence which had lasted long enough to +become embarrassing, "tell me frankly, what do you think of my sister?" + +"I like her very much," answered Miss Nevil. "Better than you," she +added, with a smile; "for she is a true Corsican, and you are rather too +civilized a savage!" + +"Too civilized! Well, in spite of myself, I feel that I am growing a +savage again, since I have set my foot on the island! A thousand horrid +thoughts disturb and torment me, and I wanted to talk with you a little +before I plunge into my desert!" + +"You must be brave, monsieur! Look at your sister's resignation; she +sets you an example!" + +"Ah! do not be deceived! Do not believe in her resignation. She has +not said a word to me as yet, but every look of hers tells me what she +expects of me." + +"What does she expect of you, then?" + +"Oh, nothing! Except that I should try whether your father's gun will +kill a man as surely as it kills a partridge." + +"What an idea! You can actually believe that, when you have just +acknowledged that she has said nothing to you yet? It really is too +dreadful of you!" + +"If her thoughts were not fixed on vengeance, she would have spoken +to me at once about our father; she has never done it. She would have +mentioned the names of those she considers--wrongly, I know--to be his +murderers. But no; not a word! That is because we Corsicans, you +see, are a cunning race. My sister realizes that she does not hold me +completely in her power, and she does not choose to startle me while I +may still escape her. Once she has led me to the edge of the precipice, +and once I turn giddy there, she will thrust me into the abyss." + +Then Orso gave Miss Nevil some details of his father's death, and +recounted the principal proofs which had culminated in his belief that +Agostini was the assassin. + +"Nothing," he added, "has been able to convince Colomba. I saw that by +her last letter. She has sworn the Barricini shall die, and--you see, +Miss Nevil, what confidence I have in you!--they would not be alive now, +perhaps, if one of the prejudices for which her uncivilized education +must be the excuse had not convinced her that the execution of this +vengeance belongs to me, as head of her family, and that my honour +depends upon it!" + +"Really and truly, Monsieur della Rebbia!" said Miss Nevil, "you slander +your sister!" + +"No. As you have said it yourself, she is a Corsican; she thinks as they +all think. Do you know why I was so sad yesterday?" + +"No. But for some time past you have been subject to these fits +of sadness. You were much pleasanter in the earlier days of our +acquaintance." + +"Yesterday, on the contrary, I was more cheery and happy than I +generally am. I had seen how kind, how indulgent, you were to my sister. +The colonel and I were coming home in a boat. Do you know what one of +the boatmen said to me in his infernal _patois_? 'You've killed a deal +of game, Ors' Anton', but you'll find Orlanduccio Barricini a better +shot than you!'" + +"Well, what was there so very dreadful in that remark? Are you so very +much set upon being considered a skilful sportsman?" + +"But don't you see the ruffian was telling me I shouldn't have courage +to kill Orlanduccio!" + +"Do you know, M. della Rebbia, you frighten me! The air of this island +of yours seems not only to give people fevers, but to drive them mad. +Luckily we shall be leaving it soon!" + +"Not without coming to Pietranera--you have promised my sister that." + +"And if we were to fail in that promise, we should bring down some +terrible vengeance on our heads, no doubt!" + +"Do you remember that story your father was telling us, the other day, +about the Indians who threatened the company's agents that, if they +would not grant their prayer, they would starve themselves to death?" + +"That means that you would starve yourself to death! I doubt it very +much! You would go hungry for one day and then Mademoiselle Colomba +would bring you such a tempting _bruccio_[*] that you would quite +relinquish your plan." + +[*] A sort of baked cream cheese, a national dish in Corsica. + +"Your jests are cruel, Miss Nevil. You might spare me. Listen, I am +alone here; I have no one but you to prevent me from going mad, as you +call it. You have been my guardian angel, and now----!" + +"Now," said Miss Lydia gravely, "to steady this reason of yours, which +is so easily shaken, you have the honour of a soldier and a man, and," +she added, turning away to pluck a flower, "if that will be any help to +you, you have the memory of your guardian angel, too!" + +"Ah, Miss Nevil, if I could only think you really take some interest!" + +"Listen, M. della Rebbia," said Miss Nevil, with some emotion. "As you +are a child, I will treat you as I would treat a child. When I was a +little girl my mother gave me a beautiful necklace, which I had longed +for greatly; but she said to me, 'Every time you put on this necklace, +remember you do not know French yet.' The necklace lost some of its +value in my eyes, it was a source of constant self-reproach. But I +wore it, and in the end I knew French. Do you see this ring? It is an +Egyptian scarabaeus, found, if you please, in a pyramid. That strange +figure, which you may perhaps take for a bottle, stands for '_human +life_.' There are certain people in my country to whom this hieroglyphic +should appear exceedingly appropriate. This, which comes after it, is a +shield upon an arm, holding a lance; that means '_struggle_, _battle_.' +Thus the two characters, together, form this motto, which strikes me +as a fine one, '_Life is a battle_.' Pray do not fancy I can translate +hieroglyphics at sight! It was a man learned in such matters who +explained these to me. Here, I will give you my scarabaeus. Whenever you +feel some wicked Corsican thought stir in you, look at my talisman, and +tell yourself you must win the battle our evil passions wage against us. +Why, really, I don't preach at all badly!" + +"I shall think of you, Miss Nevil, and I shall say to myself----" + +"Say to yourself you have a friend who would be in despair at the idea +of your being hanged--and besides it would be too distressing for your +ancestors the corporals!" + +With these words she dropped Orso's arm, laughing and running to her +father. + +"Papa," she said, "do leave those poor birds alone, and come and make up +poetry with us, in Napoleon's grotto!" + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +There is always a certain solemnity about a departure, even when the +separation is only to be a short one. Orso and his sister were to start +very early in the morning, and he had taken his leave of Miss Lydia the +night before--for he had no hope that she would disturb her indolent +habits on his account. Their farewells had been cold and grave. Since +that conversation on the sea-shore, Miss Lydia had been afraid she had +perhaps shown too strong an interest in Orso, and on the other hand, her +jests, and more especially her careless tone, lay heavy on Orso's heart. +At one moment he had thought the young Englishwoman's manner betrayed +a budding feeling of affection, but now, put out of countenance by her +jests, he told himself she only looked on him as a mere acquaintance, +who would be soon forgotten. Great, therefore, was his surprise, next +morning, when, as he sat at coffee with the colonel, he saw Miss Lydia +come into the room, followed by his sister. She had risen at five +o'clock, and for an Englishwoman, and especially for Miss Nevil, the +effort was so great that it could not but give him some cause for +vanity. + +"I am so sorry you should have disturbed yourself so early," said Orso. +"No doubt my sister woke you up in spite of my injunctions, and you must +hate us heartily! Perhaps you wish I was hanged already!" + +"No," said Miss Lydia, very low and in Italian, evidently so that +her father might not hear her, "but you were somewhat sulky with me +yesterday, because of my innocent jokes, and I would not have you carry +away an unpleasant recollection of your humble servant. What terrible +people you are, you Corsicans! Well, good-bye! We shall meet soon, I +hope." + +And she held out her hand. + +A sigh was the only answer Orso could find. Colomba came to his side, +led him into a window, and spoke to him for a moment in an undertone, +showing him something she held under her _mezzaro_. + +"Mademoiselle," said Orso to Miss Nevil, "my sister is anxious to give +you a very odd present, but we Corsicans have not much to offer--except +our affection--which time never wipes out. My sister tells me you have +looked with some curiosity at this dagger. It is an ancient possession +in our family. It probably hung, once upon a time, at the belt of one of +those corporals, to whom I owe the honour of your acquaintance. Colomba +thinks it so precious that she has asked my leave to give it to you, and +I hardly know if I ought to grant it, for I am afraid you'll laugh at +us!" + +"The dagger is beautiful," said Miss Lydia. "But it is a family weapon, +I can not accept it!" + +"It's not my father's dagger," exclaimed Colomba eagerly; "it was given +to one of mother's ancestors by King Theodore. If the signorina will +accept it, she will give us great pleasure." + +"Come, Miss Lydia," said Orso, "don't scorn a king's dagger!" + +To a collector, relics of King Theodore are infinitely more precious +than those of the most powerful of monarchs. The temptation was a +strong one, and already Miss Lydia could see the effect the weapon would +produce laid out on a lacquered table in her room at St. James's Place. + +"But," said she, taking the dagger with the hesitating air of one +who longs to accept, and casting one of her most delightful smiles on +Colomba, "dear Signorina Colomba . . . I can not . . . I should not dare +to let you depart thus, unarmed." + +"My brother is with me," said Colomba proudly, "and we have the good gun +your father has given us. Orso, have you put a bullet in it?" + +Miss Nevil kept the dagger, and to avert the danger consequent on +_giving_ instruments that cut or pierce to a friend, Colomba insisted on +receiving a soldo in payment. + +A start had to be made at last. Yet once again Orso pressed Miss Nevil's +hand, Colomba kissed her, and then held up her rosy lips to the colonel, +who was enchanted with this Corsican politeness. From the window of +the drawing-room Miss Lydia watched the brother and sister mount their +horses. Colomba's eyes shone with a malignant joy which she had never +remarked in them before. The sight of this tall strong creature, with +her fanatical ideas of savage honour, pride written on her forehead, +and curled in a sardonic smile upon her lips, carrying off the young +man with his weapons, as though on some death-dealing errand, recalled +Orso's fears to her, and she fancied she beheld his evil genius dragging +him to his ruin. Orso, who was already in the saddle, raised his head +and caught sight of her. Either because he had guessed her thought, or +desired to send her a last farewell, he took the Egyptian ring, which he +had hung upon a ribbon, and carried it to his lips. Blushing, Miss Lydia +stepped back from the window, then returning to it almost at once, she +saw the two Corsicans cantering their little ponies rapidly toward the +mountains. Half an hour later the colonel showed them to her, through +his glasses, riding along the end of the bay, and she noticed that +Orso constantly turned his head toward the town. At last he disappeared +behind the marshes, the site of which is now filled by a flourishing +nursery garden. + +Miss Lydia glanced at herself in the glass, and thought she looked pale. + +"What must that young man think of me," said she, "and what did I think +of him? And why did I think about him? . . . A travelling acquaintance! +. . . What have I come to Corsica for? . . . Oh! I don't care for him! +. . . No! no! and besides the thing is impossible . . . And Colomba . . . +Fancy me sister-in-law to a _voceratrice_, who wears a big dagger!" + +And she noticed she was still holding King Theodore's dagger in her +hand. She tossed it on to her toilette table. "Colomba, in London, +dancing at Almacks! . . . Good heavens! what a lion[*] that would be, to +show off! . . . Perhaps she'd make a great sensation! . . . He loves me, +I'm certain of it! He is the hero of a novel, and I have interrupted his +adventurous career. . . . But did he really long to avenge his father +in true Corsican fashion? . . . He was something between a Conrad and a +dandy . . . I've turned him into nothing but a dandy! . . . And a dandy +with a Corsican tailor! . . ." + + [*] At this period this name was used in England for people + who were the fashion because they had something + extraordinary about them. + +She threw herself on her bed, and tried to sleep--but that proved an +impossibility, and I will not undertake to continue her soliloquy, +during which she declared, more than a hundred times over, that Signor +della Rebbia had not been, was not, and never should be, anything to +her. + + + +CHAPTER IX + +Meanwhile Orso was riding along beside his sister. At first the speed at +which their horses moved prevented all conversation, but when the hills +grew so steep that they were obliged to go at a foot's pace, they +began to exchange a few words about the friends from whom they had just +parted. Colomba spoke with admiration of Miss Nevil's beauty, of her +golden hair, and charming ways. Then she asked whether the colonel +was really as rich as he appeared, and whether Miss Lydia was his only +child. + +"She would be a good match," said she. "Her father seems to have a great +liking for you----" + +And as Orso made no response, she added: "Our family was rich, in days +gone by. It is still one of the most respected in the island. All these +_signori_ about us are bastards. The only noble blood left is in the +families of the corporals, and as you know, Orso, your ancestors were +the chief corporals in the island. You know our family came from beyond +the hills, and it was the civil wars that forced us over to this side. +If I were you, Orso, I shouldn't hesitate--I should ask Colonel Nevil +for his daughter's hand." Orso shrugged his shoulders. "With her +fortune, you might buy the Falsetta woods, and the vineyards below ours. +I would build a fine stone house, and add a story to the old tower in +which Sambucuccio killed so many Moors in the days of Count Henry, _il +bel Missere_." + +"Colomba, you're talking nonsense," said Orso, cantering forward. + +"You are a man, Ors' Anton', and of course you know what you ought to +do better than any woman. But I should very much like to know what +objection that Englishman could have to the marriage. Are there any +corporals in England?" + +After a somewhat lengthy ride, spent in talking in this fashion, the +brother and sister reached a little village, not far from Bocognano, +where they halted to dine and sleep at a friend's house. They were +welcomed with a hospitality which must be experienced before it can be +appreciated. The next morning, their host, who had stood godfather to a +child to whom Madame della Rebbia had been godmother, accompanied them a +league beyond his house. + +"Do you see those woods and thickets?" said he to Orso, just as they +were parting. "A man who had met with a misfortune might live there +peacefully for ten years, and no gendarme or soldier would ever come to +look for him. The woods run into the Vizzavona forest, and anybody who +had friends at Bocognano or in the neighbourhood would want for nothing. +That's a good gun you have there. It must carry a long way. Blood of the +Madonna! What calibre! You might kill better game than boars with it!" + +Orso answered, coldly, that his gun was of English make, and carried +"the lead" a long distance. The friends embraced, and took their +different ways. + +Our travellers were drawing quite close to Pietranera, when, at the +entrance of a little gorge, through which they had to pass, they beheld +seven or eight men, armed with guns, some sitting on stones, others +lying on the grass, others standing up, and seemingly on the lookout. +Their horses were grazing a little way off. Colomba looked at them for +a moment, through a spy-glass which she took out of one of the large +leathern pockets all Corsicans wear when on a journey. + +"Those are our men!" she cried, with a well-pleased air. "Pieruccio had +done his errand well!" + +"What men?" inquired Orso. + +"Our herdsmen," she replied. "I sent Pieruccio off yesterday evening +to call the good fellows together, so that they may attend you home. It +would not do for you to enter Pietranera without an escort, and besides, +you must know the Barricini are capable of anything!" + +"Colomba," said Orso, and his tone was severe, "I have asked you, +over and over again, not to mention the Barricini and your groundless +suspicions to me. I shall certainly not make myself ridiculous by riding +home with all these loafers behind me, and I am very angry with you for +having sent for them without telling me." + +"Brother, you have forgotten the ways of your own country. It is my +business to protect you, when your own imprudence exposes you to danger. +It was my duty to do what I have done." + +Just at that moment the herdsmen, who had caught sight of them, hastened +to their horses, and galloped down the hill to meet them. + +"Evvviva Ors' Anton'!" shouted a brawny, white-bearded old fellow, +wrapped, despite the heat, in a hooded cloak of Corsican cloth, thicker +than the skins of his own goats. "The image of his father, only taller +and stronger! What a splendid gun! There'll be talk about that gun, Ors' +Anton'!" + +"Evvviva Ors' Anton'!" chorused the herdsmen. "We were sure you'd come +back, at last!" + +"Ah! Ors' Anton'!" cried a tall fellow, with a skin tanned brick red. +"How happy your father would be, if he were here to welcome you! The +dear, good man! You would have seen him now, if he would have listened +to me--if he would have let me settle Guidice's business! . . . But he +wouldn't listen to me, poor fellow! He knows I was right, now!" + +"Well, well!" said the old man. "Guidice will lose nothing by waiting." + +"Evvviva Ors' Anton'!" And the reports of a dozen guns capped the +plaudit. + +Very much put out, Orso sat in the midst of the group of mounted men, +all talking at once, and crowding round to shake hands with him. For +some time he could not make himself heard. At last, with the air he put +on when he used to reprimand the men of his company, or send one of them +to the guard-room, he said: + +"I thank you, friends, for the affection you show for me, and for that +which you felt for my father! But I do not want advice from any of you, +and you must not offer it. I know my own duty." + +"He's right! He's right!" cried the herdsmen. "You know you may reckon +on us!" + +"Yes, I do reckon on you. But at this moment I need no help, and no +personal danger threatens me. Now face round at once, and be off with +you to your goats. I know my way to Pietranera, and I want no guides." + +"Fear nothing, Ors' Anton'," said the old man. "They would never dare +to show their noses to-day. The mouse runs back to its hole when the +tom-cat comes out!" + +"Tom-cat yourself, old gray-beard!" said Orso. "What's your name?" + +"What! don't you remember me, Ors' Anton'? I who have so often taken +you up behind me on that biting mule of mine! You don't remember Polo +Griffo? I'm an honest fellow, though, and with the della Rebbia, body +and soul. Say but the word, and when that big gun of yours speaks, this +old musket of mine, as old as its master, shall not be dumb. Be sure of +that, Ors' Anton'!" + +"Well, well! But be off with you now, in the devil's name, and let us go +on our way!" + +At last the herdsmen departed, trotting rapidly off toward the village, +but they stopped every here and there, at all the highest spots on the +road, as though they were looking out for some hidden ambuscade, always +keeping near enough to Orso and his sister to be able to come to their +assistance if necessary. And old Polo Griffo said to his comrades: + +"I understand him! I understand him! He'll not say what he means to do, +but he'll do it! He's the born image of his father. Ah! you may say you +have no spite against any one, my boy! But you've made your vow to Saint +Nega.[*] Bravo! I wouldn't give a fig for the mayor's hide--there won't +be the makings of a wineskin in it before the month is out!" + + [*] This saint is not mentioned in the calendar. To make a + vow to Saint Nega means to deny everything deliberately. + +Preceded by this troop of skirmishers, the last descendant of the della +Rebbia entered the village, and proceeded to the old mansion of +his forefathers, the corporals. The Rebbianites, who had long been +leaderless, had gathered to welcome him, and those dwellers in the +village who observed a neutral line of conduct all came to their +doorsteps to see him pass by. The adherents of the Barricini remained +inside their houses, and peeped out of the slits in their shutters. + +The village of Pietranera is very irregularly built, like most Corsican +villages--for indeed, to see a street, the traveller must betake +himself to Cargese, which was built by Monsieur de Marboeuf. The houses, +scattered irregularly about, without the least attempt at orderly +arrangement, cover the top of a small plateau, or rather of a ridge of +the mountain. Toward the centre of the village stands a great evergreen +oak, and close beside it may be seen a granite trough, into which +the water of a neighbouring spring is conveyed by a wooden pipe. This +monument of public utility was constructed at the common expense of the +della Rebbia and Barricini families. But the man who imagined this to +be a sign of former friendship between the two families would be sorely +mistaken. On the contrary, it is the outcome of their mutual jealousy. +Once upon a time, Colonel della Rebbia sent a small sum of money to +the Municipal Council of his commune to help to provide a fountain. +The lawyer Barricini hastened to forward a similar gift, and to this +generous strife Pietranera owes its water supply. Round about the +evergreen oak and the fountain there is a clear space, known as "the +Square," on which the local idlers gather every night. Sometimes they +play at cards, and once a year, in Carnival-time, they dance. At the two +ends of the square stands two edifices, of greater height than breadth, +built of a mixture of granite and schist. These are the _Towers_ of +the two opposing families, the Barricini and the della Rebbia. Their +architecture is exactly alike, their height is similar, and it is quite +evident that the rivalry of the two families has never been absolutely +decided by any stroke of fortune in favor of either. + +It may perhaps be well to explain what should be understood by this +word, "Tower." It is a square building, some forty feet in height, which +in any other country would be simply described as a pigeon-house. A +narrow entrance-door, eight feet above the level of the ground, is +reached by a very steep flight of steps. Above the door is a window, +in front of which runs a sort of balcony, the floor of which is pierced +with openings, like a machicolation, through which the inhabitants may +destroy an unwelcome visitor without any danger to themselves. Between +the window and the door are two escutcheons, roughly carved. One of +these bears what was originally a Genoese cross, now so battered that +nobody but an antiquary could recognise it. On the other are chiselled +the arms of the family to whom the Tower belongs. If the reader will +complete this scheme of decoration by imagining several bullet marks on +the escutcheons and on the window frames, he will have a fair idea of +a Corsican mansion, dating from the middle ages. I had forgotten to add +that the dwelling-house adjoins the tower, and is frequently connected +with it by some interior passage. + +The della Rebbia house and tower stand on the northern side of the +square at Pietranera. The Barricini house and tower are on the southern +side. Since the colonel's wife had been buried, no member of either +family had ever been seen on any side of the square, save that assigned +by tacit agreement to its own party. Orso was about to ride past the +mayor's house when his sister checked him, and suggested his turning +down a lane that would take them to their own dwelling without crossing +the square at all. + +"Why should we go out of our way?" said Orso. "Doesn't the square belong +to everybody?" and he rode on. + +"Brave heart!" murmured Colomba. ". . . My father! you will be avenged!" + +When they reached the square, Colomba put herself between her brother +and the Barricini mansion, and her eyes never left her enemy's windows. +She noticed that they had been lately barricaded and provided with +_archere_. _Archere_ is the name given to narrow openings like +loopholes, made between the big logs of wood used to close up the +lower parts of the windows. When an onslaught is expected, this sort of +barricade is used, and from behind the logs the attacked party can fire +at its assailants with ease and safety. + +"The cowards!" said Colomba. "Look, brother, they have begun to protect +themselves! They have put up barricades! But some day or other they'll +have to come out." + +Orso's presence on the southern side of the square made a great +sensation at Pietranera, and was taken to be a proof of boldness +savouring of temerity. It was subject of endless comment on the part of +the neutrals, when they gathered around the evergreen oak, that night. + +"It is a good thing," they said, "that Barricini's sons are not back +yet, for they are not so patient as the lawyer, and very likely they +would not have let their enemy set his foot on their ground without +making him pay for his bravado." + +"Remember what I am telling you, neighbour," said an old man, the +village oracle. "I watched Colomba's face to-day. She had some idea in +her head. I smell powder in the air. Before long, butcher's meat will be +cheap in Pietranera!" + + + +CHAPTER X + +Orso had been parted from his father at so early an age that he had +scarcely had time to know him. He had left Pietranera to pursue his +studies at Pisa when he was only fifteen. Thence he had passed into the +military school, and Ghilfuccio, meanwhile, was bearing the Imperial +Eagles all over Europe. On the mainland, Orso only saw his father at +rare intervals, and it was not until 1815 that he found himself in +the regiment he commanded. But the colonel, who was an inflexible +disciplinarian, treated his son just like any other sub-lieutenant--in +other words, with great severity. Orso's memories of him were of two +kinds: He recollected him, at Pietranera, as the father who would trust +him with his sword, and would let him fire off his gun when he came +in from a shooting expedition, or who made him sit down, for the +first time, tiny urchin as he was, at the family dinner-table. Then he +remembered the Colonel della Rebbia who would put him under arrest for +some blunder, and who never called him anything but Lieutenant della +Rebbia. + +"Lieutenant della Rebbia, you are not in your right place on parade. You +will be confined to barracks three days." + +"Your skirmishers are five yards too far from your main body--five days +in barracks." + +"It is five minutes past noon, and you are still in your forage-cap--a +week in barracks." + +Only once, at Quatre-Bras, he had said to him, "Well done, Orso! But be +cautious!" + +But, after all, these later memories were not connected in his mind with +Pietranera. The sight of the places so familiar to him in his childish +days, of the furniture he had seen used by his mother, to whom he had +been fondly attached, filled his soul with a host of tender and painful +emotions. Then the gloomy future that lay before him, the vague anxiety +he felt about his sister, and, above all other things, the thought that +Miss Nevil was coming to his house, which now struck him as being so +small, so poor, so unsuited to a person accustomed to luxury--the idea +that she might possibly despise it--all these feelings made his brain a +chaos, and filled him with a sense of deep discouragement. + +At supper he sat in the great oaken chair, blackened with age, in which +his father had always presided at the head of the family table, and he +smiled when he saw that Colomba hesitated to sit down with him. But he +was grateful to her for her silence during the meal, and for her speedy +retirement afterward. For he felt he was too deeply moved to be able to +resist the attack she was no doubt preparing to make upon him. Colomba, +however, was dealing warily with him, and meant to give him time to +collect himself. He sat for a long time motionless, with his head on +his hand, thinking over the scenes of the last fortnight of his life. He +saw, with alarm, how every one seemed to be watching what would be +his behaviour to the Barricini. Already he began to perceive that the +opinion of Pietranera was beginning to be the opinion of all the world +to him. He would have to avenge himself, or be taken for a coward! But +on whom was he to take vengeance? He could not believe the Barricini to +be guilty of murder. They were his family enemies, certainly, but only +the vulgar prejudice of his fellow-countrymen could accuse them of being +murderers. Sometimes he would look at Miss Nevil's talisman, and whisper +the motto "Life is a battle!" over to himself. At last, in a resolute +voice, he said, "I will win it!" Strong in that thought, he rose to his +feet, took up the lamp, and was just going up to his room, when he heard +a knock at the door of the house. It was a very unusual hour for any +visitor to appear. Colomba instantly made her appearance, followed by +the woman who acted as their servant. + +"It's nothing!" she said, hurrying to the door. + +Yet before she opened it she inquired who knocked. A gentle voice +answered, "It is I." + +Instantly the wooden bar across the door was withdrawn, and Colomba +reappeared in the dining-room, followed by a little ragged, bare-footed +girl of about ten years old, her head bound with a shabby kerchief, +from which escaped long locks of hair, as black as the raven's wing. The +child was thin and pale, her skin was sunburnt, but her eyes shone with +intelligence. When she saw Orso she stopped shyly, and courtesied +to him, peasant fashion--then she said something in an undertone to +Colomba, and gave her a freshly killed pheasant. + +"Thanks, Chili," said Colomba. "Thank your uncle for me. Is he well?" + +"Very well, signorina, at your service. I couldn't come sooner because +he was late. I waited for him in the _maquis_ for three hours." + +"And you've had no supper?" + +"Why no, signorina! I've not had time." + +"You shall have some supper here. Has your uncle any bread left?" + +"Very little, signorina. But what he is most short of is powder. Now the +chestnuts are in, the only other thing he wants is powder." + +"I will give you a loaf for him, and some powder, too. Tell him to use +it sparingly--it is very dear." + +"Colomba," said Orso in French, "on whom are you bestowing your +charity?" + +"On a poor bandit belonging to this village," replied Colomba in the +same language. "This little girl is his niece." + +"It strikes me you might place your gifts better. Why should you send +powder to a ruffian who will use it to commit crimes? But for the +deplorable weakness every one here seems to have for the bandits, they +would have disappeared out of Corsica long ago." + +"The worst men in our country are not those who are 'in the country.'" + +"Give them bread, if it so please you. But I will not have you supply +them with ammunition." + +"Brother," said Colomba, in a serious voice, "you are master here, and +everything in this house belongs to you. But I warn you that I will +give this little girl my _mezzaro_, so that she may sell it; rather than +refuse powder to a bandit. Refuse to give him powder! I might just as +well make him over to the gendarmes! What has he to protect him against +them, except his cartridges?" + +All this while the little girl was ravenously devouring a bit of bread, +and carefully watching Colomba and her brother, turn about, trying to +read the meaning of what they were saying in their eyes. + +"And what has this bandit of yours done? What crime has driven him into +the _maquis_?" + +"Brandolaccio has not committed any crime," exclaimed Colomba. "He +killed Giovan' Oppizo, who murdered his father while he was away serving +in the army!" + +Orso turned away his head, took up the lamp, and, without a word, +departed to his bedroom. Then Colomba gave the child food and gunpowder, +and went with her as far as the house-door, saying over and over again: + +"Mind your uncle takes good care of Orso!" + + + +CHAPTER XI + +It was long before Orso fell asleep, and as a consequence he woke +late--late for a Corsican, at all events. When he left his bed, the +first object that struck his gaze was the house of his enemies, and the +_archere_ with which they had furnished it. He went downstairs and asked +for his sister. + +"She is in the kitchen, melting bullets," answered Saveria, the +woman-servant. + +So he could not take a step without being pursued by the image of war. + +He found Colomba sitting on a stool, surrounded by freshly cast bullets, +and cutting up strips of lead. + +"What the devil are you doing?" inquired her brother. + +"You had no bullets for the colonel's gun," she answered, in her soft +voice. "I found I had a mould for that calibre, and you shall have +four-and-twenty cartridges to-day, brother." + +"I don't need them, thank God!" + +"You mustn't be taken at a disadvantage, Ors' Anton'. You have forgotten +your country, and the people who are about you." + +"If I had forgotten, you would soon have reminded me. Tell me, did not a +big trunk arrive here some days ago?" + +"Yes, brother. Shall I take it up to your room?" + +"You take it up! Why, you'd never be strong enough even to lift it! . . . +Is there no man about who can do it?" + +"I'm not so weak as you think!" said Colomba, turning up her sleeves, +and displaying a pair of round white arms, perfect in shape, but looking +more than ordinarily strong. "Here, Saveria," said she to the servant; +"come and help me!" + +She was already lifting the trunk alone, when Orso came hastily to her +assistance. + +"There is something for you in this trunk, my dear Colomba," said he. +"You must excuse the modesty of my gifts. A lieutenant on half-pay +hasn't a very well-lined purse!" + +As he spoke, he opened the trunk, and took out of it a few gowns, a +shawl, and some other things likely to be useful to a young girl. + +"What beautiful things!" cried Colomba. "I'll put them away at once, for +fear they should be spoiled. I'll keep them for my wedding," she added, +with a sad smile, "for I am in mourning now!" + +And she kissed her brother's hand. + +"It looks affected, my dear sister, to wear your mourning for so long." + +"I have sworn an oath," said Colomba resolutely, "I'll not take off my +mourning. . . ." And her eyes were riveted on the Barricini mansion. + +"Until your wedding day?" said Orso, trying to avoid the end of her +sentence. + +"I shall never marry any man," said Colomba, "unless he has done three +things . . ." And her eyes still rested gloomily on the house of the +enemy. + +"You are so pretty, Colomba, that I wonder you are not married already! +Come, you must tell me about your suitors. And besides, I'm sure to hear +their serenades. They must be good ones to please a great _voceratrice_ +like you." + +"Who would seek the hand of a poor orphan girl? . . . And then, the man +for whom I would change my mourning-dress will have to make the women +over there put on mourning!" + +"This is becoming a perfect mania," said Orso to himself. But to avoid +discussion he said nothing at all. + +"Brother," said Colomba caressingly, "I have something to give you, too. +The clothes you are wearing are much too grand for this country. Your +fine cloth frock-coat would be in tatters in two days, if you wore it in +the _maquis_. You must keep it for the time when Miss Nevil comes." + +Then, opening a cupboard, she took out a complete hunting dress. + +"I've made you a velvet jacket, and here's a cap, such as our smart +young men wear. I embroidered it for you, ever so long ago. Will you try +them on?" And she made him put on a loose green velvet jacket, with a +huge pocket at the back. On his head she set a pointed black velvet cap, +embroidered with jet and silk of the same colour, and finished with a +sort of tassel. + +"Here is our father's _carchera_"[*] she said. "His stiletto is in the +pocket of the jacket. I'll fetch you his pistol." + + [*] Carchera, a belt for cartridges. A pistol is worn + fastened to the left side of it. + +"I look like a brigand at the Ambigu-Comique," said Orso, as he looked +at himself in the little glass Saveria was holding up for him. + +"Indeed, you look first-rate, dressed like that, Ors' Anton'," said the +old servant, "and the smartest _pinsuto_[*] in Bocognano or Bastelica is +not braver." + + [*] Pinsuto, the name given to men who wear the pointed cap, + _barreta pinsuta_. + +Orso wore his new clothes at breakfast, and during that meal he told his +sister that his trunk contained a certain number of books, that he was +going to send to France and Italy for others, and intended she should +study a great deal. + +"For it really is disgraceful, Colomba," he added, "that a grown-up +girl like you should still be ignorant of things that children on the +mainland know as soon as they are weaned." + +"You are right, brother," said Colomba. "I know my own shortcomings +quite well, and I shall be too glad to learn--especially if you are kind +enough to teach me." + +Some days went by, and Colomba never mentioned the name of Barricini. +She lavished care and attention on her brother, and often talked to him +about Miss Nevil. Orso made her read French and Italian books, and was +constantly being surprised either by the correctness and good sense of +her comments, or by her utter ignorance on the most ordinary subjects. + +One morning, after breakfast, Colomba left the room for a moment, and +instead of returning as usual, with a book and some sheets of paper, +reappeared with her _mezzaro_ on her head. The expression of her +countenance was even more serious than it generally was. + +"Brother," she said, "I want you to come out with me." + +"Where do you want me to go with you?" said Orso, holding out his arm. + +"I don't want your arm, brother, but take your gun and your +cartridge-pouch. A man should never go abroad without his arms." + +"So be it. I must follow the fashion. Where are we going?" + +Colomba, without answering, drew her _mezzaro_ closer about her head, +called the watch-dog, and went out followed by her brother. Striding +swiftly out of the village, she turned into a sunken road that wound +among the vineyards, sending on the dog, to whom she made some gesture, +which he seemed to understand, in front of her. He instantly began to +run zigzag fashion, through the vines, first on one side and then on +the other, always keeping within about fifty paces of his mistress, and +occasionally stopping in the middle of the road and wagging his tail. +He seemed to perform his duties as a scout in the most perfect fashion +imaginable. + +"If Muschetto begins to bark, brother," said Colomba, "cock your gun, +and stand still." + +Half a mile beyond the village, after making many detours, Colomba +stopped short, just where there was a bend in the road. On that spot +there rose a little pyramid of branches, some of them green, some +withered, heaped about three feet high. Above them rose the top of +a wooden cross, painted black. In several of the Corsican cantons, +especially those among the mountains, a very ancient custom, connected, +it may be with some pagan superstition, constrains every passer-by to +cast either a stone or a branch on the spot whereon a man has died a +violent death. For years and years--as long as the memory of his tragic +fate endures--this strange offering goes on accumulating from day to +day. + +This is called the dead man's _pile_--his "_mucchio_." + +Colomba stopped before the heap of foliage, broke off an arbutus branch, +and cast it on the pile. + +"Orso," she said, "this is where your father died. Let us pray for his +soul!" + +And she knelt down. Orso instantly followed her example. At that moment +the village church-bell tolled slowly for a man who had died during the +preceding night. Orso burst into tears. + +After a few minutes Colomba rose. Her eyes were dry, but her face was +eager. She hastily crossed herself with her thumb, after the fashion +generally adopted by her companions, to seal any solemn oath, then, +hurrying her brother with her, she took her way back to the village. +They re-entered their house in silence. Orso went up to his room. A +moment afterward Colomba followed him, carrying a small casket which she +set upon the table. Opening it, she drew out a shirt, covered with great +stains of blood. + +"Here is your father's shirt, Orso!" + +And she threw it across his knees. "Here is the lead that killed him!" +And she laid two blackened bullets on the shirt. + +"Orso! Brother!" she cried, throwing herself into his arms and clasping +him desperately to her. "Orso, you will avenge him!" + +In a sort of frenzy she kissed him, then kissed the shirt and the +bullets, and went out of the room, leaving her brother sitting on +his chair, as if he had been turned to stone. For some time Orso sat +motionless, not daring to put the terrible relics away. At last, with +an effort, he laid them back in their box, rushed to the opposite end +of his room, and threw himself on his bed, with his face turned to the +wall, and his head buried in his pillow, as though he were trying +to shut out the sight of some ghost. His sister's last words rang +unceasingly in his ears, like the words of an oracle, fatal, inevitable, +calling out to him for blood, and for innocent blood! I shall not +attempt to depict the unhappy young man's sensations, which were as +confused as those that overwhelm a madman's brain. For a long time he +lay in the same position, without daring to turn his head. At last he +got up, closed the lid of the casket, and rushed headlong out of the +house, into the open country, moving aimlessly forward, whither he knew +not. + +By degrees, the fresh air did him good. He grew calmer, and began +to consider his position, and his means of escape from it, with some +composure. He did not, as my readers already know, suspect the Barricini +of the murder, but he did accuse them of having forged Agostini's +letter, and this letter, he believed, at any rate, had brought about +his father's death. He felt it was impossible to prosecute them for the +forgery. Now and then, when the prejudices or the instincts of his +race assailed him, and suggested an easy vengeance--a shot fired at the +corner of some path--the thought of his brother-officers, of Parisian +drawing-rooms, and above all, of Miss Nevil, made him shrink from them +in horror. Then his mind dwelt on his sister's reproaches, and all +the Corsican within him justified her appeal, and even intensified its +bitterness. One hope alone remained to him, in this battle between his +conscience and his prejudices--the hope that, on some pretext or other, +he might pick a quarrel with one of the lawyer's sons, and fight a duel +with him. The idea of killing the young man, either by a bullet or a +sword-thrust reconciled his French and Corsican ideas. This expedient +adopted, he began to meditate means for its execution, and was feeling +relieved already of a heavy burden, when other and gentler thoughts +contributed still further to calm his feverish agitation. Cicero, in his +despair at the death of his daughter Tullia, forgot his sorrow when +he mused over all the fine things he might say about it. Mr. Shandy +consoled himself by discourses of the same nature for the loss of his +son. Orso cooled his blood by thinking that he would depict his state of +mind to Miss Nevil, and that such a picture could not fail to interest +that fair lady deeply. + +He was drawing near the village, from which he had unconsciously +travelled a considerable distance, when he heard the voice of a little +girl, who probably believed herself to be quite alone, singing in a +path that ran along the edge of the _maquis_. It was one of those slow, +monotonous airs consecrated to funeral dirges, and the child was singing +the words: + + "And when my son shall see again the dwelling of his father, + Give him that murdered father's cross; show him my shirt blood- + spattered." + +"What's that you're singing, child?" said Orso, in an angry voice, as he +suddenly appeared before her. + +"Is that you, Ors' Anton'?" exclaimed the child, rather startled. "It is +Signorina Colomba's song." + +"I forbid you to sing it!" said Orso, in a threatening voice. + +The child kept turning her head this way and that, as though looking +about for a way of escape, and she would certainly have run off had she +not been held back by the necessity of taking care of a large bundle +which lay on the grass, at her feet. + +Orso felt ashamed of his own vehemence. "What are you carrying there, +little one?" said he, with all the gentleness he could muster. And as +Chilina hesitated, he lifted up the linen that was wrapped round the +bundle, and saw it contained a loaf of bread and other food. + +"To whom are you bringing the loaf, my dear?" he asked again. + +"You know quite well, Ors' Anton': to my uncle." + +"And isn't your uncle a bandit?" + +"At your service, Ors' Anton'." + +"If you met the gendarmes, they would ask you where you were +going. . . ." + +"I should tell them," the child replied, at once, "that I was taking +food to the men from Lucca who were cutting down the _maquis_." + +"And if you came across some hungry hunter who insisted on dining at +your expense, and took your provisions away from you?" + +"Nobody would dare! I would say they are for my uncle!" + +"Well! he's not the sort of man to let himself be cheated of his dinner! +. . . Is your uncle very fond of you?" + +"Oh, yes, Ors' Anton'. Ever since my father died, he has taken care of +my whole family--my mother and my little sister, and me. Before +mother was ill, he used to recommend her to rich people, who gave her +employment. The mayor gives me a frock every year, and the priest has +taught me my catechism, and how to read, ever since my uncle spoke to +them about us. But your sister is kindest of all to us!" + +Just at this moment a dog ran out on the pathway. The little girl put +two of her fingers into her mouth and gave a shrill whistle, the dog +came to her at once, fawned upon her, and then plunged swiftly into the +thicket. Soon two men, ill-dressed, but very well armed, rose up out +of a clump of young wood a few paces from where Orso stood. It was as +though they had crawled up like snakes through the tangle of cytisus and +myrtle that covered the ground. + +"Oh, Ors' Anton', you're welcome!" said the elder of the two men. "Why, +don't you remember me?" + +"No!" said Orso, looking hard at him. + +"Queer how a beard and a peaked cap alter a man! Come, monsieur, look +at me well! Have you forgotten your old Waterloo men? Don't you remember +Brando Savelli, who bit open more than one cartridge alongside of you on +that unlucky day?" + +"What! Is it you?" said Orso. "And you deserted in 1816!" + +"Even so, sir. Faith! soldiering grows tiresome, and besides, I had a +job to settle over in this country. Aha, Chili! You're a good girl! Give +us our dinner at once, we're hungry. You've no notion what an appetite +one gets in the _maquis_. Who sent us this--was it Signorina Colomba or +the mayor?" + +"No, uncle, it was the miller's wife. She gave me this for you, and a +blanket for my mother." + +"What does she want of me?" + +"She says the Lucchesi she hired to clear the _maquis_ are asking her +five-and-thirty sous, and chestnuts as well--because of the fever in the +lower parts of Pietranera." + +"The lazy scamps! . . . I'll see to them! . . . Will you share our +dinner, monsieur, without any ceremony? We've eaten worse meals +together, in the days of that poor compatriot of ours, whom they have +discharged from the army." + +"No, I thank you heartily. They have discharged me, too!" + +"Yes, so I heard. But I'll wager you weren't sorry for it. You have your +own account to settle too. . . . Come along, cure," said the bandit to +his comrade. "Let's dine! Signor Orso, let me introduce the cure. I'm +not quite sure he is a cure. But he knows as much as any priest, at all +events!" + +"A poor student of theology, monsieur," quoth the second bandit, "who +has been prevented from following his vocation. Who knows, Brandolaccio, +I might have been Pope!" + +"What was it that deprived the Church of your learning?" inquired Orso. + +"A mere nothing--a bill that had to be settled, as my friend +Brandolaccio puts it. One of my sisters had been making a fool of +herself, while I was devouring book-lore at Pisa University. I had to +come home, to get her married. But her future husband was in too great +a hurry; he died of fever three days before I arrived. Then I called, as +you would have done in my place, on the dead man's brother. I was told +he was married. What was I to do?" + +"It really was puzzling! What did you do?" + +"It was one of those cases in which one has to resort to the gunflint." + +"In other words?" + +"I put a bullet in his head," said the bandit coolly. + +Orso made a horrified gesture. Nevertheless, curiosity, and, it may be, +his desire to put off the moment when he must return home, induced him +to remain where he was, and continue his conversation with the two men, +each of whom had at least one murder on his conscience. + +While his comrade was talking, Brandolaccio was laying bread and meat +in front of him. He helped himself--then he gave some food to this +dog, whom he introduced to Orso under the name of Brusco, as an animal +possessing a wonderful instinct for recognising a soldier, whatever +might be the disguise he had assumed. Lastly, he cut off a hunch of +bread and a slice of raw ham, and gave them to his niece. "Oh, the +merry life a bandit lives!" cried the student of theology, after he +had swallowed a few mouthfuls. "You'll try it some day, perhaps, Signor +della Rebbia, and you'll find out how delightful it is to acknowledge no +master save one's own fancy!" + +Hitherto the bandit had talked Italian. He now proceeded in French. + +"Corsica is not a very amusing country for a young man to live in--but +for a bandit, there's the difference! The women are all wild about us. +I, as you see me now, have three mistresses in three different villages. +I am at home in every one of them, and one of the ladies is married to a +gendarme!" + +"You know many languages, monsieur!" said Orso gravely. + +"If I talk French, 'tis because, look you, _maxima debetur pueris +reverentia_! We have made up our minds, Brandolaccio and I, that the +little girl shall turn out well, and go straight." + +"When she is turned fifteen," remarked Chilina's uncle, "I'll find a +good husband for her. I have one in my eye already." + +"Shall you make the proposal yourself?" said Orso. + +"Of course! Do you suppose that any well-to-do man in this +neighbourhood, to whom I said, 'I should be glad to see a marriage +between your son and Michilina Savelli,' would require any pressing?" + +"I wouldn't advise him to!" quoth the other bandit. "Friend Brandolaccio +has rather a heavy hand!" + +"If I were a rogue," continued Brandolaccio, "a blackguard, a forger, I +should only have to hold my wallet open, and the five-franc pieces would +rain into it." + +"Then is there something inside your wallet that attracts them?" said +Orso. + +"Nothing. But if I were to write to a rich man, as some people have +written, 'I want a hundred francs,' he would lose no time about sending +them to me. But I'm a man of honour, monsieur." + +"Do you know, Signor della Rebbia," said the bandit whom his comrade +called the cure, "do you know that in this country, with all its +simple habits, there are some wretches who make use of the esteem our +passports" (and he touched his gun) "insure us, to draw forged bills in +our handwriting?" + +"I know it," said Orso, in a gruff tone; "but what bills?" + +"Six months ago," said the bandit, "I was taking my walks abroad near +Orezza, when a sort of lunatic came up to me, pulling off his cap to me +even in the distance, and said: 'Oh, M. le Cure' (they always call me +that), 'please excuse me--give me time. I have only been able to get +fifty-five francs together! Honour bright, that's all I've been able to +scrape up.' I, in my astonishment, said, 'Fifty-five francs! What do +you mean, you rascal!' 'I mean sixty-five,' he replied; 'but as for the +hundred francs you asked me to give you, it's not possible.' 'What! you +villain! I ask you for a hundred francs? I don't know who you are.' Then +he showed me a letter, or rather a dirty rag of paper, whereby he was +summoned to deposit a hundred francs on a certain spot, on pain +of having his house burned and his cows killed by Giocanto +Castriconi--that's my name. And they had been vile enough to forge +my signature! What annoyed me most was that the letter was written in +_patois_, and was full of mistakes in spelling--I who won every prize at +the university! I began by giving my rascal a cuff that made him twist +round and round. 'Aha! You take me for a thief, blackguard that you +are!' I said, and I gave him a hearty kick, you know where. Then feeling +rather better, I went on, 'When are you to take the money to the spot +mentioned in the letter?' 'This very day.' 'Very good, then take it +there!' It was at the foot of a pine-tree, and the place had been +exactly described. He brought the money, buried it at the foot of the +tree, and came and joined me. I had hidden myself close by. There I +stayed, with my man, for six mortal hours, M. della Rebbia. I'd have +staid three days, if it had been necessary. At the end of six hours a +_Bastiaccio_, a vile money-lender, made his appearance. As he bent down +to take up the money, I fired, and I had aimed so well that, as he fell, +his head dropped upon the coins he was unearthing. 'Now, rascal,' said +I to the peasant, 'take your money, and never dare to suspect Giocanto +Castriconi of a mean trick again!' + +"The poor devil, all of a tremble, picked up his sixty-five francs +without taking the trouble to wipe them. He thanked me, I gave him a +good parting kick, and he may be running away still, for all I know." + +"Ah, cure!" said Brandolaccio, "I envy you that shot! How you must have +laughed!" + +"I had hit the money-lender in the temple," the bandit went on, "and +that reminded me of Virgil's lines: + + . . . "'Liquefacto tempora plumbo + Diffidit, ac multa porrectum, extendit arena.' + +"_Liquefacto!_ Do you think, Signor Orso, that the rapidity with which +a bullet flies through the air will melt it? You who have studied +projectiles, tell me whether you think that idea is truth or fiction?" + +Orso infinitely preferred discussing this question of physics to arguing +with the licentiate as to the morality of his action. Brandolaccio, who +did not find their scientific disquisition entertaining, interrupted it +with the remark that the sun was just going to set. + +"As you would not dine with us, Ors' Anton'," he said, "I advise you +not to keep Mademoiselle Colomba waiting any longer. And then it is not +always wise to be out on the roads after sunset. Why do you come out +without a gun? There are bad folk about here--beware of them! You have +nothing to fear to-day. The Barricini are bringing the prefect home with +them. They have gone to meet him on the road, and he is to stop a day +at Pietranera, before he goes on to Corte, to lay what they call a +corner-stone--such stupid nonsense! He will sleep to-night with the +Barricini; but to-morrow they'll be disengaged. There is Vincentello, +who is a good-for-nothing fellow, and Orlanduccio, who is not much +better. . . . Try to come on them separately, one to-day, the other +to-morrow. . . . But be on the lookout, that's all I have to say to +you!" + +"Thanks for the warning," said Orso. "But there is no quarrel between +us. Until they come to look for me, I shall have nothing to say to +them." + +The bandit stuck his tongue in his cheek, and smacked it ironically, but +he made no reply. Orso got up to go away. + +"By the way," said Brandolaccio, "I haven't thanked you for your powder. +It came just when I needed it. Now I have everything I want . . . at +least I do still want shoes . . . but I'll make myself a pair out of the +skin of a moufflon one of these days." + +Orso slipped two five-franc pieces into the bandit's hand. + +"It was Colomba who sent you the powder. This is to buy the shoes." + +"Nonsense, Lieutenant!" cried Brandolaccio, handing him back the two +coins. "D'ye take me for a beggar? I accept bread and powder, but I +won't have anything else!" + +"We are both old soldiers, so I thought we might have given each other a +lift. Well, good-bye to you!" + +But before he moved away he had slipped the money into he bandit's +wallet, unperceived by him. + +"Good-bye, Ors' Anton'," quoth the theologian. "We shall meet again in +the _maquis_, some day, perhaps, and then we'll continue our study of +Virgil." + +Quite a quarter of an hour after Orso had parted company with these +worthies, he heard a man running after him, as fast as he could go. It +was Brandolaccio. + +"This is too bad, lieutenant!" he shouted breathlessly, "really it is +too bad! I wouldn't overlook the trick, if any other man had played +it on me. Here are your ten francs. All my respects to Mademoiselle +Colomba. You have made me run myself quite out of breath. Good-night!" + + + +CHAPTER XII + +Orso found Colomba in a state of considerable anxiety because of his +prolonged absence. But as soon as she saw him she recovered her usual +serene, though sad, expression. During the evening meal the conversation +turned on trivial subjects, and Orso, emboldened by his sister's +apparent calm, related his encounter with the bandits, and even ventured +on a joke or two concerning the moral and religious education that was +being imparted to little Chilina, thanks to the care of her uncle and of +his worthy colleague Signor Castriconi. + +"Brandolaccio is an upright man," said Colomba; "but as to Castriconi, I +have heard he is quite unprincipled." + +"I think," said Orso, "that he is as good as Brandolaccio, and +Brandolaccio is as good as he. Both of them are at open war with +society. Their first crime leads them on to fresh ones, every day, and +yet they are very likely not half so guilty as many people who don't +live in the _maquis_." + +A flash of joy shone in his sister's eyes. "Yes," he continued, "these +wretches have a code of honour of their own. It is a cruel prejudice, +not a mean instinct of greed, that has forced them into the life they +are leading." + +There was a silence. + +"Brother," said Colomba, as she poured out his coffee, "perhaps you have +heard that Carlo-Battista Pietri died last night. Yes, he died of the +marsh-fever." + +"Who is Pietri?" + +"A man belonging to this village, the husband of Maddalena, who took the +pocket-book out of our father's hand as he was dying. His widow has been +here to ask me to join the watchers, and sing something. You ought to +come, too. They are our neighbours, and in a small place like this we +can not do otherwise than pay them this civility." + +"Confound these wakes, Colomba! I don't at all like my sister to perform +in public in this way." + +"Orso," replied Colomba, "every country pays honour to its dead after +its own fashion. The _ballata_ has come down to us from our forefathers, +and we must respect it as an ancient custom. Maddalena does not possess +the 'gift,' and old Fiordispina, the best _voceratrice_ in the country, +is ill. They must have somebody for the _ballata_." + +"Do you believe Carlo-Battista won't find his way safely into the next +world unless somebody sings bad poetry over his bier? Go if you choose, +Colomba--I'll go with you, if you think I ought. But don't improvise! It +really is not fitting at your age, and--sister, I beg you not to do it!" + +"Brother, I have promised. It is the custom here, as you know, and, I +tell you again, there is nobody but me to improvise." + +"An idiotic custom it is!" + +"It costs me a great deal to sing in this way. It brings back all our +own sorrows to me. I shall be ill after it, to-morrow. But I must do it. +Give me leave to do it. Brother, remember that when we were at Ajaccio, +you told me to improvise to amuse that young English lady who makes a +mock of our old customs. So why should I not do it to-day for these poor +people, who will be grateful to me, and whom it will help to bear their +grief?" + +"Well, well, as you will. I'll go bail you've composed your _ballata_ +already, and don't want to waste it." + +"No, brother, I couldn't compose it beforehand. I stand before the dead +person, and I think about those he has left behind him. The tears spring +into my eyes, and then I sing whatever comes into my head." + +All this was said so simply that it was quite impossible to suspect +Signorina Colomba of the smallest poetic vanity. Orso let himself be +persuaded, and went with his sister to Pietri's house. The dead man lay +on a table in the largest room, with his face uncovered. All the doors +and windows stood open, and several tapers were burning round the table. +At the head stood the widow, and behind her a great many women, who +filled all one side of the room. On the other side were the men, in +rows, bareheaded, with their eyes fixed on the corpse, all in the +deepest silence. Each new arrival went up to the table, kissed the dead +face, bowed his or her head to the widow and her son, and joined the +circle, without uttering a word. Nevertheless, from time to time one +of the persons present would break the solemn silence with a few words, +addressed to the dead man. + +"Why has thou left thy good wife?" said one old crone. "Did she not take +good care of thee? What didst thou lack? Why not have waited another +month? Thy daughter-in-law would have borne thee a grandson!" A tall +young fellow, Pietri's son, pressed his father's cold hand and cried: +"Oh! why hast thou not died of the _mala morte_?[*] Then we could have +avenged thee!" + +[*] _La mala morte_, a violent death. + +These were the first words to fall on Orso's ear as he entered the room. +At the sight of him the circle parted, and a low murmur of curiosity +betrayed the expectation roused in the gathering by the _voceratrice's_ +presence. Colomba embraced the widow, took one of her hands, and stood +for some moments wrapped in meditation, with her eyelids dropped. Then +she threw back her _mezzaro_, gazed fixedly at the corpse, and bending +over it, her face almost as waxen as that of the dead man, she began +thus: + +"Carlo-Battista! May Christ receive thy soul! . . . To live is to +suffer! Thou goest to a place . . . where there is neither sun nor cold. +. . . No longer dost thou need thy pruning-hook . . . nor thy heavy +pick. . . . There is no more work for thee! . . . Henceforward all thy +days are Sundays! . . . Carlo-Battista! May Christ receive thy soul! +. . . Thy son rules in thy house. . . . I have seen the oak fall, . . . +dried up by the _libeccio_. . . . I thought it was dead indeed, . . . +but when I passed it again, its root . . . had thrown up a sapling. +. . . The sapling grew into an oak . . . of mighty shade. . . . Under its +great branches, Maddele, rest thee well! . . . And think of the oak that +is no more!" + +Here Maddalena began to sob aloud, and two or three men who, on +occasion, would have shot at a Christian as coolly as at a partridge, +brushed big tears off their sunburnt faces. + +For some minutes Colomba continued in this strain, addressing herself +sometimes to the corpse, sometimes to the family, and sometimes, by a +personification frequently employed in the _ballata_, making the dead +man himself speak words of consolation or counsel to his kinsfolk. As +she proceeded, her face assumed a sublime expression, a delicate pink +tinge crept over her features, heightening the brilliancy of her white +teeth and the lustre of her flashing eyes. She was like a Pythoness on +her tripod. Save for a sigh here and there, or a strangled sob, not the +slightest noise rose from the assembly that crowded about her. Orso, +though less easily affected than most people by this wild kind of +poetry, was soon overcome by the general emotion. Hidden in a dark +corner of the room, he wept as heartily as Pietri's own son. + +Suddenly a slight stir was perceptible among the audience. The circle +opened, and several strangers entered. The respect shown them, and the +eagerness with which room was made for them, proved them to be people +of importance, whose advent was a great honour to the household. +Nevertheless, out of respect for the _ballata_, nobody said a word to +them. The man who had entered first seemed about forty years of age. +From his black coat, his red rosette, his confident air, and look of +authority, he was at once guessed to be the prefect. Behind him came +a bent old man with a bilious-looking complexion, whose furtive and +anxious glance was only partially concealed by his green spectacles. He +wore a black coat, too large for him, and which, though still quite new, +had evidently been made several years previously. He always kept close +beside the prefect and looked as though he would fain hide himself +under his shadow. Last of all, behind him, came two tall young men, +with sunburnt faces, their cheeks hidden by heavy whiskers, proud and +arrogant-looking, and showing symptoms of an impertinent curiosity. +Orso had had time to forget the faces of his village neighbours; but +the sight of the old man in green spectacles instantly called up old +memories in his mind. His presence in attendance on the prefect sufficed +to insure his recognition. This was Barricini, the lawyer, mayor of +Pietranera, who had come, with his two sons, to show the prefect what a +_ballata_ was. It would be difficult exactly to describe what happened +within Orso's soul at that moment, but the presence of his father's foe +filled him with a sort of horror, and more than ever he felt inclined to +yield to the suspicions with which he had been battling for so long. + +As to Colomba, when she saw the man against whom she had sworn a deadly +hatred, her mobile countenance assumed a most threatening aspect. She +turned pale, her voice grew hoarse, the line she had begun to declaim +died on her lips. But soon, taking up her _ballata_ afresh, she +proceeded with still greater vehemence. + +"When the hawk bemoans himself . . . beside his harried nest, . . . the +starlings flutter round him . . . insulting his distress." + +A smothered laugh was heard. The two young men who had just come in +doubtless considered the metaphor too bold. + +"The falcon will rouse himself. . . . He will spread his wings. . . . He +will wash his beak in blood! . . . Now, to thee, Carlo-Battista, let +thy friends . . . bid an eternal farewell! . . . Long enough have their +tears flowed! . . . Only the poor orphan girl will not weep for thee! +. . . Wherefore should she moan? . . . Thou has fallen asleep, full of +years, . . in the midst of thine own kin . . . ready to appear . . . +in the presence of the Almighty. . . . The orphan weeps for her father +. . . overtaken by vile murderers, . . struck from behind. . . . For her +father, whose blood lies red . . . beneath the heaped-up green leaves. +. . . But she has gathered up this blood, . . this innocent and noble +blood! . . . She has poured it out over Pietranera . . . that it may +become a deadly poison. . . . And the mark shall be on Pietranera +. . . until the blood of the guilty . . . shall have wiped out the blood +of the innocent man!" + +As Colomba pronounced the last words, she dropped into a chair, drew her +_mezzaro_ over her face, and was heard sobbing beneath it. The weeping +women crowded round the _improvisatrice_; several of the men were +casting savage glances at the mayor and his sons; some of the elders +began to protest against the scandal to which their presence had given +rise. The dead man's son pushed his way through the throng, and was +about to beg the mayor to clear out with all possible speed. But this +functionary had not waited for the suggestion. He was on his way to the +door, and his two sons were already in the street. The prefect said a +few words of condolence to young Pietri, and followed them out, almost +immediately. Orso went to his sister's side, took her arm, and drew her +out of the room. + +"Go with them," said young Pietri to some of his friends. "Take care no +harm comes to them!" + +Hastily two or three young men slipped their stilettos up the left +sleeves of their jackets and escorted Orso and his sister to their own +door. + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +Panting, exhausted, Colomba was utterly incapable of uttering a single +word. Her head rested on her brother's shoulder, and she clasped one +of his hands tightly between her own. Orso, though secretly somewhat +annoyed by her peroration, was too much alarmed to reprove her, even +in the mildest fashion. He was silently waiting till the nervous attack +from which she seemed to be suffering should have passed, when there +was a knock at the door, and Saveria, very much flustered, announced the +prefect. At the words, Colomba rose, as though ashamed of her weakness, +and stood leaning on a chair, which shook visibly beneath her hand. + +The prefect began with some commonplace apology for the unseasonable +hour of his visit, condoled with Mademoiselle Colomba, touched on the +danger connected with strong emotions, blamed the custom of composing +funeral dirges, which the very talent of the _voceratrice_ rendered +the more harrowing to her auditors, skilfully slipped in a mild reproof +concerning the tendency of the improvisation just concluded, and then, +changing his tone-- + +"M. della Rebbia," he said, "I have many messages for you from your +English friends. Miss Nevil sends her affectionate regards to your +sister. I have a letter for you from her." + +"A letter from Miss Nevil!" cried Orso. + +"Unluckily I have not got it with me. But you shall have it within five +minutes. Her father has not been well. For a little while we were afraid +he had caught one of our terrible fevers. Luckily he is all right again, +as you will observe for yourself, for I fancy you will see him very +soon." + +"Miss Nevil must have been very much alarmed!" + +"Fortunately she did not become aware of the danger till it was quite +gone by. M. della Rebbia, Miss Nevil has talked to me a great deal about +you and about your sister." + +Orso bowed. + +"She has a great affection for you both. Under her charming appearance, +and her apparent frivolity, a fund of good sense lies hidden." + +"She is a very fascinating person," said Orso. + +"I have come here, monsieur, almost at her prayer. Nobody is better +acquainted than I with a fatal story which I would fain not have to +recall to you. As M. Barricini is still the mayor of Pietranera, and +as I am prefect of the department, I need hardly tell you what weight +I attach to certain suspicions which, if I am rightly informed, some +incautious individuals have communicated to you, and which you, I know, +have spurned with the indignation your position and your character would +have led me to expect." + +"Colomba," said Orso, moving uneasily to his chair. "You are very tired. +You had better go to bed." + +Colomba shook her head. She had recovered all her usual composure, and +her burning eyes were fixed on the prefect. + +"M. Barricini," the prefect continued, "is exceedingly anxious to put an +end to the sort of enmity . . . or rather, the condition of uncertainty, +existing between yourself and him. . . . On my part, I should be +delighted to see you both in those relations of friendly intercourse +appropriate to people who certainly ought to esteem each other." + +"Monsieur," replied Orso in a shaking voice, "I have never charged +Barricini with my father's murder. But he committed an act which must +always prevent me from having anything to do with him. He forged a +threatening letter, in the name of a certain bandit, or at least he +hinted in an underhand sort of way that it was forged by my father. That +letter, monsieur, was probably the indirect cause of my father's death." + +The prefect sat thinking for a moment. + +"That your father should have believed that, when his own hasty nature +led him into a lawsuit with Signor Barricini, is excusable. But such +blindness on your part really can not be admitted. Pray consider that +Barricini could have served no interest of his own by forging the +letter. I will not talk to you about his character, for you are not +acquainted with it, and are prejudiced against it; but you can not +suppose that a man conversant with the law----" + +"But, monsieur," said Orso, rising to his feet, "be good enough to +recollect that when you tell me the letter was not Barricini's work, you +ascribe it to my father. And my father's honour, monsieur, is mine!" + +"No man on earth, sir, is more convinced of Colonel della Rebbia's +honour than myself! But the writer of the letter is now known." + +"Who wrote it?" exclaimed Colomba, making a step toward the prefect. + +"A villain, guilty of several crimes--such crimes as you Corsicans never +pardon--a thief, one Tomaso Bianchi, at present confined in the prison +at Bastia, has acknowledged that he wrote the fatal letter." + +"I know nothing of the man," said Orso. "What can have been his object?" + +"He belongs to this neighbourhood," said Colomba. "He is brother to a +man who was our miller--a scamp and a liar, unworthy of belief." + +"You will soon see what his interest in the matter was," continued the +prefect. "The miller of whom your sister speaks--I think his name was +Teodoro--was the tenant of a mill belonging to the colonel, standing on +the very stream the ownership of which M. Barricini was disputing with +your father. The colonel, always a generous man, made very little profit +out of the mill. Now Tomaso thought that if Barricini got possession of +the stream there would be a heavy rent to pay, for it is well known +that Barricini is rather fond of money. In short, to oblige his brother, +Tomaso forged the letter from the bandit--and there's the whole story. +You know that in Corsica the strength of the family tie is so great that +it does sometimes lead to crime. Please read over this letter to me from +the attorney-general. It confirms what I have just told you." + +Orso looked through the letter, which gave a detailed relation of +Tomaso's confession, and Colomba read it over his shoulder. + +When she had come to the end of it she exclaimed: + +"Orlanduccio Barricini went down to Bastia a month ago, when it became +known that my brother was coming home. He must have seen Tomaso, and +bought this lie of him!" + +"Signorina," said the prefect, out of patience, "you explain everything +by odious imputations! Is that the way to find out the truth? You, sir, +can judge more coolly. Tell me what you think of the business now? Do +you believe, like this young lady, that a man who has only a slight +sentence to fear would deliberately charge himself with forgery, just to +oblige a person he doesn't know?" + +Orso read the attorney-general's letter again, weighing every word with +the greatest care--for now that he had seen the old lawyer, he felt it +more difficult to convince himself than it would have been a few +days previously. At last he found himself obliged to admit that the +explanation seemed to him to be satisfactory. But Colomba cried out +vehemently: + +"Tomaso Bianchi is a knave! He'll not be convicted, or he'll escape from +prison! I am certain of it!" + +The prefect shrugged his shoulders. + +"I have laid the information I have received before you, monsieur. I +will now depart, and leave you to your own reflections. I shall wait +till your own reason has enlightened you, and I trust it may prove +stronger than your sister's suppositions." + +Orso, after saying a few words of excuse for Colomba, repeated that he +now believed Tomaso to be the sole culprit. + +The prefect had risen to take his leave. + +"If it were not so late," said he, "I would suggest your coming over +with me to fetch Miss Nevil's letter. At the same time you might repeat +to M. Barricini what you have just said to me, and the whole thing would +be settled." + +"Orso della Rebbia will never set his foot inside the house of a +Barricini!" exclaimed Colomba impetuously. + +"This young lady appears to be the _tintinajo_[*] of the family!" +remarked the prefect, with a touch of irony. + + [*] This is the name given to the ram or he-goat which wears + a bell and leads the flock, and it is applied, + metaphorically, to any member of a family who guides it in + all important matters. + +"Monsieur," replied Colomba resolutely, "you are deceived. You do not +know the lawyer. He is the most cunning and knavish of men. I +beseech you not to make Orso do a thing that would overwhelm him with +dishonour!" + +"Colomba!" exclaimed Orso, "your passion has driven you out of your +senses!" + +"Orso! Orso! By the casket I gave you, I beseech you to listen to me! +There is blood between you and the Barricini. You shall not go into +their house!" + +"Sister!" + +"No, brother, you shall not go! Or I will leave this house, and you will +never see me again! Have pity on me, Orso!" and she fell on her knees. + +"I am grieved," said the prefect, "to find Mademoiselle Colomba so +unreasonable. You will convince her, I am sure." + +He opened the door and paused, seeming to expect Orso to follow him. + +"I can not leave her now," said Orso. "To-morrow, if----" + +"I shall be starting very early," said the prefect. + +"Brother," cried Colomba, clasping her hands, "wait till to-morrow +morning, in any case. Let me look over my father's papers. You can not +refuse me that!" + +"Well, you shall look them over to-night. But at all events you shall +not torment me afterward with your violent hatreds. A thousand pardons, +monsieur! I am so upset myself to-night--it had better be to-morrow." + +"The night brings counsel," said the prefect, as he went out. "I hope +all your uncertainty will have disappeared by to-morrow." + +"Saveria," Colomba called, "take the lantern and attend the Signor +Prefetto. He will give you a letter to bring back to my brother." + +She added a few words which reached Saveria's ear alone. + +"Colomba," said Orso, when the prefect was gone, "you have distressed me +very much. Will no evidence convince you?" + +"You have given me till to-morrow," she replied. "I have very little +time; but I still have some hope." + +Then she took a bunch of keys and ran up to a room on the upper story. +There he could hear her pulling open drawers, and rummaging in the +writing-desk in which Colonel della Rebbia had kept his business papers. + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +Saveria was a long time away, and when she at last reappeared, carrying +a letter, and followed by little Chilina, rubbing her eyes, and +evidently just waked out of her beauty sleep, Orso was wound up to the +highest possible pitch of impatience. + +"Chili," said Orso, "what are you doing here at this hour?" + +"The signorina sent for me," replied Chilina. + +"What the devil does she want with her?" thought Orso to himself. But he +was in a hurry to open Miss Lydia's letter, and while he was reading it +Chilina went upstairs to his sister's room. + +"My father, dear sir, has not been well," Miss Nevil wrote, "and he is +so indolent, besides, that I am obliged to act as his secretary. You +remember that, instead of admiring the landscape with you and me the +other day, he got his feet wet on the sea-shore--and in your delightful +island, that is quite enough to give one a fever! I can see the face you +are making! No doubt you are feeling for your dagger. But I will hope +you have none now. Well, my father had a little fever, and I had a great +fright. The prefect, whom I persist in thinking very pleasant, sent us +a doctor, also a very pleasant man, who got us over our trouble in two +days. There has been no return of the attack, and my father would like +to begin to shoot again. But I have forbidden that. How did you find +matters in your mountain home? Is your North Tower still in its old +place? Are there any ghosts about it? I ask all these questions because +my father remembers you have promised him buck and boar and moufflon--is +that the right name for those strange creatures? We intend to crave your +hospitality on our way to Bastia, where we are to embark, and I trust +the della Rebbia Castle, which you declare is so old and tumble-down, +will not fall in upon our heads! Though the prefect is so pleasant that +subjects of conversation are never lacking to us--I flatter myself, by +the way, that I have turned his head--we have been talking about your +worshipful self. The legal people at Bastia have sent him certain +confessions, made by a rascal they have under lock and key, which are +calculated to destroy your last remaining suspicions. The enmity which +sometimes alarmed me for you must therefore end at once. You have no +idea what a pleasure this has been to me! When you started hence with +the fair _voceratrice_, with your gun in hand, and your brow lowering, +you struck me as being more Corsican than ever--too Corsican indeed! +_Basta!_ I write you this long letter because I am dull. The prefect, +alas! is going away. We will send you a message when we start for your +mountains, and I shall take the liberty of writing to Signorina Colomba +to ask her to give me a _bruccio, ma solenne_! Meanwhile, give her +my love. I use her dagger a great deal to cut the leaves of a novel I +brought with me. But the doughty steel revolts against such usage, and +tears my book for me, after a most pitiful fashion. Farewell, sir! My +father sends you 'his best love.' Listen to what the prefect says. He +is a sensible man, and is turning out of his way, I believe, on your +account. He is going to lay a foundation-stone at Corte. I should fancy +the ceremony will be very imposing, and I am very sorry not to see it. +A gentleman in an embroidered coat and silk stockings and a white scarf, +wielding a trowel--and a speech! And at the end of the performance +manifold and reiterated shouts of 'God save the King.' I say again, sir, +it will make you very vain to think I have written you four whole pages, +and on that account I give you leave to write me a very long letter. By +the way, I think it very odd of you not to have let me hear of your safe +arrival at the Castle of Pietranera! + +"LYDIA. + +"P.S.--I beg you will listen to the prefect, and do as he bids you. We +have agreed that this is the course you should pursue, and I shall be +very glad if you do it." + + +Orso read the letter three or four times over, making endless mental +comments each time as he read. Then he wrote a long answer, which he +sent by Saveria's hand to a man in the village, who was to go down to +Ajaccio the very next day. Already he had almost dismissed the idea of +discussing his grievance, true or false, against the Barricini, with +his sister. Miss Lydia's letter had cast a rose-coloured tint over +everything about him. He felt neither hatred nor suspicion now. He +waited some time for his sister to come down, and finding she did not +reappear, he went to bed, with a lighter heart than he had carried +for many a day. Colomba, having dismissed Chilina with some secret +instructions, spent the greater part of the night in reading old +papers. A little before daybreak a few tiny pebbles rattled against the +window-pane. At the signal, she went down to the garden, opened a back +door, and conducted two very rough men into her house. Her first care +was to bring them into the kitchen and give them food. My readers will +shortly learn who these men were. + + + +CHAPTER XV + +Toward six o'clock next morning one of the prefect's servants came and +knocked at the door of Orso's house. He was received by Colomba, and +informed her the prefect was about to start, and was expecting her +brother. Without a moment's hesitation Colomba replied that her brother +had just had a fall on the stairs, and sprained his foot; and he was +unable to walk a single step, that he begged the prefect to excuse him, +and would be very grateful if he would condescend to take the trouble +of coming over to him. A few minutes after this message had been +despatched, Orso came downstairs, and asked his sister whether the +prefect had not sent for him. + +With the most perfect assurance she rejoined: + +"He begs you'll wait for him here." + +Half an hour went by without the slightest perceptible stir in the +Barricini dwelling. Meanwhile Orso asked Colomba whether she had +discovered anything. She replied that she proposed to make her statement +when the prefect came. She affected an extreme composure. But her colour +and her eyes betrayed her state of feverish excitement. + +At last the door of the Barricini mansion was seen to open. The prefect +came out first, in travelling garb; he was followed by the mayor and his +two sons. What was the stupefaction of the inhabitants of the village of +Pietranera, who had been on the watch since sunrise for the departure of +the chief magistrate of their department, when they saw him go straight +across the square and enter the della Rebbia dwelling, accompanied +by the three Barricini. "They are going to make peace!" exclaimed the +village politicians. + +"Just as I told you," one old man went on. "Ors' Anton' has lived too +much on the mainland to carry things through like a man of mettle." + +"Yet," responded a Rebbianite, "you may notice it is the Barricini who +have gone across to him. They are suing for mercy." + +"It's the prefect who had wheedled them all round," answered the old +fellow. "There is no such thing as courage nowadays, and the young +chaps make no more fuss about their father's blood than if they were all +bastards." + +The prefect was not a little astounded to find Orso up and walking about +with perfect ease. In the briefest fashion Colomba avowed her own lie, +and begged him to forgive it. + +"If you had been staying anywhere else, monsieur, my brother would have +gone to pay his respects to you yesterday." + +Orso made endless apologies, vowing he had nothing to do with his +sister's absurd stratagem, by which he appeared deeply mortified. The +prefect and the elder Barricini appeared to believe in the sincerity +of his regret, and indeed this belief was justified by his evident +confusion and the reproaches he addressed to his sister. But the mayor's +two sons did not seem satisfied. + +"We are being made to look like fools," said Orlanduccio audibly. + +"If my sister were to play me such tricks," said Vincentello, "I'd soon +cure her fancy for beginning them again." + +The words, and the tone in which they were uttered, offended Orso, and +diminished his good-will. Glances that were anything but friendly were +exchanged between him and the two young men. + +Meanwhile, everybody being seated save Colomba, who remained standing +close to the kitchen door, the prefect took up his parable, and after a +few common-places as to local prejudices, he recalled the fact that +the most inveterate enmities generally have their root in some mere +misunderstanding. Next, turning to the mayor, he told him that Signor +della Rebbia had never believed the Barricini family had played any +part, direct or indirect, in the deplorable event which had bereft him +of his father; that he had, indeed, nursed some doubts as to one +detail in the lawsuit between the two families; that Signor Orso's long +absence, and the nature of the information sent him, excused the doubt +in question; that in the light of recent revelations he felt completely +satisfied, and desired to re-open friendly and neighbourly relations +with Signor Barricini and his sons. + +Orso bowed stiffly. Signor Barricini stammered a few words that nobody +could hear, and his sons stared steadily at the ceiling rafters. The +prefect was about to continue his speech, and address the counterpart +of the remarks he had made to Signor Barricini, to Orso, when Colomba +stepped gravely forward between the contracting parties, at the same +time drawing some papers from beneath her neckerchief. + +"I should be happy indeed," she said, "to see the quarrel between our +two families brought to an end. But if the reconciliation is to be +sincere, there must be a full explanation, and nothing must be left in +doubt. Signor Prefetto, Tomaso Bianchi's declaration, coming from a man +of such vile report, seemed to me justly open to doubt. I said your sons +had possibly seen this man in the prison at Bastia." + +"It's false!" interrupted Orlanduccio; "I didn't see him!" + +Colomba cast a scornful glance at him, and proceeded with great apparent +composure. + +"You explained Tomaso's probable interest in threatening Signor +Barricini, in the name of a dreaded bandit, by his desire to keep his +brother Teodoro in possession of the mill which my father allowed him to +hire at a very low rent." + +"That's quite clear," assented the prefect. + +"Where was Tomaso Bianchi's interest?" exclaimed Colomba triumphantly. +"His brother's lease had run out. My father had given him notice on +the 1st of July. Here is my father's account-book; here is his note of +warning given to Teodoro, and the letter from a business man at Ajaccio +suggesting a new tenant." + +As she spoke she gave the prefect the papers she had been holding in her +hand. + +There was an astonished pause. The mayor turned visibly pale. Orso, +knitting his brows, leaned forward to look at the papers, which the +prefect was perusing most attentively. + +"We are being made to look like fools!" cried Orlanduccio again, +springing angrily to his feet. "Let us be off, father! We ought never to +have come here!" + +One instant's delay gave Signor Barricini time to recover his composure. +He asked leave to see the papers. Without a word the prefect handed them +over to him. Pushing his green spectacles up to his forehead, he looked +through them with a somewhat indifferent air, while Colomba watched +him with the eyes of a tigress who sees a buck drawing near to the lair +where she had hidden her cubs. + +"Well," said Signor Barricini, as he pulled down his spectacles and +returned the documents, "knowing the late colonel's kind heart, Tomaso +thought--most likely he thought--that the colonel would change his mind +about the notice. As a matter of fact, Bianchi is still at the mill, +so--" + +"It was I," said Colomba, and there was scorn in her voice, "who left +him there. My father was dead, and situated as I was, I was obliged to +treat my brother's dependents with consideration." + +"Yet," quoth the prefect, "this man Tomaso acknowledges that he wrote +the letter. That much is clear." + +"The thing that is clear to me," broke in Orso, "is that there is some +vile infamy underneath this whole business." + +"I have to contradict another assertion made by these gentlemen," said +Colomba. + +She threw open the door into the kitchen and instantly Brandolaccio, the +licentiate in theology, and Brusco, the dog, marched into the room. The +two bandits were unarmed--apparently, at all events; they wore their +cartridge belts, but the pistols, which are their necessary complement, +were absent. As they entered the room they doffed their caps +respectfully. + +The effect produced by their sudden appearance may be conceived. The +mayor almost fell backward. His sons threw themselves boldly in front +of him, each one feeling for his dagger in his coat pocket. The prefect +made a step toward the door, and Orso, seizing Brandolaccio by the +collar, shouted: + +"What have you come here for, you villain?" + +"This is a trap!" cried the mayor, trying to get the door open. But, by +the bandits' orders, as was afterward discovered, Saveria had locked it +on the outside. + +"Good people," said Brandolaccio, "don't be afraid of me. I'm not such a +devil as I look. We mean no harm at all. Signor Prefetto, I'm your very +humble servant. Gently, lieutenant! You're strangling me! We're here as +witnesses! Now then, Padre, speak up! Your tongue's glib enough!" + +"Signor Prefetto," quoth the licentiate, "I have not the honour of being +known to you. My name is Giocanto Castriconi, better known as the Padre. +Aha, it's coming back to you! The signorina here, whom I have not +the pleasure of knowing either, has sent to ask me to supply some +information about a fellow of the name of Tomaso Bianchi, with whom I +chanced to be shut up, about three weeks ago, in the prison at Bastia. +This is what I have to tell you." + +"Spare yourself the trouble," said the prefect. "I can not listen to +anything from such a man as you. Signor della Rebbia, I am willing to +believe you have had nothing to do with this detestable plot. But are +you master in your own house? Will you have the door opened? Your sister +may have to give an account of the strange relations in which she lives +with a set of bandits." + +"Signor Prefetto!" cried Colomba, "I beseech you to listen to what this +man has to say! You are here to do justice to everybody, and it is your +duty to search out the truth. Speak, Giocanto Castriconi!" + +"Don't listen to him," chorused the three Barricini. + +"If everybody talks at once," remarked the bandit, with a smile, "nobody +can contrive to hear what anybody says. Well, in the prison at Bastia +I had as my companion--not as my friend--this very man, Tomaso. He +received frequent visits from Signor Orlanduccio." + +"You lie!" shouted the two brothers together. + +"Two negatives make an affirmative," pursued Castriconi coolly. "Tomaso +had money, he ate and drank of the best. I have always been fond of good +cheer (that's the least of my failings), and in spite of my repugnance +to rubbing shoulders with such a wretch, I let myself be tempted, +several times over, into dining with him. Out of gratitude, I proposed +he should escape with me. A young person--to whom I had shown some +kindness--had provided me with the necessary means. I don't intend to +compromise anybody. Tomaso refused my offer, telling me he was certain +to be all right, as lawyer Barricini had spoken to all the judges for +him, and he was sure to get out of prison with a character as white as +snow, and with money in his pocket, too. As for me, I thought it better +to get into the fresh air. _Dixi_." + +"Everything that fellow has said is a heap of lies," reiterated +Orlanduccio stoutly. "If we were in the open country, and each of us had +his gun, he wouldn't talk in that way." + +"Here's a pretty folly!" cried Brandolaccio. "Don't you quarrel with the +Padre, Orlanduccio!" + +"Will you be good enough to allow me to leave this room, Signor della +Rebbia," said the prefect, and he stamped his foot in his impatience. + +"Saveria! Saveria!" shouted Orso, "open the door, in the devil's name!" + +"One moment," said Brandolaccio. "We have to slip away first, on our +side. Signor Prefetto, the custom, when people meet in the house of +a mutual friend, is to allow each other half an hour's law, after +departure." + +The prefect cast a scornful glance at him. + +"Your servant, signorina, and gentlemen all!" said Brandolaccio. Then +stretching out his arm, "Hi, Brusco," he cried to his dog, "jump for the +Signor Prefetto!" + +The dog jumped; the bandits swiftly snatched up their arms in the +kitchen, fled across the garden, and at a shrill whistle the door of the +room flew open as though by magic. + +"Signor Barricini," said Orso, and suppressed fury vibrated in his +voice, "I hold you to be a forger! This very day I shall charge you +before the public prosecutor with forgery and complicity with Bianchi. I +may perhaps have a still more terrible accusation to bring against you!" + +"And I, Signor della Rebbia," replied the mayor, "shall lay my charge +against you for conspiracy and complicity with bandits. Meanwhile the +prefect will desire the gendarmes to keep an eye upon you." + +"The prefect will do his duty," said that gentleman sternly. "He will +see the public order is not disturbed at Pietranera; he will take care +justice is done. I say this to you all, gentlemen!" + +The mayor and Vincentello were outside the room already, and Orlanduccio +was following them, stepping backward, when Orso said to him in an +undertone: + +"Your father is an old man. One cuff from me would kill him. It is with +you and with your brother that I intend to deal." + +Orlanduccio's only response was to draw his dagger and fly like a madman +at Orso. But before he could use his weapon Colomba caught hold of his +arm and twisted it violently, while Orso gave him a blow in the face +with his fist, which made him stagger several paces back, and come into +violent collision with the door frame. Orlanduccio's dagger dropped from +his hand. But Vincentello had his ready, and was rushing back into the +room, when Colomba, snatching up a gun convinced him that the struggle +must be unequal. At the same time the prefect threw himself between the +combatants. + +"We shall soon meet, Ors' Anton'!" shouted Orlanduccio, and slamming +the door of the room violently, he turned the key in the lock, so as to +insure himself time to retreat. + +For a full quarter of an hour Orso and the prefect kept their places +in dead silence, at opposite ends of the room. Colomba, the pride of +triumph shining on her brow, gazed first at one and then at the other, +as she leaned on the gun that had turned the scale of victory. + +"What a country! Oh, what a country!" cried the prefect at last, rising +hastily from his chair. "Signor della Rebbia, you did wrong! You must +give me your word of honour to abstain from all violence, and to wait +till the law settles this cursed business." + +"Yes, Signor Prefetto, I was wrong to strike that villain. But I did +strike him, after all, and I can't refuse him the satisfaction he has +demanded of me." + +"Pooh! no! He doesn't want to fight you! But supposing he murders you? +You've done everything you could to insure it." + +"We'll protect ourselves," said Colomba. + +"Orlanduccio," said Orso, "strikes me as being a plucky fellow, and I +think better of him than that, monsieur. He was very quick about drawing +his dagger. But perhaps I should have done the same thing in his place, +and I'm glad my sister has not an ordinary fine lady's wrist." + +"You are not to fight," exclaimed the prefect. "I forbid it!" + +"Allow me to say, monsieur, that in matters that affect my honour the +only authority I acknowledge is that of my own conscience." + +"You sha'n't fight, I tell you!" + +"You can put me under arrest, monsieur--that is, if I let you catch me. +But if you were to do that, you would only delay a thing that has now +become inevitable. You are a man of honour yourself, monsieur; you know +there can be no other course." + +"If you were to have my brother arrested," added Colomba, "half the +village would take his part, and we should have a fine fusillade." + +"I give you fair notice, monsieur, and I entreat you not to think I am +talking mere bravado. I warn you that if Signor Barricini abuses his +authority as mayor, to have me arrested, I shall defend myself." + +"From this very day," said the prefect, "Signor Barricini is suspended. +I trust he will exculpate himself. Listen to me, my young gentleman, I +have a liking for you. What I ask of you is nothing to speak of. Just to +stay quietly at home till I get back from Corte. I shall only be three +days away. I'll bring back the public prosecutor with me, and then we'll +sift this wretched business to the bottom. Will you promise me you will +abstain from all hostilities till then?" + +"I can not promise that, monsieur, if, as I expect, Orlanduccio asks me +to meet him." + +"What, Signor della Rebbia! Would you--a French officer--think of going +out with a man you suspect of being a forger?" + +"I struck him, monsieur!" + +"But supposing you struck a convict, and he demanded satisfaction of +you, would you fight him? Come, come, Signor Orso! But I'll ask you to +do even less, do nothing to seek out Orlanduccio. I'll consent to your +fighting him if he asks you for a meeting." + +"He will ask for it, I haven't a doubt of that. But I'll promise I won't +give him fresh cuffs to induce him to do it." + +"What a country!" cried the prefect once more, as he strode to and fro. +"Shall I never get back to France?" + +"Signor Prefetto," said Colomba in her most dulcet tones, "it is growing +very late. Would you do us the honour of breakfasting here?" + +The prefect could not help laughing. + +"I've been here too long already--it may look like partiality. And there +is that cursed foundation-stone. I must be off. Signorina della Rebbia! +what calamities you may have prepared this day!" + +"At all events, Signor Prefetto, you will do my sister the justice of +believing her convictions are deeply rooted--and I am sure, now, that +you yourself believe them to be well-founded." + +"Farewell, sir!" said the prefect, waving his hand. "I warn you that the +sergeant of gendarmes will have orders to watch everything you do." + +When the prefect had departed-- + +"Orso," said Colomba, "this isn't the Continent. Orlanduccio knows +nothing about your duels, and besides, that wretch must not die the +death of a brave man." + +"Colomba, my dear, you are a clever woman. I owe you a great deal from +having saved me from a hearty knife-thrust. Give me your little hand to +kiss! But, hark ye, let me have my way. There are certain matters that +you don't understand. Give me my breakfast. And as soon as the prefect +had started off send for little Chilina, who seems to perform all the +commissions she is given in the most wonderful fashion. I shall want her +to take a letter for me." + +While Colomba was superintending the preparation of his breakfast, Orso +went up to his own room and wrote the following note: + +"You must be in a hurry to meet me, and I am no less eager. We can meet +at six o'clock to-morrow morning in the valley of Acquaviva. I am a +skilful pistol-shot, so I do not suggest that weapon to you. I hear you +are a good shot with a gun. Let us each take a double-barrelled gun. I +shall be accompanied by a man from this village. If your brother wishes +to go with you, take a second witness, and let me know. In that case +only, I should bring two with me. + +"ORSO ANTONIO DELLA REBBIA." + + +After spending an hour with the deputy-mayor, and going into the +Barricini house for a few minutes, the prefect, attended by a single +gendarme, started for Corte. A quarter of an hour later, Chilina carried +over the letter my readers have just perused, and delivered it into +Orlanduccio's own hands. + +The answer was not prompt, and did not arrive till evening. It bore the +signature of the elder Barricini, and informed Orso that he was laying +the threatening letter sent to his son before the public prosecutor. His +missive concluded thus: "Strong in the sense of a clear conscience, I +patiently wait till the law has pronounced on your calumnies." + +Meanwhile five or six herdsmen, summoned by Colomba, arrived to garrison +the della Rebbia Tower. In spite of Orso's protests, _archere_ were +arranged in the windows looking onto the square, and all through the +evening offers of service kept coming in from various persons belonging +to the village. There was even a letter from the bandit-theologian, +undertaking, for himself and Brandolaccio, that in the event of the +mayor's calling on the gendarmes, they themselves would straightway +intervene. The following postscript closed the letter: + +"Dare I ask you what the Signor Prefetto thinks of the excellent +education bestowed by my friend on Brusco, the dog? Next to Chilina, he +is the most docile and promising pupil I have ever come across." + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +The following day went by without any hostile demonstration. Both sides +kept on the defensive. Orso did not leave his house, and the door of +the Barricini dwelling remained closely shut. The five gendarmes who +had been left to garrison Pietranera were to be seen walking about the +square and the outskirts of the village, in company with the village +constable, the sole representative of the urban police force. The +deputy-mayor never put off his sash. But there was no actual symptom +of war, except the loopholes in the two opponents' houses. Nobody but +a Corsican would have noticed that the group round the evergreen oak in +the middle of the square consisted solely of women. + +At supper-time Colomba gleefully showed her brother a letter she had +just received from Miss Nevil. + +"My dear Signorina Colomba," it ran, "I learn with great pleasure, +through a letter from your brother, that your enmities are all at an +end. I congratulate you heartily. My father can not endure Ajaccio now +your brother is not there to talk about war and go out shooting with +him. We are starting to-day, and shall sleep at the house of your +kinswoman, to whom we have a letter. The day after to-morrow, somewhere +about eleven o'clock, I shall come and ask you to let me taste that +mountain _bruccio_ of yours, which you say is so vastly superior to what +we get in the town. + +"Farewell, dear Signorina Colomba. + +"Your affectionate + +"LYDIA NEVIL." + + +"Then she hasn't received my second letter!" exclaimed Orso. + +"You see by the date of this one that Miss Lydia must have already +started when your letter reached Ajaccio. But did you tell her not to +come?" + +"I told her we were in a state of siege. That does not seem to me a +condition that permits of our receiving company." + +"Bah! These English people are so odd. The very last night I slept in +her room she told me she would be sorry to leave Corsica without having +seen a good _vendetta_. If you choose, Orso, you might let her see an +assault on our enemies' house." + +"Do you know, Colomba," said Orso, "Nature blundered when she made you a +woman. You'd have made a first-rate soldier." + +"Maybe. Anyhow, I'm going to make my _bruccio_." + +"Don't waste your time. We must send somebody down to warn them and stop +them before they start." + +"Do you mean to say you would send a messenger out in such weather, to +have him and your letter both swept away by a torrent? How I pity those +poor bandits in this storm! Luckily they have good _piloni_ (thick cloth +cloaks with hoods). Do you know what you ought to do, Orso. If the storm +clears you should start off very early to-morrow morning, and get to our +kinswoman's house before they leave it. That will be easy enough, for +Miss Lydia always gets up so late. You can tell them everything that +has happened here, and if they still persist in coming, why! we shall be +very glad to welcome them." + +Orso lost no time in assenting to this plan, and after a few moments' +silence, Colomba continued: + +"Perhaps, Orso, you think I was joking when I talked of an assault on +the Barricini's house. Do you know we are in force--two to one at the +very least? Now that the prefect has suspended the mayor, every man in +the place is on our side. We might cut them to pieces. It would be quite +easy to bring it about. If you liked, I could go over to the +fountain and begin to jeer at their women folk. They would come out. +Perhaps--they are such cowards!--they would fire at me through their +loopholes. They wouldn't hit me. Then the thing would be done. They +would have begun the attack, and the beaten party must take its chance. +How is anybody to know which person's aim has been true, in a scuffle? +Listen to your own sister, Orso! These lawyers who are coming will +blacken lots of paper, and talk a great deal of useless stuff. Nothing +will come of it all. That old fox will contrive to make them think they +see stars in broad midday. Ah! if the prefect hadn't thrown himself in +front of Vincentello, we should have had one less to deal with." + +All this was said with the same calm air as that with which she had +spoken, an instant previously, of her preparations for making the +_bruccio_. + +Orso, quite dumfounded, gazed at his sister with an admiration not +unmixed with alarm. + +"My sweet Colomba," he said, as he rose from the table, "I really am +afraid you are the very devil. But make your mind easy. If I don't +succeed in getting the Barricini hanged, I'll contrive to get the better +of them in some other fashion. 'Hot bullet or cold steel'--you see I +haven't forgotten my Corsican." + +"The sooner the better," said Colomba, with a sigh. "What horse will you +ride to-morrow, Ors' Anton'?" + +"The black. Why do you ask?" + +"So as to make sure he has some barley." + +When Orso went up to his room, Colomba sent Saveria and the herdsmen +to their beds, and sat on alone in the kitchen, where the _bruccio_ was +simmering. Now and then she seemed to listen, and was apparently waiting +very anxiously for her brother to go to bed. At last, when she thought +he was asleep, she took a knife, made sure it was sharp, slipped her +little feet into thick shoes, and passed noiselessly out into the +garden. + +This garden, which was inclosed by walls, lay next to a good-sized piece +of hedged ground, into which the horses were turned--for Corsican horses +do not know what a stable means. They are generally turned loose into +a field, and left to themselves, to find pasture and shelter from cold +winds, as best they may. + +Colomba opened the garden gate with the same precaution, entered the +inclosure, and whistling gently, soon attracted the horses, to whom she +had often brought bread and salt. As soon as the black horse came within +reach, she caught him firmly by the mane, and split his ear open with +her knife. The horse gave a violent leap, and tore off with that +shrill cry which sharp pain occasionally extorts from his kind. Quite +satisfied, Colomba was making her way back into the garden, when Orso +threw open his window and shouted, "Who goes there?" At the same time +she heard him cock his gun. Luckily for her the garden-door lay in the +blackest shadow, and was partly screened by a large fig-tree. She +very soon gathered, from the light she saw glancing up and down in her +brother's room, that he was trying to light his lamp. She lost no time +about closing the garden-door, and slipping along the wall, so that the +outline of her black garments was lost against the dark foliage of +the fruit-trees, and succeeded in getting back into the kitchen a few +moments before Orso entered it. + +"What's the matter?" she inquired. + +"I fancied I heard somebody opening the garden-door," said Orso. + +"Impossible! The dog would have barked. But let us go and see!" + +Orso went round the garden, and having made sure that the outer door +was safely secured, he was going back to his room, rather ashamed of his +false alarm. + +"I am glad, brother," remarked Colomba, "that you are learning to be +prudent, as a man in your position ought to be." + +"You are training me well," said Orso. "Good-night!" + +By dawn the next morning Orso was up and ready to start. His style of +dress betrayed the desire for smartness felt by every man bound for the +presence of the lady he would fain please, combined with the caution +of a Corsican _in vendetta_. Over a blue coat, that sat closely to his +figure, he wore a small tin case full of cartridges, slung across his +shoulder by a green silk cord. His dagger lay in his side pocket, and +in his hand he carried his handsome Manton, ready loaded. While he was +hastily swallowing the cup of coffee Colomba had poured out for him, +one of the herdsmen went out to put the bridle and saddle on the black +horse. Orso and his sister followed close on his heels and entered the +field. The man had caught the horse, but he had dropped both saddle +and bridle, and seemed quite paralyzed with horror, while the horse, +remembering the wound it had received during the night, and trembling +for its other ear, was rearing, kicking, and neighing like twenty +fiends. + +"Now then! Make haste!" shouted Orso. + +"Ho, Ors' Anton'! Ho, Ors' Anton'!" yelled the herdsman. "Holy Madonna!" +and he poured out a string of imprecations, numberless, endless, and +most of them quite untranslatable. + +"What can be the matter?" inquired Colomba. They all drew near to the +horse, and at the sight of the creature's bleeding head and split ear +there was a general outcry of surprise and indignation. My readers must +know that among the Corsicans to mutilate an enemy's horse is at once a +vengeance, a challenge, and a mortal threat. "Nothing but a bullet-wound +can expiate such a crime." + +Though Orso, having lived so long on the mainland, was not so sensitive +as other Corsicans to the enormity of the insult, still, if any +supporter of the Barricini had appeared in his sight at that moment, he +would probably have taken vengeance on him for the outrage he ascribed +to his enemies. + +"The cowardly wretches!" he cried. "To avenge themselves on a poor +brute, when they dare not meet me face to face!" + +"What are we waiting for?" exclaimed Colomba vehemently. "They come +here and brave us! They mutilate our horses! and we are not to make any +response? Are you men?" + +"Vengeance!" shouted the herdsmen. "Let us lead the horse through the +village, and attack their house!" + +"There's a thatched barn that touches their Tower," said old Polo +Griffo; "I'd set fire to it in a trice." + +Another man wanted to fetch the ladders out of the church steeple. A +third proposed they should break in the doors of the house with a heavy +beam intended for some house in course of building, which had been left +lying in the square. Amid all the angry voices Colomba was heard telling +her satellites that before they went to work she would give each man of +them a large glass of anisette. + +Unluckily, or rather luckily, the impression she had expected to produce +by her own cruel treatment of the poor horse was largely lost on Orso. +He felt no doubt that the savage mutilation was due to one of his foes, +and he specially suspected Orlanduccio; but he did not believe that the +young man, whom he himself had provoked and struck, had wiped out +his shame by slitting a horse's ear. On the contrary, this mean and +ridiculous piece of vengeance had increased Orso's scorn for his +opponents, and he now felt, with the prefect, that such people were not +worthy to try conclusions with himself. As soon as he was able to make +himself heard, he informed his astonished partisans that they would have +to relinquish all their bellicose intentions, and that the power of the +law, which would shortly be on the spot, would amply suffice to avenge +the hurt done to a horse's ear. + +"I'm master here!" he added sternly; "and I insist on being obeyed. The +first man who dares to say anything more about killing or burning, will +quite possibly get a scorching at my hands! Be off! Saddle me the gray +horse!" + +"What's this, Orso?" said Colomba, drawing him apart. "You allow these +people to insult us? No Barricini would have dared to mutilate any beast +of ours in my father's time." + +"I promise you they shall have reason to repent it. But it is gendarme's +and jailer's work to punish wretches who only venture to raise their +hands against brute beasts. I've told you already, the law will punish +them; and if not, you will not need to remind me whose son I am." + +"Patience!" answered Colomba, with a sigh. + +"Remember this, sister," continued Orso; "if I find, when I come back, +that any demonstration whatever has been made against the Barricini +I shall never forgive you." Then, in a gentler tone, he added, "Very +possibly--very probably--I shall bring the colonel and his daughter back +with me. See that their rooms are well prepared, and that the breakfast +is good. In fact, let us make our guests as comfortable as we can. It's +a very good thing to be brave, Colomba, but a woman must know how to +manage her household, as well. Come, kiss me, and be good! Here's the +gray, ready saddled." + +"Orso," said Colomba, "you mustn't go alone." + +"I don't need anybody," replied Orso; "and I'll promise you nobody shall +slit my ear." + +"Oh, I'll never consent to your going alone, while there is a feud. +Here! Polo Griffo! Gian' Franco! Memmo! Take your guns; you must go with +my brother." + +After a somewhat lively argument, Orso had to give in, and accept an +escort. From the most excited of the herdsmen he chose out those who had +been loudest in their desire to commence hostilities; then, after laying +fresh injunctions on his sister and the men he was leaving behind, he +started, making a detour, this time, so as to avoid the Barricinis' +dwelling. + +They were a long way from Pietranera, and were travelling along at a +great pace, when, as they crossed a streamlet that ran into a marsh, +Polo Griffo noticed several porkers wallowing comfortably in the mud, in +full enjoyment at once of the warmth of the sun and the coolness of the +water. Instantly he took aim at the biggest, fired at its head, and shot +it dead. The dead creature's comrades rose and fled with astonishing +swiftness, and though another herdsman fired at them they reached a +thicket and disappeared into it, safe and sound. + +"Idiots!" cried Orso. "You've been taking pigs for wild boars!" + +"Not a bit, Ors' Anton'," replied Polo Griffo. "But that herd belongs to +the lawyer, and I've taught him, now, to mutilate our horses." + +"What! you rascal!" shouted Orso, in a perfect fury. "You ape the vile +behaviour of our enemies! Be off, villains! I don't want you! You're +only fit to fight with pigs. I swear to God that if you dare follow me +I'll blow your brains out!" + +The herdsmen stared at each other, struck quite dumb. Orso spurred his +horse, galloped off, and was soon out of sight. + +"Well, well!" said Polo Griffo. "Here's a pretty thing. You devote +yourself to people, and then this is how they treat you. His father, the +colonel, was angry with you long ago, because you levelled your gun at +the lawyer. Great idiot you were, not to shoot. And now here is his son. +You saw what I did for him. And he talks about cracking my skull, just +as he would crack a gourd that lets the wine leak out. That's what +people learn on the mainland, Memmo!" + +"Yes, and if any one finds out it was you who killed that pig there'll +be a suit against you, and Ors' Anton' won't speak to the judges, nor +buy off the lawyer for you. Luckily nobody saw, and you have Saint Nega +to help you out." + +After a hasty conclave, the two herdsmen concluded their wisest plan +was to throw the dead pig into a bog, and this project they carefully +executed, after each had duly carved himself several slices out of the +body of this innocent victim of the feud between the Barricini and the +della Rebbia. + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +Once rid of his unruly escort, Orso proceeded calmly on his way, far +more absorbed by the prospective pleasure of seeing Miss Nevil than +stirred by any fear of coming across his enemies. + +"The lawsuit I must bring against these Barricini villains," he mused, +"will necessitate my going down to Bastia. Why should I not go there +with Miss Nevil? And once at Bastia, why shouldn't we all go together to +the springs of Orezza?" + +Suddenly his childish recollections of that picturesque spot rose up +before him. He fancied himself on the verdant lawn that spreads beneath +the ancient chestnut-trees. On the lustrous green sward, studded with +blue flowers like eyes that smiled upon him, he saw Miss Lydia seated at +his side. She had taken off her hat, and her fair hair, softer and finer +than any silk, shone like gold in the sunlight that glinted through the +foliage. Her clear blue eyes looked to him bluer than the sky itself. +With her cheek resting on one hand, she was listening thoughtfully +to the words of love he poured tremblingly into her ear. She wore the +muslin gown in which she had been dressed that last day at Ajaccio. From +beneath its folds peeped out a tiny foot, shod with black satin. Orso +told himself that he would be happy indeed if he might dare to kiss that +little foot--but one of Miss Lydia's hands was bare and held a daisy. +He took the daisy from her, and Lydia's hand pressed his, and then he +kissed the daisy, and then he kissed her hand, and yet she did not +chide him . . . and all these thoughts prevented him from paying +any attention to the road he was travelling, and meanwhile he trotted +steadily onward. For the second time, in his fancy, he was about to kiss +Miss Nevil's snow-white hand, when, as his horse stopped short, he very +nearly kissed its head, in stern reality. Little Chilina had barred his +way, and seized his bridle. + +"Where are you going to, Ors' Anton'?" she said. "Don't you know your +enemy is close by?" + +"My enemy!" cried Orso, furious at being interrupted at such a +delightful moment. "Where is he?" + +"Orlanduccio is close by, he's waiting for you! Go back, go back!" + +"Ho! Ho! So he's waiting for me! Did you see him?" + +"Yes, Ors' Anton'! I was lying down in the heather when he passed by. He +was looking round everywhere through his glass." + +"And which way did he go?" + +"He went down there. Just where you were going!" + +"Thank you!" + +"Ors' Anton', hadn't you better wait for my uncle? He must be here +soon--and with him you would be safe." + +"Don't be frightened, Chili. I don't need your uncle." + +"If you would let me, I would go in front of you." + +"No, thanks! No, thanks!" + +And Orso, spurring his horse, rode rapidly in the direction to which the +little girl had pointed. + +His first impulse had been one of blind fury, and he had told himself +that fortune was offering him an excellent opportunity of punishing the +coward who had avenged the blow he had received by mutilating a horse. +But as he moved onward the thought of his promise to the prefect, and, +above all, his fear of missing Miss Nevil's visit, altered his feelings, +and made him almost wish he might not come upon Orlanduccio. Soon, +however, the memory of his father, the indignity offered to his own +horse, and the threats of the Barricini, stirred his rage afresh, and +incited him to seek his foe, and to provoke and force him to a fight. +Thus tossed by conflicting feelings, he continued his progress, though +now he carefully scrutinized every thicket and hedge, and sometimes even +pulled up his horse to listen to the vague sounds to be heard in any +open country. Ten minutes after he had left little Chilina (it was then +about nine o'clock in the morning) he found himself on the edge of an +exceedingly steep declivity. The road, or rather the very slight path, +which he was following, ran through a _maquis_ that had been lately +burned. The ground was covered with whitish ashes, and here and there +some shrubs, and a few big trees, blackened by the flames, and entirely +stripped of their leaves, still stood erect--though life had long since +departed out of them. The sight of a burned _maquis_ is enough to make a +man fancy he has been transported into midwinter in some northern clime, +and the contrast between the barrenness of the ground over which the +flames have passed, with the luxuriant vegetation round about it, +heightens this appearance of sadness and desolation. But at that moment +the only thing that struck Orso in this particular landscape was one +point--an important one, it is true, in his present circumstances. The +bareness of the ground rendered any kind of ambush impossible, and the +man who has reason to fear that at any moment he may see a gun-barrel +thrust out of a thicket straight at his own chest, looks on a stretch +of smooth ground, with nothing on it to intercept his view, as a kind +of oasis. After this burned _maquis_ came a number of cultivated fields, +inclosed, according to the fashion of that country, with breast-high +walls, built of dry stones. The path ran between these fields, +producing, from a distance, the effect of a thick wood. + +The steepness of the declivity made it necessary for Orso to dismount. +He was walking quickly down the hill, which was slippery with ashes +(he had thrown the bridle on his horse's neck), and was hardly +five-and-twenty paces from one of these stone fences, when, just in +front of him, on the right-hand side of the road, he perceived first +of all the barrel of a gun, and then a head, rising over the top of the +wall. The gun was levelled, and he recognised Orlanduccio, just ready +to fire. Orso swiftly prepared for self-defence, and the two men, taking +deliberate aim, stared at each other for several seconds, with that +thrill of emotion which the bravest must feel when he knows he must +either deal death or endure it. + +"Vile coward!" shouted Orso. + +The words were hardly out of his mouth when he saw the flash of +Orlanduccio's gun, and almost at the same instant a second shot rang out +on his left from the other side of the path, fired by a man whom he had +not noticed, and who was aiming at him from behind another wall. Both +bullets struck him. The first, Orlanduccio's, passed through his left +arm, which Orso had turned toward him as he aimed. The second shot +struck him in the chest, and tore his coat, but coming in contact with +the blade of his dagger, it luckily flattened against it, and only +inflicted a trifling bruise. Orso's left arm fell helpless at his side, +and the barrel of his gun dropped for a moment, but he raised it at +once, and aiming his weapon with his right hand only, he fired at +Orlanduccio. His enemy's head, which was only exposed to the level of +the eyes, disappeared behind the wall. Then Orso, swinging round to the +left, fired the second barrel at a man in a cloud of smoke whom he could +hardly see. This face likewise disappeared. The four shots had followed +each other with incredible swiftness; no trained soldiers ever fired +their volleys in quicker succession. After Orso's last shot a great +silence fell. The smoke from his weapon rose slowly up into the sky. +There was not a movement, not the slightest sound from behind the wall. +But for the pain in his arm, he could have fancied the men on whom he +had just fired had been phantoms of his own imagination. + +Fully expecting a second volley, Orso moved a few steps, to place +himself behind one of the burned trees that still stood upright in +the _maquis_. Thus sheltered, he put his gun between his knees, +and hurriedly reloaded it. Meanwhile his left arm began to hurt him +horribly, and felt as if it were being dragged down by a huge weight. + +What had become of his adversaries? He could not understand. If they had +taken to flight, if they had been wounded, he would certainly have heard +some noise, some stir among the leaves. Were they dead, then? Or, what +was far more likely, were they not waiting behind their wall for a +chance of shooting at him again. In his uncertainty, and feeling his +strength fast failing him, he knelt down on his right knee, rested +his wounded arm upon the other, and took advantage of a branch that +protruded from the trunk of the burned tree to support his gun. With his +finger on the trigger, his eye fixed on the wall, and his ear strained +to catch the slightest sound, he knelt there, motionless, for several +minutes, which seemed to him a century. At last, behind him, in the far +distance, he heard a faint shout, and very soon a dog flew like an arrow +down the slope, and stopped short, close to him, wagging its tail. +It was Brusco, the comrade and follower of the bandits--the herald, +doubtless, of his master's approach. Never was any honest man more +impatiently awaited. With his muzzle in the air, and turned toward the +nearest fence, the dog sniffed anxiously. Suddenly he gave vent to a low +growl, sprang at a bound over the wall, and almost instantly reappeared +upon its crest, whence he gazed steadily at Orso with eyes that spoke +surprise as clearly as a dog's may do it. Then he sniffed again, this +time toward the other inclosure, the wall of which he also crossed. +Within a second he was back on the top of that, with the same air of +astonishment and alarm, and straightway he bounded into the thicket with +his tail between his legs, still gazing at Orso, and retiring from him +slowly, and sideways, until he had put some distance between them. Then +off he started again, tearing up the slope almost as fast as he had +come down it, to meet a man, who, in spite of its steepness, was rapidly +descending. + +"Help, Brando!" shouted Orso, as soon as he thought he was within +hearing. + +"Hallo! Ors' Anton'! are you wounded?" inquired Brandolaccio, as he ran +up panting. "Is it in your body or your limbs?" + +"In the arm." + +"The arm--oh, that's nothing! And the other fellow?" + +"I think I hit him." + +Brandolaccio ran after the dog to the nearest field and leaned over to +look at the other side of the wall, then pulling off his cap-- + +"Signor Orlanduccio, I salute you!" said he, then turning toward Orso, +he bowed to him, also, gravely. + +"That," he remarked, "is what I call a man who has been properly done +for." + +"Is he still alive?" asked Orso, who could hardly breathe. + +"Oh! he wouldn't wish it! he'd be too much vexed about the bullet you +put into his eye! Holy Madonna! What a hole! That's a good gun, upon my +soul! what a weight! That spatters a man's brains for you! Hark ye, Ors' +Anton'! when I heard the first _piff, piff_, says I to myself: 'Dash it, +they're murdering my lieutenant!' Then I heard _boum, boum_. 'Ha, ha!' +says I, 'that's the English gun beginning to talk--he's firing back.' +But what on earth do you want with me, Brusco?" + +The dog guided him to the other field. + +"Upon my word," cried Brandolaccio, utterly astonished, "a right and +left, that's what it is! Deuce take it! Clear enough, powder must be +dear, for you don't waste it!" + +"What do you mean, for God's sake?" asked Orso. + +"Come, sir, don't try to humbug me; you bring down the dame, and then +you want somebody to pick it up for you. Well! there's one man who'll +have a queer dessert to-day, and that's Lawyer Barricini!--you want +butcher's meat, do you? Well, here you have it. Now, who the devil will +be the heir?" + +"What! is Vincentello dead too?" + +"Dead as mutton. _Salute a noi!_ The good point about you is that you +don't let them suffer. Just come over and look at Vincentello; he's +kneeling here with his head against the wall, as if he were asleep. You +may say he sleeps like lead, this time, poor devil." + +Orso turned his head in horror. + +"Are you certain he's dead?" + +"You're like Sampiero Corso, who never had to fire more than once. Look +at it there, in his chest, on the left--just where Vincileone was hit at +Waterloo. I'll wager that bullet isn't far from his heart--a right and +left! Ah! I'll never talk about shooting again. Two with two shots, and +bullets at that! The two brothers! If he'd had a third shot he'd have +killed their papa. Better luck next time. What a shot! Ors' Anton'! And +to think that an honest poor chap like me will never get the chance of a +right and a left two gendarmes!" + +As he talked the bandit was scanning Orso's arm, and splitting up his +sleeve with his dagger. + +"This is nothing," said he. "But this coat of yours will give Signorina +Colomba work to do. Ha! what's this I see? this gash upon your chest? +Nothing went in there, surely? No! you wouldn't be so brisk as you are! +Come, try to move your finger. Do you feel my teeth when I bite your +little finger? Not very well? Never mind! It won't be much. Let me take +your handkerchief and your neckcloth. Well, your coat's spoilt, anyhow! +What the devil did you make yourself so smart for? Were you going to +a wedding? There! drink a drop of wine. Why on earth don't you carry a +flask? Does any Corsican ever go out without a flask?" + +Then again he broke off the dressing of the wound to exclaim: + +"A right and left! Both of them stone dead! How the Padre will laugh! A +right and left! Oh, here's that little dawdle Chilina at last!" + +Orso made no reply--he was as pale as death and shaking in every limb. + +"Chili!" shouted Brandolaccio, "go and look behind that wall!" + +The child, using both hands and feet, scrambled onto the wall, and the +moment she caught sight of Orlanduccio's corpse she crossed herself. + +"That's nothing," proceeded the bandit; "go and look farther on, over +there!" + +The child crossed herself again. + +"Was it you, uncle?" she asked timidly. + +"Me! Don't you know I've turned into a useless old fellow! This, Chili, +is the signor's work; offer him your compliments." + +"The signorina will be greatly rejoiced," said Chilina, "and she will be +very much grieved to know you are wounded, Ors' Anton'." + +"Now then, Ors' Anton'," said the bandit, when he had finished binding +up the wound. "Chilina, here, has caught your horse. You must get on +his back, and come with me to the Stazzona _maquis_. It would be a sly +fellow who'd lay his hand on you there. When we get to the Cross of +Santa Christina, you'll have to dismount. You'll give over your horse to +Chilina, who'll go off and warn the signorina. You can say anything to +the child, Ors' Anton'. She would let herself be cut in pieces rather +than betray her friends," and then, fondly, he turned to the little +girl, "That's it, you little hussy; a ban on you, a curse on you--you +jade!" For Brandolaccio, who was superstitious, like most bandits, +feared he might cast a spell on a child if he blessed it or praised it, +seeing it is a well-known fact that the mysterious powers that rule the +_Annocchiatura_[*] have a vile habit of fulfilling our wishes in the +very opposite sense to that we give them. + + [*] _Annocchiatura_, an involuntary spell cast either by the + eye or by spoken words. + +"Where am I to go, Brando?" queried Orso in a faint voice. + +"Faith! you must choose; either to jail or to the _maquis_. But no della +Rebbia knows the path that leads him to the jail. To the _maquis_, Ors' +Anton'." + +"Farewell, then, to all my hopes!" exclaimed the wounded man, sadly. + +"Your hopes? Deuce take it! Did you hope to do any better with a +double-barrelled gun? How on earth did the fellows contrive to hit you? +The rascals must have been as hard to kill as cats." + +"They fired first," said Orso. + +"True, true; I'd forgotten that!--_piff, piff--boum, boum_! A right and +left, and only one hand! If any man can do better, I'll go hang myself. +Come! now you're safely mounted! Before we start, just give a glance +at your work. It isn't civil to leave one's company without saying +good-bye." + +Orso spurred his horse. He would not have looked at the two poor +wretches he had just destroyed, for anything on earth. + +"Hark ye, Ors' Anton'," quoth the bandit, as he caught hold of the +horse's bridle, "shall I tell you the truth? Well, no offence to you! +I'm sorry for those poor young fellows! You'll pardon me, I hope; so +good-looking, so strong, so young. Orlanduccio, I've shot with him +so often! Only four days ago he gave me a bundle of cigars, and +Vincentello--he was always so cheery. Of course you've only done what +you had to do, and indeed the shot was such a splendid one, nobody could +regret it. But I, you see, had nothing to do with your vengeance. I know +you're perfectly in the right. When one has an enemy one must get rid of +him. But the Barricini were an old family. Here's another of them wiped +out, and by a right and left too! It's striking." + +As he thus spoke his funeral oration over the Barricini, Brandolaccio +hastily guided Orso, Chilina, and Brusco, the dog, toward the Stazzona +_maquis_. + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +Meanwhile, very shortly after Orso's departure, Colomba's spies had +warned her that the Barricini were out on the warpath, and from that +moment she was racked by the most intense anxiety. She was to be seen +moving hither and thither all over the house, between the kitchen and +the rooms that were being made ready for her guests, doing nothing, yet +always busy, and constantly stopping to look out of a window for any +unusual stir in the village. Toward eleven o'clock, a somewhat numerous +cavalcade rode into Pietranera. This was the colonel, with his daughter, +their servants, and their guide. Colomba's first word, as she welcomed +them, was "Have you seen my brother?" Then she questioned the guide as +to the road they had taken, and the hour of their departure, and having +heard his answers, she could not understand why they had not met him. + +"Perhaps," said the guide, "your brother took the higher path; we came +by the lower one." + +But Colomba only shook her head and asked more questions. In spite of +her natural firmness of character, increased as it was by her proud +desire to conceal any sign of weakness before strangers, she could not +hide her anxiety, and as soon as she had informed them of the attempted +reconciliation, and of its unfortunate issue, this was shared by the +colonel and Miss Lydia. Miss Nevil became very uneasy, and wanted to +have messengers sent off in every direction, and her father offered +to remount at once and set out with the guide in search of Orso. Her +guests' alarm recalled Colomba to a sense of her duties as a hostess. +She strove to force a smile as she pressed the colonel to come to table, +and suggested twenty plausible reasons, which she herself demolished +within an instant, to account for her brother's delay. The colonel, +feeling it to be his duty, as a man, to reassure the ladies, put forward +his own explanation. + +"I'll wager," he said, "that della Rebbia has come across some game or +other. He has not been able to stand out against that temptation, and we +shall soon see him come in with a heavy bag. 'Pon my soul," he went on, +"we did hear four shots fired on the road. Two of them were louder +than the others, and I said to my girl, 'I'll bet anything that's della +Rebbia out shooting! My gun is the only one that would make that noise.'" + +Colomba turned pale, and Lydia, who was watching her closely, had +no difficulty in guessing the suspicions with which the colonel's +conjecture had inspired her. After a few minutes' silence, Colomba +eagerly inquired whether the two louder reports had been heard before or +after the others. But neither the colonel, his daughter, nor the guide +had paid much attention to this all-important detail. + +Toward one o'clock, as none of Colomba's messengers had yet returned, +she gathered all her courage, and insisted that her guests should sit +down to table with her. But, except the colonel, none of them could eat. +At the slightest sound in the square, Colomba ran to the window. Then +drearily she returned to her place, and struggled yet more drearily +to carry on a trivial conversation, to which nobody paid the slightest +attention, and which was broken by long intervals of silence. All at +once they heard a horse's gallop. + +"Ah! That must be my brother at last!" said Colomba, rising from her +chair. But when she saw Chilina astride on Orso's horse--"My brother is +dead!" she cried, in a heart-rending voice. + +The colonel dropped his glass. Miss Lydia screamed. They all rushed to +the door of the house. Before Chilina could jump off her steed, she was +snatched up like a feather by Colomba, who held her so tight that she +almost choked her. The child understood her agonized look, and her first +words were those of the chorus in Othello: "He lives!" Colomba's grasp +relaxed, and nimbly as a kitten Chilina dropped upon the ground. + +"The others?" queried Colomba hoarsely. Chilina crossed herself with +her first and middle finger. A deep flush instantly replaced the deadly +pallor of Colomba's face. She cast one fierce look at the Barricini +dwelling, and then, with a smile, she turned to her guests. + +"Let us go in and drink our coffee," she said. + +The story the bandit's Iris had to tell was a long one. Her narrative, +translated literally into Italian by Colomba, and then into English by +Miss Nevil, wrung more than one oath from the colonel, more than one +sigh from the fair Lydia. But Colomba heard it all unmoved. Only she +twisted her damask napkin till it seemed as if she must tear it in +pieces. She interrupted the child, five or six times over, to make her +repeat again that Brandolaccio had said the wound was not dangerous, +and that he had seen many worse. When she had finished her tale, Chilina +announced that Orso earnestly begged he might be sent writing materials, +and that he desired his sister would beseech a lady who might be staying +in his house not to depart from it, until she had received a letter from +him. + +"That is what was worrying him most," the child added; "and even after I +had started he called me back, to bid me not forget the message. It +was the third time he had given it to me." When Colomba heard of +her brother's injunction she smiled faintly, and squeezed the fair +Englishwoman's hand. That young lady burst into tears, and did not seem +to think it advisable to translate that particular part of the story to +her father. + +"Yes, my dear," cried Colomba, kissing Miss Nevil. "You shall stay with +me, and you shall help us." + +Then, taking a pile of old linen out of a cupboard, she began to cut it +up, to make lint and bandages. Any one who saw her flashing eyes, her +heightened colour, her alternate fits of anxiety and composure, would +have found it hard to say whether distress at her brother's wound, or +delight at the extinction of her foes, were most affecting her. One +moment she was pouring out the colonel's coffee, and telling him how +well she made it, the next she was setting Miss Lydia and Chilina to +work, exhorting them to sew bandages, and roll them up. Then, for the +twentieth time, she would ask whether Orso's wound was very painful. She +constantly broke off her own work to exclaim to the colonel: + +"Two such cunning men, such dangerous fellows! And he alone, wounded, +with only one arm! He killed the two of them! What courage, colonel! +Isn't he a hero? Ah, Miss Nevil! How good it is to live in a peaceful +country like yours! I'm sure you did not really know my brother till +now! I said it--'The falcon will spread his wings!' You were deceived +by his gentle look! That's because with you, Miss Nevil--Ah! if he could +see you working for him now! My poor Orso!" + +Miss Lydia was doing hardly any work, and could not find a single word +to say. Her father kept asking why nobody went to lay a complaint before +a magistrate. He talked about a coroner's inquest, and all sorts of +other proceedings quite unknown to Corsican economy. And then he +begged to be told whether the country house owned by that worthy Signor +Brandolaccio, who had brought succour to the wounded man, was very far +away from Pietranera, and whether he could not go there himself, to see +his friend. + +And Colomba replied, with her usual composure, that Orso was in the +_maquis_; that he was being taken care of by a bandit; that it would be +a great risk for him to show himself until he was sure of the line the +prefect and the judges were likely to take; and, finally, that she would +manage to have him secretly attended by a skilful surgeon. + +"Above all things, colonel," she added, "remember that you heard the +four shots, and that you told me Orso fired last." + +The colonel could make neither head nor tail of the business, and his +daughter did nothing but heave sighs and dry her eyes. + +The day was far advanced, when a gloomy procession wended its way into +the village. The bodies of his two sons were brought home to Lawyer +Barricini, each corpse thrown across a mule, which was led by a peasant. +A crowd of dependents and idlers followed the dreary _cortege_. With +it appeared the gendarmes, who always came in too late, and the +deputy-mayor, throwing up his hands, and incessantly repeating, "What +will Signor Prefetto say!" Some of the women, among them Orlanduccio's +foster-mother, were tearing their hair and shrieking wildly. But their +clamorous grief was less impressive than the dumb despair of one man, on +whom all eyes were fixed. This was the wretched father, who passed from +one corpse to the other, lifting up the earth-soiled heads, kissing the +blackened lips, supporting the limbs that were stiff already, as if he +would save them from the jolting of the road. Now and then he opened his +mouth as though about to speak, but not a cry came, not a word. His eyes +never left the dead bodies, and as he walked, he knocked himself against +the stones, against the trees, against every obstacle that chanced to +lie in his path. + +The women's lamentations grew louder, and the men's curses deeper, when +Orso's house appeared in sight. When some shepherds of the della Rebbia +party ventured on a triumphant shout, their enemy's indignation became +ungovernable. "Vengeance! Vengeance!" exclaimed several voices. Stones +were thrown, and two shots, fired at the windows of the room in which +Colomba and her guests were sitting, pierced the outside shutters, and +carried splinters of wood on to the table at which the two ladies were +working. Miss Lydia screamed violently, the colonel snatched up a gun, +and Colomba, before he could stop her, rushed to the door of the house +and threw it violently open. There, standing high on the threshold, with +her two hands outstretched to curse her enemies: + +"Cowards!" she cried. "You fire on women and on foreigners! Are you +Corsicans? Are you men? Wretches, who can only murder a man from behind. +Come on! I defy you! I am alone! My brother is far away! Come! kill +me, kill my guests! It would be worthy of you! . . . But you dare not, +cowards that you are! You know we avenge our wrongs! Away with you! Go, +weep like women, and be thankful we do not ask you for more blood!" + +There was something terrible and imposing in Colomba's voice and mien. +At the sight of her the crowd recoiled as though it beheld one of those +evil fairies of which so many tales are told on long winter evenings, +in Corsica. The deputy-mayor, the gendarmes, and a few women seized +the opportunity, and threw themselves between the two factions; for the +della Rebbia herdsmen were already loading their guns, and for a moment +a general fight in the middle of the square had appeared imminent. +But the two parties were both leaderless, and Corsicans, whose rage +is always subject to discipline, seldom come to blows unless the chief +authors of their internecine quarrels are present. Besides, Colomba, who +had learned prudence from victory, restrained her little garrison. + +"Let the poor folks weep in peace," she said. "Let the old man carry his +own flesh home. What is the good of killing an old fox who has no teeth +left to bite with, . . . Giudice Barricini! Remember the 2d of August! +Remember the blood-stained pocket-book in which you wrote with your +forger's hand! My father had written down your debt! Your sons have paid +it. You may go free, old Barricini!" + +With folded arms and a scornful smile upon her lips, Colomba watched the +bearers carry the corpses of her enemies into their home, and the crowd +without it melt gradually away. Then she closed her own door, and, going +back into the dining-room, she said to the colonel: + +"I beg, sir, you will forgive my fellow-countrymen! I never could have +believed that any Corsican would have fired on a house that sheltered +strangers, and I am ashamed of my country." + +That night, when Miss Lydia had gone up to her room, the colonel +followed her, and inquired whether they had not better get out of a +village where they ran incessant risk of having a bullet through their +heads, the very next morning, and leave this country, seething with +treachery and murder, as soon as possible. + +Miss Nevil did not answer for some time, and her father's suggestion +evidently caused her considerable perplexity. At last she said: + +"How can we leave this poor young creature, just when she is so much in +need of consolation? Don't you think that would be cruel, father?" + +"I only spoke on your account, child," said the colonel. "And I assure +you that if I once felt you were safe in the hotel at Ajaccio, I should +be very sorry to leave this cursed island myself, without shaking that +plucky fellow della Rebbia's hand again." + +"Well then, father, let us wait a while, and before we start let us make +quite sure we can not be of any use to them." + +"Kind soul!" said the colonel, as he kissed his daughter's forehead. "It +is a pleasure to see you sacrifice yourself for the sake of softening +other people's suffering. Let us stay on. We shall never have to repent +having done right." + +Miss Lydia tossed sleeplessly to and fro in her bed. Sometimes she took +the vague night sounds for preparations for an attack on the house. +Sometimes, less alarmed on her own account, she thought of poor wounded +Orso, who was probably lying on the cold earth, with no help beyond what +she might expect from a bandit's charity. She fancied him covered with +blood, and writhing in hideous suffering; and the extraordinary thing +was that whenever Orso's image rose up before her mind's eye, she always +beheld him as she had seen him when he rode away, pressing the talisman +she had bestowed upon him to his lips. Then she mused over his courage. +She told herself he had exposed himself to the frightful danger he had +just escaped on her account, just for the sake of seeing her a little +sooner. A very little more, and she would have persuaded herself that +Orso had earned his broken arm in her defence! She reproached herself +with being the cause of his wound. But she admired him for it all the +more, and if that celebrated right and left was not so splendid a feat +in her sight as in Brandolaccio's or Colomba's, still she was convinced +few heroes of romance could ever had behaved with such intrepidity and +coolness, in so dangerous a pinch. + +Her room was that usually occupied by Colomba. Above a kind of oaken +_prie-dieu_, and beside a sprig of blessed palm, a little miniature of +Orso, in his sub-lieutenant's uniform, hung on the wall. Miss Nevil took +the portrait down, looked at it for a long time, and laid it at last on +the table by her bed, instead of hanging it up again in its place. +She did not fall asleep till daybreak, and when she woke the sun +had travelled high above the horizon. In front of her bed she beheld +Colomba, waiting, motionless, till she should open her eyes. + +"Well, dear lady, are you not very uncomfortable in this poor house of +ours?" said Colomba to her. "I fear you have hardly slept at all." + +"Have you any news, dear friend?" cried Miss Nevil, sitting up in bed. + +Her eye fell on Orso's picture, and she hastily tossed her handkerchief +upon it. + +"Yes, I have news," said Colomba, with a smile. + +Then she took up the picture. + +"Do you think it like him? He is better looking than that!" + +"Really," stammered Miss Nevil, quite confused, "I took down that +picture in a fit of absence! I have a horrid habit of touching +everything and never putting anything back! How is your brother?" + +"Fairly well. Giocanto came here before four o'clock this morning. He +brought me a letter for you, Miss Lydia. Orso hasn't written anything +to me! It is addressed to Colomba, indeed, but underneath that he has +written 'For Miss N.' But sisters are never jealous! Giocanto says it +hurt him dreadfully to write. Giocanto, who writes a splendid hand, +offered to do it at his dictation. But he would not let him. He wrote it +with a pencil, lying on his back. Brandolaccio held the paper for him. +My brother kept trying to raise himself, and then the very slightest +movement gave him the most dreadful agony in his arm. Giocanto says it +was pitiful. Here is his letter." + +Miss Nevil read the letter, which, as an extra precaution, no doubt, was +written in English. Its contents were as follows: + +"MADEMOISELLE: An unhappy fate has driven me on. I know not what my +enemies will say, what slanders they will invent. I care little, so long +as you, mademoiselle, give them no credence! Ever since I first saw you +I have been nursing wild dreams. I needed this catastrophe to show me my +own folly. + +"I have come back to my senses now. I know the future that lies before +me, and I shall face it with resignation. I dare not keep this ring +you gave me, and which I believed to be a lucky talisman. I fear, Miss +Nevil, you may regret your gift has been so ill-bestowed. Or rather, I +fear it may remind me of the days of my own madness. Colomba will give +it to you. Farewell, mademoiselle! You are about to leave Corsica, and +I shall never see you again. But tell my sister, at least, that I still +possess your esteem--and I tell you, confidently, that I am still worthy +of it. + +"O.D.R." + + +Miss Lydia had turned away while she read the letter, and Colomba, who +was watching her closely, gave her the Egyptian ring, with an inquiring +glance as to what it all meant. But Miss Lydia dared not raise her head, +and looked dejectedly at the ring, alternately putting it on her finger +and pulling it off again. + +"Dear Miss Nevil," said Colomba, "may I not know what my brother says to +you? Does he say anything about his health?" + +"Indeed," said Miss Lydia, colouring, "he doesn't mention it. His letter +is in English. He desires me to tell my father--He hopes the prefect +will be able to arrange----" + +With a mischievous smile, Colomba sat down on the bed, took hold of both +Miss Nevil's hands, and, looking at her with her piercing eyes-- + +"Will you be kind?" she said. "Won't you answer my brother's letter? You +would do him so much good! For a moment I thought of waking you when his +letter came, and then I didn't dare!" + +"You did very wrong," replied Miss Nevil. "If a word from me could--" + +"I can't send him any letter now. The prefect has arrived, and +Pietranera is full of his policemen. Later on, we'll see what we can +do. Oh, Miss Nevil, if you only knew my brother, you would love him as +dearly as I do. He's so good! He's so brave! Just think of what he has +done! One man against two, and wounded as well!" + +The prefect had returned. Warned by an express messenger sent by the +deputy-mayor, he had brought over the public prosecutor, the registrar, +and all their myrmidons, to investigate the fresh and terrible +catastrophe which had just complicated, or it may be ended, the warfare +between the chief families of Pietranera. Shortly after his arrival, he +saw the colonel and his daughter, and did not conceal his fear that the +business might take on an ugly aspect. + +"You know," he said, "that the fight took place without witnesses, and +the reputation of these two unhappy men stood so high, both for bravery +and cunning, that nobody will believe Signor della Rebbia can have +killed them without the help of the bandits with whom he is now supposed +to have taken refuge." + +"It's not possible," said the colonel. "Orso della Rebbia is a most +honourable fellow. I'll stake my life on that." + +"I believe you," said the prefect. "But the public prosecutor (those +gentry always are suspicious) does not strike me as being particularly +well disposed toward him. He holds one bit of evidence which goes rather +against our friend--a threatening letter to Orlanduccio, in which he +suggests a meeting, and is inclined to think that meeting was a trap." + +"That fellow Orlanduccio refused to fight it out like a gentleman." + +"That is not the custom here. In this country, people lie in ambush, and +kill each other from behind. There is one deposition in his favour--that +of a child, who declares she heard four reports, two of which were +louder than the others, and produced by a heavy weapon, such as Signor +della Rebbia's gun. Unluckily, the child is the niece of one of the +bandits suspected of being his accomplices, and has probably been taught +her lesson." + +"Sir," broke in Miss Lydia, reddening to the roots of her hair, "we were +on the road when those shots were fired, and we heard the same thing." + +"Really? That's most important! And you, colonel, no doubt you remarked +the very same thing?" + +"Yes," responded Miss Lydia quickly. "It was my father, who is so +accustomed to firearms, who said to me, 'There's Signor della Rebbia +shooting with my gun!'" + +"And you are sure those shots you recognised were the last?" + +"The two last, weren't they, papa?" + +Memory was not the colonel's strong point, but as a standing rule, he +knew better than to contradict his daughter. + +"I must mention this to the public prosecutor at once, colonel. And +besides, we expect a surgeon this evening, who will make an examination +of the two bodies, and find out whether the wounds were caused by that +particular weapon." + +"I gave it to Orso," said the colonel, "and I wish I knew it was at the +bottom of the sea. At least----Plucky boy! I'm heartily glad he had it +with him, for I don't quite know how he would have got off if it hadn't +been for my Manton." + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +It was rather late when the surgeon put in an appearance. On his road up +he had met with an adventure of his own. He had been stopped by Giocanto +Castriconi, who, with the most scrupulous politeness, called on him to +come and attend a wounded man. He had been conducted to Orso's retreat, +and had applied the first dressings to his wound. The bandit had then +accompanied the doctor some distance on his way, and had greatly edified +him by his talk concerning the most celebrated professors at Pisa, whom +he described as his intimate friends. + +"Doctor," said the theologian, as they parted, "you have inspired me +with such a feeling of respect that I think it hardly necessary to +remind you that a physician should be as discreet as a confessor." And +as he said the words he clicked the trigger of his gun. "You have quite +forgotten the spot at which we have had the honour of meeting. Fare you +well! I'm delighted to have made your acquaintance." + +Colomba besought the colonel to be present at the post-mortem +examination. + +"You know my brother's gun better than anybody," she said, "and your +presence will be most valuable. Besides there are so many wicked people +here that we should run a great risk if there were nobody present to +protect our interests." + +When she was left alone with Miss Lydia, she complained that her head +ached terribly, and proposed that they should take a walk just outside +the village. + +"The fresh air will do me good," she said. "It is so long since I've +been out of doors." + +As they walked along she talked about her brother, and Miss Lydia, who +found the subject tolerably interesting, did not notice that they had +travelled a long way from Pietranera. The sun was setting when she +became aware of this fact, and she begged Colomba to return. Colomba +said she knew a cross-cut which would greatly shorten the walk back, +and turning out of the path, she took another, which seemed much less +frequented. Soon she began to climb a hill, so steep that to keep her +balance she was continually obliged to catch hold of branches with one +hand, while she pulled her companion up after her with the other. After +about twenty minutes of this trying ascent, they found themselves on +a small plateau, clothed with arbutus and myrtle, growing round great +granite boulders that jutted above the soil in every direction. Miss +Lydia was very tired, there was no sign of the village, and it was +almost quite dark. + +"Do you know, Colomba, my dear," she said, "I'm afraid we've lost our +way!" + +"No fear!" answered Colomba. "Let us get on. You follow me." + +"But I assure you we're going wrong. The village can't be over there. +I'm certain we're turning our backs on it. Why, look at those lights, +far away. Pietranera must be in that direction." + +"My dear soul," said Colomba, and she looked very much agitated, "you're +perfectly right. But in the _maquis_--less than a hundred yards from +here--" + +"Well?" + +"My brother is lying. If you choose, I might see him, and give him one +kiss." + +Miss Nevil made a gesture of astonishment. + +"I got out of Pietranera without being noticed," continued Colomba, +"because I was with you, otherwise I should have been followed. To be so +close to him, and not to see him! Why shouldn't you come with me to see +my poor brother? You would make him so happy!" + +"But, Colomba--That wouldn't be at all proper on my part----" + +"I see. With you women who live in towns, your great anxiety is to be +proper. We village women only think of what is kind." + +"But it's so late! And then what will your brother think of me?" + +"He'll think his friends have not forsaken him, and that will give him +courage to bear his sufferings." + +"And my father? He'll be so anxious!" + +"He knows you are with me. Come! Make up your mind. You were looking at +his picture this morning," she added, with a sly smile. + +"No! Really and truly, I don't dare, Colomba! Think of the bandits who +are there." + +"Well, what matter? The bandits don't know you. And you were longing to +see some." + +"Oh, dear!" + +"Come, signorina, settle something. I can't leave you alone here. I +don't know what might happen to you. Let us go on to see Orso, or else +let us go back to the village together. I shall see my brother again. +God knows when--never, perhaps!" + +"What's that you are saying, Colomba? Well, well, let us go! But only +for a minute, and then we'll get home at once." + +Colomba squeezed her hand, and without making any reply walked on so +quickly that Miss Lydia could hardly keep up with her. She soon halted, +luckily, and said to her companion: + +"We won't go any farther without warning them. We might have a bullet +flying at our heads." + +She began to whistle through her fingers. Soon they heard a dog bark, +and the bandits' advanced sentry shortly came in sight. This was our old +acquaintance Brusco, who recognised Colomba at once and undertook to be +her guide. After many windings through the narrow paths in the _maquis_ +they were met by two men, armed to the teeth. + +"Is that you, Brandolaccio?" inquired Colomba. "Where is my brother?" + +"Just over there," replied the bandit. "But go quietly. He's asleep, and +for the first time since his accident. Zounds, it's clear that where the +devil gets through, a woman will get through too!" + +The two girls moved forward cautiously, and beside a fire, the blaze of +which was carefully concealed by a little wall of stones built round +it, they beheld Orso, lying on a pile of heather, and covered with a +_pilone_. He was very pale, and they could hear his laboured breathing. +Colomba sat down near him, and gazed at him silently, with her hands +clasped, as though she were praying in her heart. Miss Lydia hid her +face in her handkerchief, and nestled close against her friend, but +every now and then she lifted her head to take a look at the wounded man +over Colomba's shoulder. Thus a quarter of an hour passed by without a +word being said by anybody. At a sign from the theologian, Brandolaccio +had plunged with him into the _maquis_, to the great relief of Miss +Lydia, who for the first time fancied the local colour of the bandits' +wild beards and warlike equipment was a trifle too strong. + +At last Orso stirred. Instantly, Colomba bent over him, and kissed him +again and again, pouring out questions anent his wound, his suffering, +and his needs. After having answered that he was doing as well as +possible, Orso inquired, in his turn, whether Miss Nevil was still at +Pietranera, and whether she had written to him. Colomba, bending over +her brother, completely hid her companion from his sight, and indeed the +darkness would have made any recognition difficult. She was holding one +of Miss Nevil's hands. With the other she slightly raised her wounded +brother's head. + +"No, brother," she replied. "She did not give me any letter for you. But +are you still thinking about Miss Nevil? You must love her very much!" + +"Love her, Colomba!--But--but now she may despise me!" + +At this point Miss Nevil made a struggle to withdraw her fingers. But +it was no easy matter to get Colomba to slacken her grasp. Small and +well-shaped though her hand was, it possessed a strength of which we +have already noticed certain proofs. + +"Despise you!" cried Colomba. "After what you've done? No, indeed! She +praises you! Oh, Orso, I could tell you so many things about her!" + +Lydia's hand was still struggling for its freedom, but Colomba kept +drawing it closer to Orso. + +"But after all," said the wounded man, "why didn't she answer me? If she +had sent me a single line, I should have been happy." + +By dint of pulling at Miss Nevil's hand, Colomba contrived at last to +put it into her brother's. Then, moving suddenly aside, she burst out +laughing. + +"Orso," she cried, "mind you don't speak evil of Miss Lydia--she +understands Corsican quite well." + +Miss Lydia took back her hand at once and stammered some unintelligible +words. Orso thought he must be dreaming. + +"You here, Miss Nevil? Good heavens! how did you dare? Oh, how happy you +have made me!" + +And raising himself painfully, he strove to get closer to her. + +"I came with your sister," said Miss Lydia, "so that nobody might +suspect where she was going. And then I--I wanted to make sure for +myself. Alas! how uncomfortable you are here!" + +Colomba had seated herself behind Orso. She raised him carefully so +that his head might rest on her lap. She put her arms round his neck and +signed to Miss Lydia to come near him. + +"Closer! closer!" she said. "A sick man mustn't talk too loud." And when +Miss Lydia hesitated, she caught her hand and forced her to sit down +so close to Orso that her dress touched him, and her hand, still in +Colomba's grasp, lay on the wounded man's shoulder. + +"Now he's very comfortable!" said Colomba cheerily. "Isn't it good to +lie out in the _maquis_ on such a lovely night? Eh, Orso?" + +"How you must be suffering!" exclaimed Miss Lydia. + +"My suffering is all gone now," said Orso, "and I should like to die +here!" And his right hand crept up toward Miss Lydia's, which Colomba +still held captive. + +"You really must be taken to some place where you can be properly cared +for, Signor della Rebbia," said Miss Nevil. "I shall never be able to +sleep in my bed, now that I have seen you lying here, so uncomfortable, +in the open air." + +"If I had not been afraid of meeting you, Miss Nevil, I should have +tried to get back to Pietranera, and I should have given myself up to +the authorities." + +"And why were you afraid of meeting her, Orso?" inquired Colomba. + +"I had disobeyed you, Miss Nevil, and I should not have dared to look at +you just then." + +"Do you know you make my brother do everything you choose, Miss Lydia?" +said Colomba, laughing. "I won't let you see him any more." + +"I hope this unlucky business will soon be cleared up, and that you will +have nothing more to fear," said Miss Nevil. "I shall be so happy, +when we go away, to know justice has been done you, and that both your +loyalty and your bravery have been acknowledged." + +"Going away, Miss Nevil! Don't say that word yet!" + +"What are we to do? My father can not spend his whole life shooting. He +wants to go." + +Orso's hand, which had been touching Miss Lydia's, dropped away, and +there was silence for a moment. + +"Nonsense!" said Colomba. "We won't let you go yet. We have plenty of +things to show you still at Pietranera. Besides, you have promised to +paint my picture, and you haven't even begun it so far. And then I've +promised to compose you a _serenata_, with seventy-five verses. And +then--but what can Brusco be growling about? And here's Brandolaccio +running after him. I must go and see what's amiss." + +She rose at once, and laying Orso's head, without further ceremony, on +Miss Lydia's lap, she ran after the bandits. + +Miss Nevil, somewhat startled at finding herself thus left in sole +charge of a handsome young Corsican gentleman in the middle of a +_maquis_, was rather puzzled what to do next. + +For she was afraid that any sudden movement on her part might hurt the +wounded man. But Orso himself resigned the exquisite pillow on which his +sister had just laid his head, and raising himself on his right arm, he +said: + +"So you will soon be gone, Miss Lydia? I never expected your stay in +this unhappy country would have been a long one. And yet since you have +come to me here, the thought that I must bid you farewell has grown a +hundred times more bitter to me. I am only a poor lieutenant. I had no +future--and now I am an outlaw. What a moment in which to tell you that +I love you, Miss Lydia! But no doubt this is my only chance of saying +it. And I think I feel less wretched now I have unburdened my heart to +you." + +Miss Lydia turned away her head, as if the darkness were not dark enough +to hide her blushes. + +"Signor della Rebbia," she said, and her voice shook, "should I have +come here at all if----" and as she spoke she laid the Egyptian +talisman in Orso's hand. Then, with a mighty effort to recover her +usual bantering tone--"It's very wrong of you, Signor Orso, to say such +things! You know very well that here, in the middle of the _maquis_, +and with your bandits all about me, I should never dare to be angry with +you." + +Orso made an attempt to kiss the hand that held out the talisman. Miss +Lydia drew it quickly back; he lost his balance, and fell on his wounded +arm. He could not stifle a moan of pain. + +"Oh, dear, you've hurt yourself, and it was my fault!" she cried, as she +raised him up. "Forgive me!" They talked for some time longer, very low, +and very close together. + +Colomba, running hastily up, found them in the very same position in +which she had left them. + +"The soldiers!" she cried. "Orso! try to get up and walk! I'll help +you!" + +"Leave me!" said Orso. "Tell the bandits to escape. What do I care if +I am taken? But take away Miss Lydia. For God's sake, don't let anybody +see her here!" + +"I won't leave you," said Brandolaccio, who had come up on Colomba's +heels. + +"The sergeant in charge is the lawyer's godson. He'll shoot you instead +of arresting you, and then he'll say he didn't do it on purpose." + +Orso tried to rise; he even took a few steps. But he soon halted. "I +can't walk," he said. "Fly, all of you! Good-bye, Miss Nevil! Give me +your hand! Farewell!" + +"We won't leave you!" cried the two girls. + +"If you can't walk," said Brandolaccio, "I must carry you. Come, sir, +a little courage! We shall have time to slip away by the ravine. The +Signor Padre will keep them busy." + +"No, leave me!" said Orso, lying down on the ground. "Colomba, take Miss +Nevil away!--for God's sake!" + +"You're strong, Signorina Colomba," said Brandolaccio. "Catch hold of +his shoulders; I'll take his feet. That's it! Now, then march!" + +In spite of his protests, they began to carry him rapidly along. Miss +Lydia was following them, in a terrible fright, when a gun was fired, +and five or six other reports instantly responded. Miss Lydia screamed +and Brandolaccio swore an oath, but he doubled his pace, and Colomba, +imitating him, tore through the thicket without paying the slightest +heed to the branches that slashed her face and tore her dress. + +"Bend down, bend down, dear!" she called out to her companion. "You may +be hit by some stray bullet!" + +They had walked, or rather run, some five hundred paces in this fashion +when Brandolaccio vowed he could go no further, and dropped on the +ground, regardless of all Colomba's exhortations and reproaches. + +"Where is Miss Nevil?" was Orso's one inquiry. + +Terrified by the firing, checked at every step by the thick growth of +the _maquis_, Miss Nevil had soon lost sight of the fugitives, and been +left all alone in a state of the most cruel alarm. + +"She has been left behind," said Brandolaccio, "but she'll not be +lost--women always turn up again. Do listen to the row the Padre is +making with your gun, Ors' Anton'! Unluckily, it's as black as pitch, +and nobody takes much harm from being shot at in the dark." + +"Hush!" cried Colomba. "I hear a horse. We're saved!" + +Startled by the firing, a horse which had been wandering through the +_maquis_, was really coming close up to them. + +"Saved, indeed!" repeated Brandolaccio. It did not take the bandit more +than an instant to rush up to the creature, catch hold of his mane, and +with Colomba's assistance, bridle him with a bit of knotted rope. + +"Now we must warn the Padre," he said. He whistled twice; another +distant whistle answered the signal, and the loud voice of the Manton +gun was hushed. Then Brandolaccio sprang on the horse's back. Colomba +lifted her brother up in front of the bandit, who held him close with +one hand and managed his bridle with the other. + +In spite of the double load, the animal, urged by a brace of hearty +kicks, started off nimbly, and galloped headlong down a steep declivity +on which anything but a Corsican steed would have broken its neck a +dozen times. + +Then Colomba retraced her steps, calling Miss Nevil at the top of her +voice; but no answering cry was heard. + +After walking hither and thither for some time, trying to recover the +path, she stumbled on two riflemen, who shouted, "Who goes there?" + +"Well, gentlemen," cried Colomba jeeringly, "here's a pretty racket! How +many of you are killed?" + +"You were with the bandits!" said one of the soldiers. "You must come +with us." + +"With pleasure!" she replied. "But there's a friend of mine somewhere +close by, and we must find her first." + +"You friend is caught already, and both of you will sleep in jail +to-night!" + +"In jail, you say? Well, that remains to be seen. But take me to her, +meanwhile." + +The soldiers led her to the bandits' camp, where they had collected the +trophies of their raid--to wit, the cloak which had covered Orso, an +old cooking-pot, and a pitcher of cold water. On the same spot she found +Miss Nevil, who had fallen among the soldiers, and, being half dead +with terror, did nothing but sob in answer to their questions as to the +number of the bandits, and the direction in which they had gone. + +Colomba threw herself into her arms and whispered in her ear, "They are +safe!" Then, turning to the sergeant, she said: "Sir, you can see this +young lady knows none of the things you are trying to find out from +her. Give us leave to go back to the village, where we are anxiously +expected." + +"You'll be taken there, and faster than you like, my beauty," rejoined +the sergeant. "And you'll have to explain what you were after at this +time of night with the ruffians who have just got away. I don't know +what witchcraft those villains practise, but they certainly do bewitch +the women--for wherever there are bandits about, you are dead certain to +find pretty girls." + +"You're very flattering, sergeant!" said Colomba, "but you'll do well to +be careful what you say. This young lady is related to the prefect, and +you'd better be careful of your language before her." + +"A relation of the prefect's," whispered one of the soldiers to his +chief. "Why, she does wear a hat!" + +"Hats have nothing to do with it," said the sergeant. "They were both of +them with the Padre--the greatest woman-wheedler in the whole country, +so it's my business to march them off. And, indeed, there's nothing +more for us to do here. But for that d----d Corporal Taupin--the drunken +Frenchman showed himself before I'd surrounded the _maquis_--we should +have had them all like fish in a net." + +"Are there only seven of you here?" inquired Colomba. "It strikes me, +gentlemen, that if the three Poli brothers--Gambini, Sarocchi, and +Teodoro--should happen to be at the Cross of Santa Christina, with +Brandolaccio and the Padre, they might give you a good deal of corn to +grind. If you mean to have a talk with the Commandante della Campagna, +I'd just as soon not be there. In the dark, bullets don't show any +respect for persons." + +The idea of coming face to face with the dreaded bandits mentioned by +Colomba made an evident impression on the soldiers. The sergeant, still +cursing Corporal Taupin--"that dog of a Frenchman"--gave the order +to retire, and his little party moved toward Pietranera, carrying the +_pilone_ and the cooking-pot; as for the pitcher, its fate was settled +with a kick. + +One of the men would have laid hold of Miss Lydia's arm, but Colomba +instantly pushed him away. + +"Let none of you dare to lay a finger on her!" she said. "Do you fancy +we want to run away? Come, Lydia, my dear, lean on me, and don't cry +like a baby. We've had an adventure, but it will end all right. In half +an hour we shall be at our supper, and for my part I'm dying to get to +it." + +"What will they think of me!" Miss Nevil whispered. + +"They'll think you lost your way in the _maquis_, that's all." + +"What will the prefect say? Above all, what will my father say?" + +"The prefect? You can tell him to mind his own business! Your father? +I should have thought, from the way you and Orso were talking, that you +had something to say to your father." + +Miss Nevil squeezed her arm, and answered nothing. + +"Doesn't my brother deserve to be loved?" whispered Colomba in her ear. +"Don't you love him a little?" + +"Oh, Colomba!" answered Miss Nevil, smiling in spite of her blushes, +"you've betrayed me! And I trusted you so!" + +Colomba slipped her arm round her, and kissed her forehead. + +"Little sister," she whispered very low, "will you forgive me?" + +"Why, I suppose I must, my masterful sister," answered Lydia, as she +kissed her back. + +The prefect and the public prosecutor were staying with the +deputy-mayor, and the colonel, who was very uneasy about his daughter, +was paying them his twentieth call, to ask if they had heard of her, +when a rifleman, whom the sergeant had sent on in advance, arrived with +the full story of the great fight with the brigands--a fight in which +nobody had been either killed or wounded, but which had resulted in +the capture of a cooking-pot, a _pilone_, and two girls, whom the man +described as the mistresses, or the spies, of the two bandits. + +Thus heralded, the two prisoners appeared, surrounded by their armed +escort. + +My readers will imagine Colomba's radiant face, her companion's +confusion, the prefect's surprise, the colonel's astonishment and joy. +The public prosecutor permitted himself the mischievous entertainment +of obliging poor Lydia to undergo a kind of cross-examination, which did +not conclude until he had quite put her out of countenance. + +"It seems to me," said the prefect, "that we may release everybody. +These young ladies went out for a walk--nothing is more natural in fine +weather. They happened to meet a charming young man, who has been lately +wounded--nothing could be more natural, again." Then, taking Colomba +aside-- + +"Signorina," he said, "you can send word to your brother that +this business promises to turn out better than I had expected. The +post-mortem examination and the colonel's deposition both prove that he +only defended himself, and that he was alone when the fight took place. +Everything will be settled--only he must leave the _maquis_ and give +himself up to the authorities." + +It was almost eleven o'clock when the colonel, his daughter, and Colomba +sat down at last to their supper, which had grown cold. Colomba ate +heartily, and made great fun of the prefect, the public prosecutor, +and the soldiers. The colonel ate too, but never said a word, and gazed +steadily at his daughter, who would not lift her eyes from her plate. At +last, gently but seriously, he said in English: + +"Lydia, I suppose you are engaged to della Rebbia?" + +"Yes, father, to-day," she answered, steadily, though she blushed. Then +she raised her eyes, and reading no sign of anger in her father's face, +she threw herself into his arms and kissed him, as all well-brought-up +young ladies do on such occasions. + +"With all my heart!" said the colonel. "He's a fine fellow. But, by +G--d, we won't live in this d---d country of his, or I'll refuse my +consent." + +"I don't know English," said Colomba, who was watching them with an air +of the greatest curiosity, "but I'll wager I've guessed what you are +saying!" + +"We are saying," quoth the colonel, "that we are going to take you for a +trip to Ireland." + +"Yes, with pleasure; and I'll be the Surella Colomba. Is it settled, +colonel? Shall we shake hands on it?" + +"In such a case," remarked the colonel, "people exchanges kisses!" + + + +CHAPTER XX + +One afternoon, a few months after the double shot which, as the +newspapers said, "plunged the village of Pietranera into a state of +consternation," a young man with his left arm in a sling, rode out of +Bastia, toward the village of Cardo, celebrated for its spring, which +in summer supplies the more fastidious inhabitants of the town with +delicious water. He was accompanied by a young lady, tall and remarkably +handsome, mounted on a small black horse, the strength and shape of +which would have attracted the admiration of a connoisseur, although, by +some strange accident, one of its ears had been lacerated. On reaching +the village, the girl sprang nimbly to the ground, and, having helped +her comrade to dismount, she unfastened the somewhat heavy wallets +strapped to his saddle-bow. The horses were left in charge of a peasant. +The girl, laden with the wallets, which she had concealed under her +_mezzaro_, and the young man, carrying a double-barrelled gun, took +their way toward the mountain, along a very steep path that did not +appear to lead to any dwelling. When they had climbed to one of the +lower ridges of the Monte Querico, they halted, and sat down on the +grass. They were evidently expecting somebody, for they kept perpetually +looking toward the mountain, and the young lady often consulted a +pretty gold watch--as much, it may be, for the pleasure of admiring what +appeared a somewhat newly acquired trinket, as in order to know whether +the hour appointed for some meeting or other had come. They had not long +to wait. A dog ran out of the _maquis_, and when the girl called out +"Brusco!" it approached at once, and fawned upon them. Presently two +bearded men appeared, with guns under their arms, cartridge-belts round +their waists, and pistols hanging at their sides. Their torn and patched +garments contrasted oddly with their weapons, which were brilliantly +polished, and came from a famous Continental factory. In spite of the +apparent inequality of their positions, the four actors in this scene +greeted one another in terms of old and familiar friendship. + +"Well, Ors' Anton'," said the elder bandit to the young man, "so your +business is settled--the indictment against you has fallen through? I +congratulate you. I'm sorry the lawyer has left the island. I'd like to +see his rage. And how's your arm?" + +"They tell me I shall get rid of my sling in a fortnight," said the +young man. "Brando, my good friend, I'm going to Italy to-morrow--I +wanted to say good-bye to you and to the cure. That's why I asked you to +come here." + +"You're in a fine hurry," said Brandolaccio. "Only acquitted yesterday, +and you're off to-morrow." + +"Business must be attended to," said the young lady merrily. "Gentlemen, +I've brought some supper. Fall to, if you please, and don't you forget +my friend Brusco." + +"You spoil Brusco, Mademoiselle Colomba. But he's a grateful dog. You +shall see. Here, Brusco," and he held out his gun horizontally, "jump +for the Barricini!" + +The dog stood motionless, licking his chops, and staring at his master. + +"Jump for the della Rebbia!" And he leaped two feet higher than he need +have done. + +"Look here, my friends," said Orso, "you're plying a bad trade; and even +if you don't end your career on that square below us,[*] the best you +can look for is to die in the _maquis_ by some gendarme's bullet." + +[*] The square at Bastia on which executions take place. + +"Well, well," said Castriconi, "that's no more than death, anyhow; and +it's better than being killed in your bed by a fever, with your +heirs snivelling more or less honestly all round you. To men who are +accustomed to the open air like us, there's nothing so good as to die +'in your shoes,' as the village folk say." + +"I should like to see you get out of this country," said Orso, "and lead +a quieter life. For instance, why shouldn't you settle in Sardinia, as +several of your comrades have done? I could make the matter easy for +you." + +"In Sardinia!" cried Brandolaccio. "_Istos Sardos!_ Devil take them and +their lingo! We couldn't live in such bad company." + +"Sardinia's a country without resources," added the theologian. "For +my part, I despise the Sardinians. They keep mounted men to hunt their +bandits. That's a stigma on both the bandits and the country.[*] Out +upon Sardinia, say I! The thing that astounds me, Signor della Rebbia, +is that you, who are a man of taste and understanding, should not have +taken to our life in the _maquis_, after having once tried it, as you +did." + + [*] I owe this criticism of Sardinia to an ex-bandit of my + acquaintance, and he alone must bear the responsibility of + it. He means that bandits who let themselves be caught by + horse soldiers are idiots, and that soldiers who try to + catch bandits on horseback have very little chance of + getting at them. + +"Well," said Orso, with a smile, "when I was lucky enough to be your +guest, I wasn't in very good case for enjoying the charms of your +position, and my ribs still ache when I think of the ride I took one +lovely night, thrown like a bundle across an unsaddled horse that my +good friend Brandolaccio guided." + +"And the delight of escaping from your pursuers," rejoined Castriconi; +"is that nothing to you? How can you fail to realize the charm of +absolute freedom in such a beautiful climate as ours? With this to +insure respect," and he held up his gun, "we are kings of everything +within its range. We can give orders, we can redress wrongs. That's a +highly moral entertainment, monsieur, and a very pleasant one, which we +don't deny ourselves. What can be more beautiful than a knight-errant's +life, when he has good weapons, and more common sense than Don Quixote +had? Listen! The other day I was told that little Lilla Luigi's +uncle--old miser that he is--wouldn't give her a dowry. So I wrote to +him. I didn't use threats--that's not my way. Well, well, in one moment +the man was convinced. He married his niece, and I made two people +happy. Believe me, Orso, there's no life like the bandit's life! Pshaw! +You'd have joined us, perhaps, if it hadn't been for a certain young +Englishwoman whom I have scarcely seen myself, but about whose beauty +every one in Bastia is talking." + +"My future sister-in-law doesn't like the _maquis_," laughed Colomba. +"She got too great a fright in one of them." + +"Well," said Orso, "you are resolved to stay here? So be it! But tell me +whether there is anything I can do for you?" + +"Nothing," said Brandolaccio. "You've heaped kindnesses upon us. Here's +little Chilina with her dowry ready, so that there'll be no necessity +for my friend the cure to write one of his persuasive letters to insure +her marrying well. We know the man on your farm will give us bread and +powder whenever we need them. So fare you well! I hope we shall see you +back in Corsica one of these days." + +"In case of pressing need," said Orso, "a few gold coins are very +useful. Now we are such old friends, you won't refuse this little +_cartouche_.[*] It will help you to provide cartridges of another kind." + + [*] _Cartouche_ means a collection of gold pieces as well as + a cartridge. + +"No money between you and me, sir," said Brandolaccio resolutely. + +"In the world money is everything," remarked Castriconi, "but in the +_maquis_, all a man need care for is a brave heart, and a gun that +carries true." + +"I don't want to leave you without giving you something to remember me +by," persisted Orso. "Come, Brandolaccio, what can I leave with you?" + +The bandit scratched his head and cast a sidelong glance at Orso's gun. + +"By my faith, if I dared--but no! you're too fond of it." + +"What would you like?" + +"Nothing! 'Tisn't anything at all. It's knowing how to use it as well. I +keep thinking of that devil of a double-shot of yours--and with only one +hand, too! Oh! that never could happen twice over!" + +"Is it the gun you fancy? I bought it for you. But see you don't use it +more than you are obliged." + +"Oh, I won't promise to make as good use of it as you. But make your +mind easy. When any other man has it, you may be certain it's all over +with Brando Savelli." + +"And you, Castriconi--what am I to give you?" + +"Since you really insist on giving me some tangible keepsake, I'll +simply ask you to send me the smallest Horace you can get. It will amuse +me, and prevent me from forgetting all my Latin. There's a little woman +who sells cigars on the jetty at Bastia. If you give it to her, she'll +see I get it." + +"You shall have an Elzevir, my erudite friend. There just happens to +be one among some books I was going to take away with me. Well, good +friends, we must part! Give me your hands. If you should ever think of +Sardinia write to me. Signor N., the notary, will give you my address on +the mainland." + +"To-morrow, lieutenant," said Brando, "when you get out in the harbour, +look up to this spot on the mountain-side. We shall be here, and we'll +wave our handkerchiefs to you." + +And so they parted. Orso and his sister took their way back to Cardo, +and the bandits departed up the mountain. + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +One lovely April morning, Sir Thomas Nevil, his daughter, a newly made +bride--Orso, and Colomba, drove out of Pisa to see a lately discovered +Etruscan vault to which all strangers who came to that part of the +country paid a visit. + +Orso and his wife went down into the ancient building, pulled out their +pencils, and began to sketch the mural paintings. But the colonel and +Colomba, who neither of them cared much for archaeology, left them to +themselves, and walked about in the neighbourhood. + +"My dear Colomba," said the colonel, "we shall never get back to Pisa in +time for lunch. Aren't you hungry? There are Orso and his wife buried +in their antiquities; when once they begin sketching together, it lasts +forever!" + +"Yes," remarked Colomba. "And yet they never bring the smallest sketch +home with them." + +"I think," proceeded the colonel, "our best plan would be to make our +way to that little farm-house yonder. We should find bread there, and +perhaps some _aleatico_. Who knows, we might even find strawberries and +cream! And then we should be able to wait patiently for our artists." + +"You are quite right, colonel. You and I are the reasonable members of +this family. We should be very foolish if we let ourselves by martyrized +by that pair of lovers, who live on poetry! Give me your arm! Don't you +think I'm improving? I lean on people's arms, wear fashionable hats and +gowns and trinkets--I'm learning I don't know how many fine things--I'm +not at all a young savage any more. Just observe the grace with which I +wear this shawl. That fair-haired spark--that officer belonging to +your regiment who came to the wedding--oh, dear! I can't recollect +his name!--a tall, curly-headed man, whom I could knock over with one +hand----" + +"Chatsworth?" suggested the colonel. + +"That's it!--but I never shall be able to say it!--Well, you know he's +over head and ears in love with me!" + +"O Colomba, you're growing a terrible flirt! We shall have another +wedding before long." + +"I! Marry! And then who will there be to bring up my nephew--when Orso +provides me with a nephew? And who'll teach him to talk Corsican? Yes, +he shall talk Corsican, and I'll make him a peaked cap, just to vex +you." + +"Well, well, wait till you have your nephew, and then you shall teach +him to use a dagger, if you choose." + +"Farewell to daggers!" said Colomba merrily. "I have a fan now, to rap +your fingers with when you speak ill of my country." + +Chatting thus, they reached the farm-house, where they found wine, +strawberries, and cream. Colomba helped the farmer's wife to gather the +strawberries, while the colonel drank his _aleatico_. At the turning of +a path she caught sight of an old man, sitting in the sun, on a straw +chair. He seemed ill, his cheeks were fallen in, his eyes were hollow, +he was frightfully thin; as he sat there, motionless, pallid, staring +fixedly in front of him, he looked more like a corpse than like a living +creature. Colomba watched him for some minutes, and with a curiosity so +great that it attracted the woman's attention. + +"That poor old fellow is a countryman of yours," she said. "For I know +you are from Corsica by the way you talk, signorina! He has had great +trouble in his own country. His children met with some terrible death. +They say--you'll excuse me, signorina--that when they quarrel, your +compatriots don't show each other very much mercy. Then the poor +old gentleman, being left all alone, came over to Pisa, to a distant +relation of his, who owns this farm. Between his misfortunes and his +sorrow, the good man is a little cracked. . . . The lady found him +troublesome--for she sees a great deal of company. So she sent him out +here. He's very gentle--no worry at all. He doesn't speak three words +the whole day long. In fact, his brain's quite gone. The doctor comes to +see him every week. He says he won't live long." + +"There's no hope for him, then!" said Colomba. "In such a case, death +will be a mercy." + +"You might say a word to him in Corsican, signorina. Perhaps it would +cheer him up to hear the speech of his own country." + +"I'll see!" said Colomba, and her smile was mysterious. + +She drew nearer to the old man, till her shadow fell across his chair. +Then the poor idiot lifted his head and stared at Colomba, while she +looked at him, smiling still. After a moment, the old man passed his +hand across his forehead, and closed his eyes, as though he would have +shut out the sight of Colomba. He opened them again, desperately wide +this time. His lips began to work, he tried to stretch out his hands, +but, fascinated by Colomba's glance, he sat, nailed, as it were, to his +chair, unable to move or utter a word. At last great tears dropped from +his eyes, and a few sobs escaped from his heaving chest. + +"'Tis the first time I've seen him like this," said the good woman. +"This signorina belongs to your own country; she has come to see you," +said she to the old man. + +"Mercy!" he cried in a hoarse voice. "Mercy! Are you not content? The +leaf I burned. How did you read it? But why did you take them both? +Orlanduccio! You can't have read anything against him! You should have +left me one, only one! Orlanduccio--you didn't read _his_ name!" + +"I had to have them both!" answered Colomba, speaking low and in the +Corsican dialect. "The branches are topped off! If the stem had not been +rotten, I would have torn it up! Come! make no moan. You will not suffer +long! _I_ suffered for two years!" + +The old man cried out, and then his head dropped on his breast. Colomba +turned her back on him, and went slowly into the house, humming some +meaningless lines out of a _ballata_: + + "I must have the hand + that fired, the eye that aimed, the heart + that planned." + +While the farmer's wife ran to attend on the old man, Colomba, with +blazing eyes and brilliant cheeks, sat down to luncheon opposite the +colonel. + +"What's the matter with you?" he said. "You look just as you did that +day at Pietranera, when they fired at us while we were at dinner." + +"Old Corsican memories had come back to me. But all that's done with. +I shall be godmother, sha'n't I? Oh! what fine names I'll give him! +Ghilfuccio--Tomaso--Orso--Leone!" + +The farmer's wife came back into the room. + +"Well?" inquired Colomba, with the most perfect composure. "Is he dead, +or had he only fainted?" + +"It was nothing, signorina. But it's curious what an effect the sight of +you had on him." + +"And the doctor says he won't last long?" + +"Not two months, very likely." + +"He'll be no great loss!" remarked Colomba. + +"What the devil are you talking about?" inquired the colonel. + +"About an idiot from my own country, who is boarded out here. I'll send +from time to time to find out how he is. Why, Colonel Nevil, aren't you +going to leave any strawberries for Lydia and my brother?" + +When Colomba left the farm-house and got into the carriage, the farmer's +wife looked after her for a while. Then, turning to her daughter: + +"Dost see that pretty young lady yonder?" she said. "Well, I'm certain +she has the evil eye!" + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Columba, by Prosper Merimee + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK COLUMBA *** + +***** This file should be named 2708-8.txt or 2708-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/7/0/2708/ + +Produced by Dagny; Emma Dudding; John Bickers; David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/2708-8.zip b/2708-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..bb28c33 --- /dev/null +++ b/2708-8.zip diff --git a/2708-h.zip b/2708-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..5344d35 --- /dev/null +++ b/2708-h.zip diff --git a/2708-h/2708-h.htm b/2708-h/2708-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..fe07b31 --- /dev/null +++ b/2708-h/2708-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,7141 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> + <title> + Colomba, by Prosper Merimee + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Columba, by Prosper Merimee + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Columba + +Author: Prosper Merimee + +Release Date: March 28, 2006 [EBook #2708] +Last Updated: October 25, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK COLUMBA *** + + + + +Produced by Dagny; Emma Dudding; John Bickers; David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h1> + COLOMBA + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Prosper Merimee + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h3> + Translated By The Lady Mary Loyd + </h3> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER XXI </a> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + CHAPTER I + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Pe far la to vendetta, + Sta sigur’, vasta anche ella.” + + —Vocero du Niolo. +</pre> + <p> + Early in the month of October, 181-, Colonel Sir Thomas Nevil, a + distinguished Irish officer of the English army, alighted with his + daughter at the Hotel Beauveau, Marseilles, on their return from a tour in + Italy. The perpetual and universal admiration of enthusiastic travellers + has produced a sort of reaction, and many tourists, in their desire to + appear singular, now take the <i>nil admirari</i> of Horace for their + motto. To this dissatisfied class the colonel’s only daughter, Miss Lydia, + belonged. “The Transfiguration” has seemed to her mediocre, and Vesuvius + in eruption an effect not greatly superior to that produced by the + Birmingham factory chimneys. Her great objection to Italy, on the whole, + was its lack of local colour and character. My readers must discover the + sense of these expressions as best they may. A few years ago I understood + them very well myself, but at the present time I can make nothing of them. + At first, Miss Lydia had flattered herself she had found things on the + other side of the Alps which nobody had ever before seen, about which she + could converse <i>avec les honnetes gens</i>, as M. Jourdain calls them. + But soon, anticipated in every direction by her countrymen, she despaired + of making any fresh discoveries, and went over to the party of the + opposition. It is really very tiresome not to be able to talk abut the + wonders of Italy without hearing somebody say “Of course you know the + Raphael in the Palazzo—— at ——? It is the finest + thing in Italy!” and just the thing <i>you</i> happen to have overlooked! + As it would take too long to see everything, the simplest course is to + resort to deliberate and universal censure. + </p> + <p> + At the Hotel Beauveau Miss Lydia met with a bitter disappointment. She had + brought back a pretty sketch of the Pelasgic or Cyclopean Gate at Segni, + which, as she believed, all other artists had completely overlooked. Now, + at Marseilles, she met Lady Frances Fenwick, who showed her her album, in + which appeared, between a sonnet and a dried flower, the very gate in + question, brilliantly touched in with sienna. Miss Lydia gave her drawing + to her maid—and lost all admiration for Pelasgic structures. + </p> + <p> + This unhappy frame of mind was shared by Colonel Nevil, who, since the + death of his wife, looked at everything through his daughter’s eyes. In + his estimation, Italy had committed the unpardonable sin of boring his + child, and was, in consequence, the most wearisome country on the face of + the earth. He had no fault to find, indeed, with the pictures and statues, + but he was in a position to assert that Italian sport was utterly + wretched, and that he had been obliged to tramp ten leagues over the Roman + Campagna, under a burning sun, to kill a few worthless red-legged + partridges. + </p> + <p> + The morning after his arrival at Marseilles he invited Captain Ellis—his + former adjutant, who had just been spending six weeks in Corsica—to + dine with him. The captain told Miss Lydia a story about bandits, which + had the advantage of bearing no resemblance to the robber tales with which + she had been so frequently regaled, on the road between Naples and Rome, + and he told it well. At dessert, the two men, left alone over their + claret, talked of hunting—and the colonel learned that nowhere is + there more excellent sport, or game more varied and abundant, than in + Corsica. “There are plenty of wild boars,” said Captain Ellis. “And you + have to learn to distinguish them from the domestic pigs, which are + astonishingly like them. For if you kill a pig, you find yourself in + difficulties with the swine-herds. They rush out of the thickets (which + they call <i>maquis</i>) armed to the teeth, make you pay for their + beasts, and laugh at you besides. Then there is the mouflon, a strange + animal, which you will not find anywhere else—splendid game, but + hard to get—and stags, deer, pheasants, and partridges—it + would be impossible to enumerate all the kinds with which Corsica swarms. + If you want shooting, colonel, go to Corsica! There, as one of my + entertainers said to me, you can get a shot at every imaginable kind of + game, from a thrush to a man!” + </p> + <p> + At tea, the captain once more delighted Lydia with the tale of a <i>vendetta + transversale</i> (A vendetta in which vengeance falls on a more or less + distant relation of the author of the original offence.), even more + strange than his first story, and he thoroughly stirred her enthusiasm by + his descriptions of the strange wild beauty of the country, the + peculiarities of its inhabitants, and their primitive hospitality and + customs. Finally, he offered her a pretty little stiletto, less remarkable + for its shape and copper mounting than for its origin. A famous bandit had + given it to Captain Ellis, and had assured him it had been buried in four + human bodies. Miss Lydia thrust it through her girdle, laid it on the + table beside her bed, and unsheathed it twice over before she fell asleep. + Her father meanwhile was dreaming he had slain a mouflon, and that its + owner insisted on his paying for it, a demand to which he gladly acceded, + seeing it was a most curious creature, like a boar, with stag’s horns and + a pheasant’s tail. + </p> + <p> + “Ellis tells me there’s splendid shooting in Corsica,” said the colonel, + as he sat at breakfast, alone with his daughter. “If it hadn’t been for + the distance, I should like to spend a fortnight there.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” replied Miss Lydia, “why shouldn’t we go to Corsica? While you are + hunting I can sketch—I should love to have that grotto Captain Ellis + talked about, where Napoleon used to go and study when he was a child, in + my album.” + </p> + <p> + It was the first time, probably, that any wish expressed by the colonel + had won his daughter’s approbation. Delighted as he was by the unexpected + harmony on their opinions, he was nevertheless wise enough to put forward + various objections, calculated to sharpen Miss Lydia’s welcome whim. In + vain did he dwell on the wildness of the country, and the difficulties of + travel there for a lady. Nothing frightened her; she liked travelling on + horseback of all things; she delighted in the idea of bivouacking in the + open; she even threatened to go as far as Asia Minor—in short, she + found an answer to everything. No Englishwoman had ever been to Corsica; + therefore she must go. What a pleasure it would be, when she got back to + St. James’s Place, to exhibit her album! “But, my dear creature, why do + you pass over that delightful drawing?” “That’s only a trifle—just a + sketch I made of a famous Corsican bandit who was our guide.” “What! you + don’t mean to say you have been to Corsica?” + </p> + <p> + As there were no steamboats between France and Corsica, in those days, + inquiries were made for some ship about to sail for the island Miss Lydia + proposed to discover. That very day the colonel wrote to Paris, to + countermand his order for the suite of apartments in which he was to have + made some stay, and bargained with the skipper of a Corsican schooner, + just about to set sail for Ajaccio, for two poor cabins, but the best that + could be had. Provisions were sent on board, the skipper swore that one of + his sailors was an excellent cook, and had not his equal for <i>bouilleabaisse</i>; + he promised mademoiselle should be comfortable, and have a fair wind and a + calm sea. + </p> + <p> + The colonel further stipulated, in obedience to his daughter’s wishes, + that no other passenger should be taken on board, and that the captain + should skirt the coast of the island, so that Miss Lydia might enjoy the + view of the mountains. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II + </h2> + <p> + On the day of their departure everything was packed and sent on board + early in the morning. The schooner was to sail with the evening breeze. + Meanwhile, as the colonel and his daughter were walking on the Canebiere, + the skipper addressed them, and craved permission to take on board one of + his relations, his eldest son’s godfather’s second cousin, who was going + back to Corsica, his native country, on important business, and could not + find any ship to take him over. + </p> + <p> + “He’s a charming fellow,” added Captain Mattei, “a soldier, an officer in + the Infantry of the Guard, and would have been a colonel already if <i>the + other</i> (meaning Napoleon) had still been emperor!” + </p> + <p> + “As he is a soldier,” began the colonel—he was about to add, “I + shall be very glad he should come with us,” when Miss Lydia exclaimed in + English: + </p> + <p> + “An infantry officer!” (Her father had been in the cavalry, and she + consequently looked down on every other branch of the service.) “An + uneducated man, very likely, who would be sea-sick, and spoil all the + pleasure of our trip!” + </p> + <p> + The captain did not understand a word of English, but he seemed to catch + what Miss Lydia was saying by the pursing up of her pretty mouth, and + immediately entered upon an elaborate panegyric of his relative, which he + wound up by declaring him to be a gentleman, belonging to a family of <i>corporals</i>, + and that he would not be in the very least in the colonel’s way, for that + he, the skipper, would undertake to stow him in some corner, where they + should not be aware of his presence. + </p> + <p> + The colonel and Miss Nevil thought it peculiar that there should be + Corsican families in which the dignity of corporal was handed down from + father to son. But, as they really believed the individual in question to + be some infantry corporal, they concluded he was some poor devil whom the + skipper desired to take out of pure charity. If he had been an officer, + they would have been obliged to speak to him and live with him; but there + was no reason why they should put themselves out for a corporal—who + is a person of no consequence unless his detachment is also at hand, with + bayonets fixed, ready to convey a person to a place to which he would + rather not be taken. + </p> + <p> + “Is your kinsman ever sea-sick?” demanded Miss Nevil sharply. + </p> + <p> + “Never, mademoiselle, he is as steady as a rock, either on sea or land!” + </p> + <p> + “Very good then, you can take him,” said she. + </p> + <p> + “You can take him!” echoed the colonel, and they passed on their way. + </p> + <p> + Toward five o’clock in the evening Captain Mattei came to escort them on + board the schooner. On the jetty, near the captain’s gig, they met a tall + young man wearing a blue frock-coat, buttoned up to his chin; his face was + tanned, his eyes were black, brilliant, wide open, his whole appearance + intelligent and frank. His shoulders, well thrown back, and his little + twisted mustache clearly revealed the soldier—for at that period + mustaches were by no means common, and the National Guard had not carried + the habits and appearance of the guard-room into the bosom of every + family. + </p> + <p> + When the young man saw the colonel he doffed his cap, and thanked him in + excellent language, and without the slightest shyness, for the service he + was rendering him. + </p> + <p> + “Delighted to be of use to you, my good fellow!” said the colonel, with a + friendly nod, and he stepped into the gig. + </p> + <p> + “He’s not very ceremonious, this Englishman of yours,” said the young man + in Italian, and in an undertone, to the captain. + </p> + <p> + The skipper laid his forefinger under his left eye, and pulled down the + corners of his mouth. To a man acquainted with the language of signs, this + meant that the Englishman understood Italian, and was an oddity into the + bargain. The young man smiled slightly and touched his forehead, in answer + to Mattei’s sign, as though to indicate that every Englishman had a bee in + his bonnet. Then he sat down beside them, and began to look very + attentively, though not impertinently, at his pretty fellow-traveller. + </p> + <p> + “These French soldiers all have a good appearance,” remarked the colonel + in English to his daughter, “and so it is easy to turn them into + officers.” Then addressing the young man in French, he said, “Tell me, my + good man, what regiment have you served in?” The young man nudged his + second cousin’s godson’s father gently with his elbow, and suppressing an + ironic smile, replied that he had served in the Infantry of the Guard, and + that he had just quitted the Seventh Regiment of Light Infantry. + </p> + <p> + “Were you at Waterloo? You are very young!” + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon, colonel, that was my only campaign.” + </p> + <p> + “It counts as two,” said the colonel. + </p> + <p> + The young Corsican bit his lips. + </p> + <p> + “Papa,” said Miss Lydia in English, “do ask him if the Corsicans are very + fond of their Buonaparte.” + </p> + <p> + Before the colonel could translate her question into French, the young man + answered in fairly good English, though with a marked accent: + </p> + <p> + “You know, mademoiselle, that no man is ever a prophet in his own country. + We, who are Napoleon’s fellow-countrymen, are perhaps less attached to him + than the French. As for myself, though my family was formerly at enmity + with his, I both love and admire him.” + </p> + <p> + “You speak English!” exclaimed the colonel. + </p> + <p> + “Very ill, as you may perceive!” + </p> + <p> + Miss Lydia, though somewhat shocked by the young man’s easy tone, could + not help laughing at the idea of a personal enmity between a corporal and + an emperor. She took this as a foretaste of Corsican peculiarities, and + made up her mind to note it down in her journal. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you were a prisoner in England?” asked the colonel. + </p> + <p> + “No, colonel, I learned English in France, when I was very young, from a + prisoner of your nation.” + </p> + <p> + Then, addressing Miss Nevil: + </p> + <p> + “Mattei tells me you have just come back from Italy. No doubt, + mademoiselle, you speak the purest Tuscan—I fear you’ll find it + somewhat difficult to understand our dialect.” + </p> + <p> + “My daughter understands every Italian dialect,” said the colonel. “She + has the gift of languages. She doesn’t get it from me.” + </p> + <p> + “Would mademoiselle understand, for instance, these lines from one of our + Corsican songs in which a shepherd says to his shepherdess: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “S’entrassi ‘ndru paradisu santu, santu, + E nun truvassi a tia, mi n’escriria.” + + (“If I entered the holy land of paradise + and found thee not, I would depart!”) + + —<i>Serenata di Zicavo</i>. +</pre> + <p> + Miss Lydia did understand. She thought the quotation bold, and the look + which accompanied it still bolder, and replied, with a blush, “Capisco.” + </p> + <p> + “And are you going back to your own country on furlough?” inquired the + colonel. + </p> + <p> + “No, colonel, they have put me on half-pay, because I was at Waterloo, + probably, and because I am Napoleon’s fellow-countryman. I am going home, + as the song says, low in hope and low in purse,” and he looked up to the + sky and sighed. + </p> + <p> + The colonel slipped his hand into his pocket, and tried to think of some + civil phrase with which he might slip the gold coin he was fingering into + the palm of his unfortunate enemy. + </p> + <p> + “And I too,” he said good-humouredly, “have been put on half-pay, but your + half-pay can hardly give you enough to buy tobacco! Here, corporal!” and + he tried to force the gold coin into the young man’s closed hand, which + rested on the gunwale of the gig. + </p> + <p> + The young Corsican reddened, drew himself up, bit his lips, and seemed, + for a moment, on the brink of some angry reply. Then suddenly his + expression changed and he burst out laughing. The colonel, grasping his + gold piece still in his hand, sat staring at him. + </p> + <p> + “Colonel,” said the young man, when he had recovered his gravity, “allow + me to offer you two pieces of advice—the first is never to offer + money to a Corsican, for some of my fellow-countrymen would be rude enough + to throw it back in your face; the second is not to give people titles + they do not claim. You call me ‘corporal,’ and I am a lieutenant—the + difference is not very great, no doubt, still——” + </p> + <p> + “Lieutenant! Lieutenant!” exclaimed Sir Thomas. “But the skipper told me + you were a corporal, and that your father and all your family had been + corporals before you!” + </p> + <p> + At these words the young man threw himself back and laughed louder than + ever, so merrily that the skipper and his two sailors joined the chorus. + </p> + <p> + “Forgive me, colonel!” he cried at last. “The mistake is so comical, and I + have only just realized it. It is quite true that my family glories in the + fact that it can reckon many corporals among its ancestors—but our + Corsican corporals never wore stripes upon their sleeves! Toward the year + of grace 1100 certain villages revolted against the tyranny of the great + mountain nobles, and chose leaders of their own, whom they called <i>corporals</i>. + In our island we think a great deal of being descended from these + tribunes.” + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon, sir,” exclaimed the colonel, “I beg your pardon a + thousand times! As you understand the cause of my mistake, I hope you will + do me the kindness of forgiving it!” and he held out his hand. + </p> + <p> + “It is the just punishment of my petty pride,” said the young man, still + laughing, and cordially shaking the Englishman’s hand. “I am not at all + offended. As my friend Mattei has introduced me so unsuccessfully, allow + me to introduce myself. My name is Orso della Rebbia; I am a lieutenant on + half-pay; and if, as the sight of those two fine dogs of yours leads me to + believe, you are coming to Corsica to hunt, I shall be very proud to do + you the honours of our mountains and our <i>maquis</i>—if, indeed, I + have not forgotten them altogether!” he added, with a sigh. + </p> + <p> + At this moment the gig came alongside the schooner, the lieutenant offered + his hand to Miss Lydia, and then helped the colonel to swing himself up on + deck. Once there, Sir Thomas, who was still very much ashamed of his + blunder, and at a loss to know what he had better do to make the man whose + ancestry dated from the year 1100 forget it, invited him to supper, + without waiting for his daughter’s consent, and with many fresh apologies + and handshakes. Miss Lydia frowned a little, but, after all, she was not + sorry to know what a corporal really was. She rather liked there guest, + and was even beginning to fancy there was something aristocratic about him—only + she thought him too frank and merry for a hero of romance. + </p> + <p> + “Lieutenant della Rebbia,” said the colonel, bowing to him, English + fashion, over a glass of Madeira, “I met a great many of your countrymen + in Spain—they were splendid sharp-shooters.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and a great many of them have stayed in Spain,” replied the young + lieutenant gravely. + </p> + <p> + “I shall never forget the behaviour of a Corsican battalion at the Battle + of Vittoria,” said the colonel; “I have good reason to remember it, + indeed,” he added, rubbing his chest. “All day long they had been + skirmishing in the gardens, behind the hedges, and had killed I don’t know + how many of our horses and men. When the retreat was sounded, they rallied + and made off at a great pace. We had hoped to take our revenge on them in + the open plain, but the scoundrels—I beg your pardon, lieutenant; + the brave fellows, I should have said—had formed a square, and there + was no breaking it. In the middle of the square—I fancy I can see + him still—rode an officer on a little black horse. He kept close + beside the standard, smoking his cigar as coolly as if he had been in a + café. Every now and then their bugles played a flourish, as if to defy us. + I sent my two leading squadrons at them. Whew! Instead of breaking the + front of the square, my dragoons passed along the sides, wheeled, and came + back in great disorder, and with several riderless horses—and all + the time those cursed bugles went on playing. When the smoke which had + hung over the battalion cleared away, I saw the officer still puffing at + his cigar beside his eagle. I was furious, and led a final charge myself. + Their muskets, foul with continual firing, would not go off, but the men + had drawn up, six deep, with their bayonets pointed at the noses of our + horses; you might have taken them for a wall. I was shouting, urging on my + dragoons, and spurring my horse forward, when the officer I have + mentioned, at length throwing away his cigar, pointed me out to one of his + men, and I heard him say something like <i>‘Al capello bianco!’’</i>—I + wore a white plume. Then I did not hear any more, for a bullet passed + through my chest. That was a splendid battalion, M. della Rebbia, that + first battalion of the Eighteenth—all of them Corsicans, as I was + afterward told!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Orso, whose eyes had shone as he listened to the story. “They + covered the retreat, and brought back their eagle. Two thirds of those + brave fellows are sleeping now on the plains of Vittoria!” + </p> + <p> + “And, perhaps, you can tell me the name of the officer in command?” + </p> + <p> + “It was my father—he was then a major in the Eighteenth, and was + promoted colonel for his conduct on that terrible day.” + </p> + <p> + “Your father! Upon my word, he was a brave man! I should be glad to see + him again, and I am certain I should recognise him. Is he still alive?” + </p> + <p> + “No, colonel,” said the young man, turning slightly pale. + </p> + <p> + “Was he at Waterloo?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, colonel; but he had not the happiness of dying on the field of + battle. He died in Corsica two years ago. How beautiful the sea is! It is + ten years since I have seen the Mediterranean! Don’t you think the + Mediterranean much more beautiful than the ocean, mademoiselle?” + </p> + <p> + “I think it too blue, and its waves lack grandeur.” + </p> + <p> + “You like wild beauty then, mademoiselle! In that case, I am sure you will + be delighted with Corsica.” + </p> + <p> + “My daughter,” said the colonel, “delights in everything that is out of + the common, and for that reason she did not care much for Italy.” + </p> + <p> + “The only place in Italy that I know,” said Orso, “is Pisa, where I was at + school for some time. But I can not think, without admiration, of the + Campo-Santo, the Duomo, and the Leaning Tower—especially of the + Campo-Santo. Do you remember Orcagna’s ‘Death’? I think I could draw every + line of it—it is so graven on my memory.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Lydia was afraid the lieutenant was going to deliver an enthusiastic + tirade. + </p> + <p> + “It is very pretty,” she said, with a yawn. “Excuse me, papa, my head + aches a little; I am going down to my cabin.” + </p> + <p> + She kissed her father on the forehead, inclined her head majestically to + Orso, and disappeared. Then the two men talked about hunting and war. They + discovered that at Waterloo they had been posted opposite each other, and + had no doubt exchanged many a bullet. This knowledge strengthened their + good understanding. Turning about, they criticised Napoleon, Wellington, + and Blucher, and then they hunted buck, boar, and mountain sheep in + company. At last, when night was far advanced, and the last bottle of + claret had been emptied, the colonel wrung the lieutenant’s hand once more + and wished him good-night, expressing his hope that an acquaintance, which + had begun in such ridiculous fashion, might be continued. They parted, and + each went to bed. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III + </h2> + <p> + It was a lovely night. The moonlight was dancing on the waves, the ship + glided smoothly on before a gentle breeze. Miss Lydia was not sleepy, and + nothing but the presence of an unpoetical person had prevented her from + enjoying those emotions which every human being possessing a touch of + poetry must experience at sea by moonlight. When she felt sure the young + lieutenant must be sound asleep, like the prosaic creature he was, she got + up, took her cloak, woke her maid, and went on deck. Nobody was to be seen + except the sailor at the helm, who was singing a sort of dirge in the + Corsican dialect, to some wild and monotonous tune. In the silence of the + night this strange music had its charm. Unluckily Miss Lydia did not + understand perfectly what the sailor was singing. Amid a good deal that + was commonplace, a passionate line would occasionally excite her liveliest + curiosity. But just at the most important moment some words of <i>patois</i> + would occur, the sense of which utterly escaped her. Yet she did make out + that the subject was connected with a murder. Curses against the assassin, + threats of vengeance, praise of the dead were all mingled confusedly. She + remembered some of the lines. I will endeavour to translate them here. + </p> + <p> + . . . “Neither cannon nor bayonets . . . Brought pallor to his brow. . . + As serene on the battlefield . . . as a summer sky. He was the falcon—the + eagle’s friend . . . Honey of the sand to his friends . . . To his + enemies, a tempestuous sea. . . . . . . Prouder than the sun . . . gentler + than the moon . . . He for whom the enemies of France . . . never waited . + . . Murderers in his own land . . . struck him from behind . . . As + Vittolo slew Sampiero Corso . . . Never would they have dared to look him + in The face . . . Set up on the wall Before my bed . . . my well-earned + cross of honour . . . red is its ribbon . . . redder is my shirt! . . . + For my son, my son in a far country . . . keep my cross and my + blood-stained shirt! . . . + </p> + <p> + “. . . He will see two holes in it . . . For each hole a hole in another + shirt! . . . But will that accomplish the vengeance? . . . I must have the + hand that fired, the eye that aimed . . . the heart that planned!” . . . + </p> + <p> + Suddenly the sailor stopped short. + </p> + <p> + “Why don’t you go on, my good man?” inquired Miss Nevil. + </p> + <p> + The sailor, with a jerk of his head, pointed to a figure appearing through + the main hatchway of the schooner: it was Orso, coming up to enjoy the + moonlight. “Pray finish your song,” said Miss Lydia. “It interests me + greatly!” + </p> + <p> + The sailor leaned toward her, and said, in a very low tone, “I don’t give + the <i>rimbecco</i> to anybody!” + </p> + <p> + “The what?” + </p> + <p> + The sailor, without replying, began to whistle. + </p> + <p> + “I have caught you admiring our Mediterranean, Miss Nevil,” said Orso, + coming toward her. “You must allow you never see a moon like this anywhere + else!” + </p> + <p> + “I was not looking at it, I was altogether occupied in studying Corsican. + That sailor, who has been singing a most tragic dirge, stopped short at + the most interesting point.” + </p> + <p> + The sailor bent down, as if to see the compass more clearly, and tugged + sharply at Miss Nevil’s fur cloak. It was quite evident his lament could + not be sung before Lieutenant Orso. + </p> + <p> + “What were you singing, Paolo France?” said Orso. “Was it a <i>ballata</i> + or a <i>vocero</i>? Mademoiselle understands you, and would like to hear + the end.” + </p> + <p> + “I have forgotten it, Ors’ Anton’,” said the sailor. + </p> + <p> + And instantly he began a hymn to the Virgin, at the top of his voice. + </p> + <p> + Miss Lydia listened absent-mindedly to the hymn, and did not press the + singer any further—though she was quite resolved, in her own mind, + to find out the meaning of the riddle later. But her maid, who, being a + Florentine, could not understand the Corsican dialect any better than her + mistress, was as eager as Miss Lydia for information, and, turning to + Orso, before the English lady could warn her by a nudge, she said: + “Captain what does <i>giving the rimbecco</i> mean?” + </p> + <p> + “The rimbecco!” said Orso. “Why, it’s the most deadly insult that can be + offered to a Corsican. It means reproaching him with not having avenged + his wrong. Who mentioned the rimbecco to you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yesterday, at Marseilles,” replied Miss Lydia hurriedly, “the captain of + the schooner used the word.” + </p> + <p> + “And whom was he talking about?” inquired Orso eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, he was telling us some odd story about the time—yes, I think it + was about Vannina d’Ornano.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose, mademoiselle, that Vannina’s death has not inspired you with + any great love for our national hero, the brave Sampiero?” + </p> + <p> + “But do you think his conduct was so very heroic?” + </p> + <p> + “The excuse for his crime lies in the savage customs of the period. And + then Sampiero was waging deadly war against the Genoese. What confidence + could his fellow-countrymen have felt in him if he had not punished his + wife, who tried to treat with Genoa?” + </p> + <p> + “Vannina,” said the sailor, “had started off without her husband’s leave. + Sampiero did quite right to wring her neck!” + </p> + <p> + “But,” said Miss Lydia, “it was to save her husband, it was out of love + for him, that she was going to ask his pardon from the Genoese.” + </p> + <p> + “To ask his pardon was to degrade him!” exclaimed Orso. + </p> + <p> + “And then to kill her himself!” said Miss Lydia. “What a monster he must + have been!” + </p> + <p> + “You know she begged as a favour that she might die by his hand. What + about Othello, mademoiselle, do you look on him, too, as a monster?” + </p> + <p> + “There is a difference; he was jealous. Sampiero was only vain!” + </p> + <p> + “And after all is not jealousy a kind of vanity? It is the vanity of love; + will you not excuse it on account of its motive?” + </p> + <p> + Miss Lydia looked at him with an air of great dignity, and turning to the + sailor, inquired when the schooner would reach port. + </p> + <p> + “The day after to-morrow,” said he, “if the wind holds.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish Ajaccio were in sight already, for I am sick of this ship.” She + rose, took her maid’s arm, and walked a few paces on the deck. Orso stood + motionless beside the helm, not knowing whether he had better walk beside + her, or end a conversation which seemed displeasing to her. + </p> + <p> + “Blood of the Madonna, what a handsome girl!” said the sailor. “If every + flea in my bed were like her, I shouldn’t complain of their biting me!” + </p> + <p> + Miss Lydia may possibly have overheard this artless praise of her beauty + and been startled by it; for she went below almost immediately. Shortly + after Orso also retired. As soon as he had left the deck the maid + reappeared, and, having cross-questioned the sailor, carried back the + following information to her mistress. The <i>ballata</i> which had been + broken off on Orso’s appearance had been composed on the occasion of the + death of his father, Colonel della Rebbia, who had been murdered two years + previously. The sailor had no doubt at all that Orso was coming back to + Corsica <i>per fare la vendetta</i>, such was his expression, and he + affirmed that before long there would be <i>fresh meat</i> to be seen in + the village of Pietranera. This national expression, being interpreted, + meant that Signor Orso proposed to murder two or three individuals + suspected of having assassinated his father—individuals who had, + indeed, been prosecuted on that account, but had come out of the trial as + white as snow, for they were hand and glove with the judges, lawyers, + prefect, and gendarmes. + </p> + <p> + “There is no justice in Corsica,” added the sailor, “and I put much more + faith in a good gun than in a judge of the Royal Court. If a man has an + enemy he must choose one of the three S’s.” (A national expression meaning + <i>schioppetto</i>, <i>stiletto</i>, <i>strada</i>—that is, <i>gun</i>, + <i>dagger</i>, or <i>flight</i>.) + </p> + <p> + These interesting pieces of information wrought a notable change in Miss + Lydia’s manner and feeling with regard to Lieutenant della Rebbia. From + that moment he became a person of importance in the romantic + Englishwoman’s eyes. + </p> + <p> + His careless air, his frank and good humour, which had at first impressed + her so unfavourably, now seemed to her an additional merit, as being + proofs of the deep dissimulation of a strong nature, which will not allow + any inner feeling to appear upon the surface. Orso seemed to her a sort of + Fieschi, who hid mighty designs under an appearance of frivolity, and, + though it is less noble to kill a few rascals than to free one’s country, + still a fine deed of vengeance is a fine thing, and besides, women are + rather glad to find their hero is not a politician. Then Miss Nevil + remarked for the first time that the young lieutenant had large eyes, + white teeth, an elegant figure, that he was well-educated, and possessed + the habits of good society. During the following day she talked to him + frequently, and found his conversation interesting. He was asked many + questions about his own country, and described it well. Corsica, which he + had left when young, to go first to college, and then to the Ecole + militaire, had remained in his imagination surrounded with poetic + associations. When he talked of its mountains, its forests, and the quaint + customs of its inhabitants he grew eager and animated. As may be imagined, + the word <i>vengeance</i> occurred more than once in the stories he told—for + it is impossible to speak of the Corsicans without either attacking or + justifying their proverbial passion. Orso somewhat surprised Miss Nevil by + his general condemnation of the undying hatreds nursed by his + fellow-countrymen. As regarded the peasants, however, he endeavoured to + excuse them, and claimed that the <i>vendetta</i> is the poor man’s duel. + “So true is this,” he said, “that no assassination takes place till a + formal challenge has been delivered. ‘Be on your guard yourself, I am on + mine!’ are the sacramental words exchanged, from time immemorial, between + two enemies, before they begin to lie in wait for each other. There are + more assassinations among us,” he added, “than anywhere else. But you will + never discover an ignoble cause for any of these crimes. We have many + murderers, it is true, but not a single thief.” + </p> + <p> + When he spoke about vengeance and murder Miss Lydia looked at him closely, + but she could not detect the slightest trace of emotion on his features. + As she had made up her mind, however, that he possessed sufficient + strength of mind to be able to hide his thoughts from every eye (her own, + of course, excepted), she continued in her firm belief that Colonel della + Rebbia’s shade would not have to wait long for the atonement it claimed. + </p> + <p> + The schooner was already within sight of Corsica. The captain pointed out + the principal features of the coast, and, though all of these were + absolutely unknown to Miss Lydia, she found a certain pleasure in hearing + their names; nothing is more tiresome than an anonymous landscape. From + time to time the colonel’s telescope revealed to her the form of some + islander clad in brown cloth, armed with a long gun, bestriding a small + horse, and galloping down steep slopes. In each of these Miss Lydia + believed she beheld either a brigand or a son going forth to avenge his + father’s death. But Orso always declared it was some peaceful denizen of a + neighbouring village travelling on business, and that he carried a gun + less from necessity than because it was the fashion, just as no dandy ever + takes a walk without an elegant cane. Though a gun is a less noble and + poetic weapon than a stiletto, Miss Lydia thought it much more stylish for + a man than any cane, and she remembered that all Lord Byron’s heroes died + by a bullet, and not by the classic poniard. + </p> + <p> + After three days’ sailing, the ship reached Les Sanguinaires (The Bloody + Islands), and the magnificent panorama of the Gulf of Ajaccio was unrolled + before our travellers’ eyes. It is compared, with justice, to the Bay of + Naples, and just as the schooner was entering the harbour a burning <i>maquis</i>, + which covered the Punta di Girato, brought back memories of Vesuvius and + heightened the resemblance. To make it quite complete, Naples should be + seen after one of Attila’s armies had devastated its suburbs—for + round Ajaccio everything looks dead and deserted. Instead of the handsome + buildings observable on every side from Castellamare to Cape Misena, + nothing is to be seen in the neighbourhood of the Gulf of Ajaccio but + gloomy <i>maquis</i> with bare mountains rising behind them. Not a villa, + not a dwelling of any kind—only here and there, on the heights about + the town, a few isolated white structures stand out against a background + of green. These are mortuary chapels or family tombs. Everything in this + landscape is gravely and sadly beautiful. + </p> + <p> + The appearance of the town, at that period especially, deepened the + impression caused by the loneliness of its surroundings. There was no stir + in the streets, where only a few listless idlers—always the same—were + to be seen; no women at all, except an odd peasant come in to sell her + produce; no loud talk, laughter, and singing, as in the Italian towns. + Sometimes, under the shade of a tree on the public promenade, a dozen + armed peasants will play at cards or watch each other play; they never + shout or wrangle; if they get hot over the game, pistol shots ring out, + and this always before the utterance of any threat. The Corsican is grave + and silent by nature. In the evening, a few persons come out to enjoy the + cool air, but the promenaders on the Corso are nearly all of them + foreigners; the islanders stay in front of their own doors; each one seems + on the watch, like a falcon over its nest. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV + </h2> + <p> + When Miss Lydia had visited the house in which Napoleon was born, and had + procured, by means more or less moral, a fragment of the wall-paper + belonging to it, she, within two days of her landing in Corsica, began to + feel that profound melancholy which must overcome every foreigner in a + country whose unsociable inhabitants appear to condemn him or her to a + condition of utter isolation. She was already regretting her headstrong + caprice; but to go back at once would have been to risk her reputation as + an intrepid traveller, so she made up her mind to be patient, and kill + time as best she could. With this noble resolution, she brought out her + crayons and colours, sketched views of the gulf, and did the portrait of a + sunburnt peasant, who sold melons, like any market-gardener on the + Continent, but who wore a long white beard, and looked the fiercest rascal + that had ever been seen. As all that was not enough to amuse her, she + determined to turn the head of the descendant of the corporals, and this + was no difficult matter, since, far from being in a hurry to get back to + his village, Orso seemed very happy at Ajaccio, although he knew nobody + there. Furthermore, Miss Lydia had a lofty purpose in her mind; it was + nothing less than to civilize this mountain bear, and induce him to + relinquish the sinister design which had recalled him to his island. Since + she had taken the trouble to study the young man, she had told herself it + would be a pity to let him rush upon his ruin, and that it would be a + glorious thing to convert a Corsican. + </p> + <p> + Our travellers spent the day in the following manner: Every morning the + colonel and Orso went out shooting. Miss Lydia sketched or wrote letters + to her friends, chiefly for the sake of dating them from Ajaccio. Toward + six o’clock the gentlemen came in, laden with game. Then followed dinner. + Miss Lydia sang, the colonel went to sleep, and the young people sat + talking till very late. + </p> + <p> + Some formality or other, connected with his passports, had made it + necessary for Colonel Nevil to call on the prefect. This gentleman, who, + like most of his colleagues, found his life very dull, had been delighted + to hear of the arrival of an Englishman who was rich, a man of the world, + and the father of a pretty daughter. He had, therefore, given him the most + friendly reception, and overwhelmed him with offers of service; further, + within a very few days, he came to return his visit. The colonel, who had + just dined, was comfortably stretched out upon his sofa, and very nearly + asleep. His daughter was singing at a broken-down piano; Orso was turning + over the leaves of her music, and gazing at the fair singer’s shoulders + and golden hair. The prefect was announced, the piano stopped, the colonel + got up, rubbed his eyes, and introduced the prefect to his daughter. + </p> + <p> + “I do not introduce M. della Rebbia to you,” said he, “for no doubt you + know him already.” + </p> + <p> + “Is this gentleman Colonel della Rebbia’s son?” said the prefect, looking + a trifle embarrassed. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, monsieur,” replied Orso. + </p> + <p> + “I had the honour of knowing your father.” + </p> + <p> + The ordinary commonplaces of conversation were soon exhausted. The + colonel, in spite of himself, yawned pretty frequently. Orso, as a + liberal, did not care to converse with a satellite of the Government. The + burden of the conversation fell on Miss Lydia. The prefect, on his side, + did not let it drop, and it was clear that he found the greatest pleasure + in talking of Paris, and of the great world, to a woman who was acquainted + with all the foremost people in European society. As he talked, he now and + then glanced at Orso, with an expression of singular curiosity. + </p> + <p> + “Was it on the Continent that you made M. della Rebbia’s acquaintance?” he + inquired. + </p> + <p> + Somewhat embarrassed, Miss Lydia replied that she had made his + acquaintance on the ship which had carried them to Corsica. + </p> + <p> + “He is a very gentlemanly young fellow,” said the prefect, in an + undertone; “and has he told you,” he added, dropping his voice still + lower, “why he has returned to Corsica?” + </p> + <p> + Miss Lydia put on her most majestic air and answered: + </p> + <p> + “I have not asked him,” she said. “You may do so.” + </p> + <p> + The prefect kept silence, but, an instant later, hearing Orso speak a few + words of English to the colonel, he said: + </p> + <p> + “You seem to have travelled a great deal, monsieur. You must have + forgotten Corsica and Corsican habits.” + </p> + <p> + “It is quite true that I was very young when I went away.” + </p> + <p> + “You still belong to the army?” + </p> + <p> + “I am on half-pay, monsieur.” + </p> + <p> + “You have been too long in the French army not to have become a thorough + Frenchman, I have no doubt?” + </p> + <p> + The last words of the sentence were spoken with marked emphasis. + </p> + <p> + The Corsicans are not particularly flattered at being reminded that they + belong to the “Great Nations.” They claim to be a people apart, and so + well do they justify their claim that it may very well be granted them. + </p> + <p> + Somewhat nettled, Orso replied: “Do you think, M. le Prefet, that a + Corsican must necessarily serve in the French army to become an honourable + man?” + </p> + <p> + “No, indeed,” said the prefect, “that is not my idea at all; I am only + speaking of certain <i>customs</i> belonging to this country, some of + which are not such as a Government official would like to see.” + </p> + <p> + He emphasized the word <i>customs</i>, and put on as grave an expression + as his features could assume. Soon after he got up and took his leave, + bearing with him Miss Lydia’s promise that she would go and call on his + wife at the prefecture. + </p> + <p> + When he had departed: “I had to come to Corsica,” said Miss Lydia, “to + find out what a prefect is like. This one strikes me as rather amiable.” + </p> + <p> + “For my part,” said Orso, “I can’t say as much. He strikes me as a very + queer individual, with his airs of emphasis and mystery.” + </p> + <p> + The colonel was extremely drowsy. Miss Lydia cast a glance in his + direction, and, lowering her voice: + </p> + <p> + “And I,” she said, “do not think him so mysterious as you pretend; for I + believe I understood him!” + </p> + <p> + “Then you are clear-sighted indeed, Miss Nevil. If you have seen any wit + in what he has just said you must certainly have put it there yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “It is the Marquis de Mascarille, I think, who says that, M. della Rebbia. + But would you like me to give you a proof of my clear-sightedness? I am + something of a witch, and I can read the thoughts of people I have seen + only twice.” + </p> + <p> + “Good heavens! you alarm me. If you really can read my thoughts I don’t + know whether I should be glad or sorry.” + </p> + <p> + “M. della Rebbia,” went on Miss Lydia, with a blush, “we have only known + each other for a few days. But at sea, and in savage countries (you will + excuse me, I hope)—in savage countries friendships grow more quickly + than they do in society . . . so you must not be astonished if I speak to + you, as a friend, upon private matters, with which, perhaps, a stranger + ought not to interfere.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, do not say that word, Miss Nevil. I like the other far better.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, monsieur, I must tell you that without having tried to find + out your secrets, I have learned some of them, and they grieve me. I have + heard, monsieur, of the misfortune which has overtaken your family. A + great deal has been said to me about the vindictive nature of your + fellow-countrymen, and the fashion in which they take their vengeance. Was + it not to that the prefect was alluding?” + </p> + <p> + “Miss Lydia! Can you believe it!” and Orso turned deadly pale. + </p> + <p> + “No, M. della Rebbia,” she said, interrupting him, “I know you to be a + most honourable gentleman. You have told me yourself that it was only the + common people in your country who still practised the <i>vendetta</i>—which + you are pleased to describe as a kind of duel.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you, then, believe me capable of ever becoming a murderer?” + </p> + <p> + “Since I have mentioned the subject at all, Monsieur Orso, you must + clearly see that I do not suspect you, and if I have spoken to you at + all,” she added, dropping her eyes, “it is because I have realized that + surrounded, it may be, by barbarous prejudices on your return home, you + will be glad to know that there is somebody who esteems you for having the + courage to resist them. Come!” said she, rising to her feet, “don’t let us + talk again of such horrid things, they make my head ache, and besides it’s + very late. You are not angry with me, are you? Let us say good-night in + the English fashion,” and she held out her hand. + </p> + <p> + Orso pressed it, looking grave and deeply moved. + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle,” he said, “do you know that there are moments when the + instincts of my country wake up within me. Sometimes, when I think of my + poor father, horrible thoughts assail me. Thanks to you, I am rid of them + forever. Thank you! thank you!” + </p> + <p> + He would have continued, but Miss Lydia dropped a teaspoon, and the noise + woke up the colonel. + </p> + <p> + “Della Rebbia, we’ll start at five o’clock to-morrow morning. Be + punctual!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, colonel.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V + </h2> + <p> + The next day, a short time before the sportsmen came back, Miss Nevil, + returning with her maid from a walk along the seashore, was just about to + enter the inn, when she noticed a young woman, dressed in black, riding + into the town on a small but strong horse. She was followed by a sort of + peasant, also on horseback, who wore a brown cloth jacket cut at the + elbows. A gourd was slung over his shoulder and a pistol was hanging at + his belt, his hand grasped a gun, the butt of which rested in a leathern + pocket fastened to his saddle-bow—in short, he wore the complete + costume of a brigand in a melodrama, or of the middle-class Corsican on + his travels. Miss Nevil’s attention was first attracted by the woman’s + remarkable beauty. She seemed about twenty years of age; she was tall and + pale, with dark blue eyes, red lips, and teeth like enamel. In her + expression pride, anxiety, and sadness were all legible. On her head she + wore a black silk veil called a <i>mezzaro</i>, which the Genoese + introduced into Corsica, and which is so becoming to women. Long braids of + chestnut hair formed a sort of turban round her head. Her dress was neat, + but simple in the extreme. + </p> + <p> + Miss Nevil had plenty of time to observe her, for the lady in the <i>mezzaro</i> + had halted in the street, and was questioning somebody on a subject which, + to judge from the expression of her eyes, must have interested her + exceedingly. Then, as soon as she received an answer, she touched her + mount with her riding-switch, and, breaking into a quick trot, never + halted till she reached the door of the hotel in which Sir Thomas Nevil + and Orso were staying. There, after exchanging a few words with the host, + the girl sprang nimbly from her saddle and seated herself on a stone bench + beside the entrance door, while her groom led the horses away to the + stable. Miss Lydia, in her Paris gown, passed close beside the stranger, + who did not raise her eyes. A quarter of an hour later she opened her + window, and saw the lady in the <i>mezzaro</i> still sitting in the same + place and in the same attitude. Not long afterward the colonel and Orso + returned from hunting. Then the landlord said a few words to the young + lady in mourning, and pointed to della Rebbia with his finger. She + coloured deeply, rose eagerly, went a few paces forward, and then stopped + short, apparently much confused. Orso was quite close to her, and was + looking at her curiously. + </p> + <p> + “Are you Orso Antonio della Rebbia?” said she in a tremulous voice. “I am + Colomba.” + </p> + <p> + “Colomba!” cried Orso. + </p> + <p> + And taking her in his arms he kissed her tenderly, somewhat to the + surprise of the colonel and his daughter—but in England people do + not kiss each other in the street. + </p> + <p> + “Brother,” said Colomba, “you must forgive me for having come without your + permission. But I heard from our friends that you had arrived, and it is + such a great consolation to me to see you.” + </p> + <p> + Again Orso kissed her. Then, turning to the colonel: + </p> + <p> + “This is my sister,” said he, “whom I never should have recognised if she + had not told me her name—Colomba—Colonel Sir Thomas Nevil—colonel, + you will kindly excuse me, but I can not have the honour of dining with + you to-day. My sister—” + </p> + <p> + “But, my dear fellow, where the devil do you expect to dine? You know very + well there is only one dinner in this infernal tavern, and we have + bespoken it. It will afford my daughter great pleasure if this young lady + will join us.” + </p> + <p> + Colomba looked at her brother, who did not need much pressing, and they + all passed together into the largest room in the inn, which the colonel + used as his sitting and dining room. Mademoiselle della Rebbia, on being + introduced to Miss Nevil, made her a deep courtesy, but she did not utter + a single word. It was easy to see that she was very much frightened at + finding herself, perhaps for the first time in her life, in the company of + strangers belonging to the great world. Yet there was nothing provincial + in her manners. The novelty of her position excused her awkwardness. Miss + Nevil took a liking to her at once, and, as there was no room disengaged + in the hotel, the whole of which was occupied by the colonel and his + attendants, she offered, either out of condescension or curiosity, to have + a bed prepared in her own room for Mademoiselle della Rebbia. + </p> + <p> + Colomba stammered a few words of thanks, and hastened after Miss Nevil’s + maid, to make such changes in her toilet as were rendered necessary by a + journey on horseback in the dust and heat. + </p> + <p> + When she re-entered the sitting-room, she paused in front of the colonel’s + guns, which the hunters had left in a corner. + </p> + <p> + “What fine weapons,” said she. “Are they yours, brother?” + </p> + <p> + “No, they are the colonel’s English guns—and they are as good as + they are handsome.” + </p> + <p> + “How much I wish you had one like them!” said Colomba. + </p> + <p> + “One of those three certainly does belong to della Rebbia,” exclaimed the + colonel. “He really shoots almost too well! To-day he fired fourteen + shots, and brought down fourteen head of game.” + </p> + <p> + A friendly dispute at once ensued, in which Orso was vanquished, to his + sister’s great satisfaction, as it was easy to perceive from the childish + expression of delight which illumined her face, so serious a moment + before. + </p> + <p> + “Choose, my dear fellow,” said the colonel; but Orso refused. + </p> + <p> + “Very well, then. Your sister shall choose for you.” + </p> + <p> + Colomba did not wait for a second invitation. She took up the plainest of + the guns, but it was a first-rate Manton of large calibre. + </p> + <p> + “This one,” she said, “must carry a ball a long distance.” + </p> + <p> + Her brother was growing quite confused in his expressions of gratitude, + when dinner appeared, very opportunely, to help him out of his + embarrassment. + </p> + <p> + Miss Lydia was delighted to notice that Colomba, who had shown + considerable reluctance to sit down with them, and had yielded only at a + glance from her brother, crossed herself, like a good Catholic, before she + began to eat. + </p> + <p> + “Good!” said she to herself, “that is primitive!” and she anticipated + acquiring many interesting facts by observing this youthful representative + of ancient Corsican manners. As for Orso, he was evidently a trifle + uneasy, fearing, doubtless, that his sister might say or do something + which savoured too much of her native village. But Colomba watched him + constantly, and regulated all her own movements by his. Sometimes she + looked at him fixedly, with a strange expression of sadness, and then, if + Orso’s eyes met hers, he was the first to turn them away, as though he + would evade some question which his sister was mentally addressing to him, + the sense of which he understood only too well. Everybody talked French, + for the colonel could only express himself very badly in Italian. Colomba + understood French, and even pronounced the few words she was obliged to + exchange with her entertainers tolerably well. + </p> + <p> + After dinner, the colonel, who had noticed the sort of constraint which + existed between the brother and sister, inquired of Orso, with his + customary frankness, whether he did not wish to be alone with Mademoiselle + Colomba, offering, in that case, to go into the next room with his + daughter. But Orso hastened to thank him, and to assure him they would + have plenty of time to talk at Pietranera—this was the name of the + village where he was to take up his abode. + </p> + <p> + The colonel then resumed his customary position on the sofa, and Miss + Nevil, after attempting several subjects of conversation, gave up all hope + of inducing the fair Colomba to talk, and begged Orso to read her a canto + out of Dante, her favourite poet. Orso chose the canto of the Inferno, + containing the episode of Francesca da Rimini, and began to read, as + impressively as he was able, the glorious tiercets which so admirably + express the risk run by two young persons who venture to read a love-story + together. As he read on Colomba drew nearer to the table, and raised her + head, which she had kept lowered. Her wide-open eyes, shone with + extraordinary fire, she grew red and pale by turns, and stirred + convulsively in her chair. How admirable is the Italian organization, + which can understand poetry without needing a pedant to explain its + beauties! + </p> + <p> + When the canto was finished: + </p> + <p> + “How beautiful that is!” she exclaimed. “Who wrote it, brother?” + </p> + <p> + Orso was a little disconcerted, and Miss Lydia answered with a smile that + it was written by a Florentine poet, who had been dead for centuries. + </p> + <p> + “You shall read Dante,” said Orso, “when you are at Pietranera.” + </p> + <p> + “Good heavens, how beautiful it is!” said Colomba again, and she repeated + three or four tiercets which she had remembered, speaking at first in an + undertone; then, growing excited, she declaimed them aloud, with far more + expression than her brother had put into his reading. + </p> + <p> + Miss Lydia was very much astonished. + </p> + <p> + “You seem very fond of poetry,” she said. “How I envy you the delight you + will find in reading Dante for the first time!” + </p> + <p> + “You see, Miss Nevil,” said Orso, “what a power Dante’s lines must have, + when they so move a wild young savage who knows nothing but her <i>Pater</i>. + But I am mistaken! I recollect now that Colomba belongs to the guild. Even + when she was quite a little child she used to try her hand at + verse-making, and my father used to write me word that she was the best <i>voceratrice</i> + in Pietranera, and for two leagues round about.” + </p> + <p> + Colomba cast an imploring glance at her brother. Miss Nevil had heard of + the Corsican <i>improvisatrici</i>, and was dying to hear one. She begged + Colomba, then, to give her a specimen of her powers. Very much vexed now + at having made any mention of his sister’s poetic gifts, Orso interposed. + In vain did he protest that nothing was so insipid as a Corsican <i>ballata</i>, + and that to recite the Corsican verses after those of Dante was like + betraying his country. All he did was to stimulate Miss Nevil’s curiosity, + and at last he was obliged to say to his sister: + </p> + <p> + “Well! well! improvise something—but let it be short!” + </p> + <p> + Colomba heaved a sigh, looked fixedly for a moment, first at the + table-cloth, and then at the rafters of the ceiling; at last, covering her + eyes with her hand like those birds that gather courage, and fancy they + are not seen when they no longer see themselves, she sang, or rather + declaimed, in an unsteady voice, the following <i>serenata</i>: + </p> + <p> + “THE MAIDEN AND THE TURTLE-DOVE + </p> + <p> + “In the valley, far away among the mountains, the sun only shines for an + hour every day. In the valley there stands a gloomy house, and grass grows + on its threshold. Doors and windows are always shut. No smoke rises from + the roof. But at noon, when the sunshine falls, a window opens, and the + orphan girl sits spinning at her wheel. She spins, and as she works, she + sings—a song of sadness. But no other song comes to answer hers! One + day—a day in spring-time—a turtle-dove settled on a tree hard + by, and heard the maiden’s song. ‘Maiden,’ it said, ‘thou art not the only + mourner! A cruel hawk has snatched my mate from me!’ ‘Turtle-dove, show me + that cruel hawk; were it to soar higher than the clouds I would soon bring + it down to earth! But who will restore to me, unhappy that I am, my + brother, now in a far country?’ ‘Maiden, tell me, where thy brother is, + and my wings shall bear me to him.’” + </p> + <p> + “A well-bred turtle-dove, indeed!” exclaimed Orso, and the emotion with + which he kissed his sister contrasted strongly with the jesting tone in + which he spoke. + </p> + <p> + “Your song is delightful,” said Miss Lydia. “You must write it in my + album; I’ll translate it into English, and have it set to music.” + </p> + <p> + The worthy colonel, who had not understood a single word, added his + compliments to his daughter’s and added: “Is this dove you speak of the + bird we ate broiled at dinner to-day?” + </p> + <p> + Miss Nevil fetched her album, and was not a little surprised to see the <i>improvisatrice</i> + write down her song, with so much care in the matter of economizing space. + </p> + <p> + The lines, instead of being separate, were all run together, as far as the + breadth of the paper would permit, so that they did not agree with the + accepted definition of poetic composition—“short lines of unequal + length, with a margin on each side of them.” Mademoiselle Colomba’s + somewhat fanciful spelling might also have excited comment. More than once + Miss Nevil was seen to smile, and Orso’s fraternal vanity suffered + tortures. + </p> + <p> + Bedtime came, and the two young girls retired to their room. There, while + Miss Lydia unclasped her necklace, ear-rings, and bracelets, she watched + her companion draw something out of her gown—something as long as a + stay-busk, but very different in shape. Carefully, almost stealthily, + Colomba slipped this object under her <i>mezzaro</i>, which she laid on + the table. Then she knelt down, and said her prayers devoutly. Two minutes + afterward she was in her bed. Miss Lydia, naturally very inquisitive, and + as slow as every Englishwoman is about undressing herself, moved over to + the table, pretended she was looking for a pin, lifted up the <i>mezzaro</i>, + and saw a long stiletto—curiously mounted in silver and + mother-of-pearl. The workmanship was remarkably fine. It was an ancient + weapon, and just the sort of one an amateur would have prized very highly. + </p> + <p> + “Is it the custom here,” inquired Miss Nevil, with a smile, “for young + ladies to wear such little instruments as these in their bodices?” + </p> + <p> + “It is,” answered Colomba, with a sigh. “There are so many wicked people + about!” + </p> + <p> + “And would you really have the courage to strike with it, like this?” And + Miss Nevil, dagger in hand, made a gesture of stabbing from above, as + actors do on the stage. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Colomba, in her soft, musical voice, “if I had to do it to + protect myself or my friends. But you must not hold it like that, you + might wound yourself if the person you were going to stab were to draw + back.” Then, sitting up in bed, “See,” she added, “you must strike like + this—upward! If you do so, the thrust is sure to kill, they say. + Happy are they who never need such weapons.” + </p> + <p> + She sighed, dropped her head back on the pillow, and closed her eyes. A + more noble, beautiful, virginal head it would be impossible to imagine. + Phidias would have asked no other model for Minerva. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI + </h2> + <p> + It is in obedience to the precept of Horace that I have begun by plunging + <i>in media res</i>. Now that every one is asleep—the beautiful + Colomba, the colonel, and his daughter—I will seize the opportunity + to acquaint my reader with certain details of which he must not be + ignorant, if he desires to follow the further course of this veracious + history. He is already aware that Colonel della Rebbia, Orso’s father, had + been assassinated. Now, in Corsica, people are not murdered, as they are + in France, by the first escaped convict who can devise no better means of + relieving a man of his silver-plate. In Corsica a man is murdered by his + enemies—but the reason he has enemies is often very difficult to + discover. Many families hate each other because it has been an + old-standing habit of theirs to hate each other; but the tradition of the + original cause of their hatred may have completely disappeared. + </p> + <p> + The family to which Colonel della Rebbia belonged hated several other + families, but that of the Barricini particularly. Some people asserted + that in the sixteenth century a della Rebbia had seduced a lady of the + Barricini family, and had afterward been poniarded by a relative of the + outraged damsel. Others, indeed, told the story in a different fashion, + declaring that it was a della Rebbia who had been seduced, and a Barricini + who had been poniarded. However that may be, there was, to use the + time-honoured expression, “blood between the two houses.” Nevertheless, + and contrary to custom, this murder had not resulted in others; for the + della Rebbia and the Barricini had been equally persecuted by the Genoese + Government, and as the young men had all left the country, the two + families were deprived, during several generations, of their more + energetic representatives. At the close of the last century, one of the + della Rebbias, an officer in the Neapolitan service, quarrelled, in a + gambling hell, with some soldiers, who called him a Corsican goatherd, and + other insulting names. He drew his sword, but being only one against + three, he would have fared very ill if a stranger, who was playing in the + same room, had not exclaimed, “I, too, am a Corsican,” and come to his + rescue. This stranger was one of the Barricini, who, for that matter, was + not acquainted with his countryman. After mutual explanations, they + interchanged courtesies and vowed eternal friendship. For on the + Continent, quite contrary to their practice in their own island, Corsicans + quickly become friends. This fact was clearly exemplified on the present + occasion. As long as della Rebbia and Barricini remained in Italy they + were close friends. Once they were back in Corsica, they saw each other + but very seldom, although they both lived in the same village; and when + they died, it was reported that they had not spoken to each other for five + or six years. Their sons lived in the same fashion—“on ceremony,” as + they say in the island; one of them Ghilfuccio, Orso’s father, was a + soldier; the other Giudice Barricini, was a lawyer. Having both become + heads of families, and being separated by their professions, they scarcely + ever had an opportunity of seeing or hearing of each other. + </p> + <p> + One day, however, about the year 1809, Giudice read in a newspaper at + Bastia that Captain Ghilfuccio had just been decorated, and remarked, + before witnesses, that he was not at all surprised, considering that the + family enjoyed the protection of General ——-. This remark was + reported at Vienna to Ghilfuccio, who told one of his countrymen that, + when he got back to Corsica, he would find Giudice a very rich man, + because he made more money out of the suits he lost than out of those he + won. It was never known whether he meant this as an insinuation that the + lawyer cheated his clients, or as a mere allusion to the commonplace truth + that a bad cause often brings a lawyer more profit than a good one. + However that may have been, the lawyer Barricini heard of the epigram, and + never forgot it. In 1812 he applied for the post of mayor of his commune, + and had every hope of being appointed, when General ——- wrote + to the prefect, to recommend one of Ghilfuccio’s wife’s relations. The + prefect lost no time in carrying out the general’s wish, and Barricini + felt no doubt that he owed his failure to the intrigues of Ghilfuccio. In + 1814, after the emperor’s fall, the general’s protégé was denounced as a + Bonapartist, and his place was taken by Barricini. He, in his turn, was + dismissed during the Hundred Days, but when the storm had blown over, he + again took possession, with great pomp, of the mayoral seal and the + municipal registers. + </p> + <p> + From this moment his star shone brighter than ever. Colonel della Rebbia, + now living on half-pay at Pietranera, had to defend himself against covert + and repeated attacks due to the pettifogging malignity of his enemy. At + one time he was summoned to pay for the damage his horse had done to the + mayor’s fences, at another, the latter, under pretence of repairing the + floor of the church, ordered the removal of a broken flagstone bearing the + della Rebbia arms, which covered the grave of some member of the family. + If the village goats ate the colonel’s young plants, the mayor always + protected their owners. The grocer who kept the post-office at Pietranera, + and the old maimed soldier who had been the village policeman—both + of them attached to the della Rebbia family—were turned adrift, and + their places filled by Barricini’s creatures. + </p> + <p> + The colonel’s wife died, and her last wish was that she might be buried in + the middle of the little wood in which she had been fond of walking. + Forthwith the mayor declared she should be buried in the village cemetery, + because he had no authority to permit burial in any other spot. The + colonel, in a fury, declared that until the permit came, his wife would be + interred in the spot she had chosen. He had her grave dug there. The + mayor, on his side, had another grave dug in the cemetery, and sent for + the police, that the law, so he declared, might be duly enforced. On the + day of the funeral, the two parties came face to face, and, for a moment, + there was reason to fear a struggle might ensue for the possession of + Signora della Rebbia’s corpse. Some forty well-armed peasants, mustered by + the dead woman’s relatives, forced the priest, when he issued from the + church, to take the road to the wood. On the other hand, the mayor, at the + head of his two sons, his dependents, and the gendarmes, advanced to + oppose their march. When he appeared, and called on the procession to turn + back, he was greeted with howls and threats. The advantage of numbers was + with his opponents, and they seemed thoroughly determined. At sight of him + several guns were loaded, and one shepherd is even said to have levelled + his musket at him, but the colonel knocked up the barrel, and said, “Let + no man fire without my orders!” The mayor, who, like Panurge, had “a + natural fear of blows,” refused to give battle, and retired, with his + escort. Then the funeral procession started, carefully choosing the + longest way, so as to pass in front of the mayor’s house. As it was filing + by, an idiot, who had joined its ranks, took it into his head to shout, + “Vive l’Empereur!” Two or three voices answered him, and the Rebbianites, + growing hotter, proposed killing one of the mayor’s oxen, which chanced to + bar their way. Fortunately the colonel stopped this act of violence. + </p> + <p> + It is hardly necessary to mention that an official statement was at once + drawn up, or that the mayor sent the prefect a report, in his sublimest + style, describing the manner in which all laws, human and divine, had been + trodden under foot—how the majesty of himself, the mayor, and of the + priest had been flouted and insulted, and how Colonel della Rebbia had put + himself at the head of a Bonapartist plot, to change the order of + succession to the throne, and to excite peaceful citizens to take arms + against one another—crimes provided against by Articles 86 and 91 of + the Penal Code. + </p> + <p> + The exaggerated tone of this complaint diminished its effect. The colonel + wrote to the prefect and to the public prosecutor. One of his wife’s + kinsmen was related to one of the deputies of the island, another was + cousin to the president of the Royal Court. Thanks to this interest, the + plot faded out of sight, Signora della Rebbia was left quiet in the wood, + and the idiot alone was sentenced to a fortnight’s imprisonment. + </p> + <p> + Lawyer Barricini, dissatisfied with the result of this affair, turned his + batteries in a different direction. He dug out some old claim, whereby he + undertook to contest the colonel’s ownership of a certain water-course + which turned a mill-wheel. A lawsuit began and dragged slowly along. At + the end of twelve months, the court was about to give its decision, and + according to all appearances in favour of the colonel, when Barricini + placed in the hands of the public prosecutor a letter, signed by a certain + Agostini, a well-known bandit, threatening him, the mayor, with fire and + sword if he did not relinquish his pretensions. It is well known that in + Corsica the protection of these brigands is much sought after, and that, + to oblige their friends, they frequently intervene in private quarrels. + The mayor was deriving considerable advantage from this letter, when the + business was further complicated by a fresh incident. Agostini, the + bandit, wrote to the public prosecutor, to complain that his handwriting + had been counterfeited, and his character aspersed, by some one who + desired to represent him as a man who made a traffic of his influence. “If + I can discover the forger,” he said at the end of his letter, “I will make + a striking example of him.” + </p> + <p> + It was quite clear that Agostini did not write the threatening letter to + the mayor. The della Rebbia accused the Barricini of it and <i>vice versa</i>. + Both parties broke into open threats, and the authorities did not know + where to find the culprit. + </p> + <p> + In the midst of all this Colonel Ghilfuccio was murdered. Here are the + facts, as they were elicited at the official inquiry. On the 2d of August, + 18—, toward nightfall, a woman named Maddalena Pietri, who was + carrying corn to Pietranera, heard two shots fired, very close together, + the reports, as it seemed to her, coming from the deep lane leading to the + village, about a hundred and fifty paces from the spot on which she stood. + Almost immediately afterward she saw a man running, crouching along a + footpath among the vines, and making for the village. The man stopped for + a minute, and turned round, but the distance prevented the woman Pietri + from seeing his features, and besides, he had a vine-leaf in his mouth, + which hid almost the whole of his face. He made a signal with his head to + some comrade, whom the witness could not see, and then disappeared among + the vines. + </p> + <p> + The woman Pietri dropped her burden, ran up the path, and found Colonel + della Rebbia, bathed in his own blood from two bullet wounds, but still + breathing. Close beside him lay his gun, loaded and cocked, as if he had + been defending himself against a person who had attacked him in front, + just when another had struck him from behind. Although the rattle was in + his throat, he struggled against the grip of death, but he could not utter + a word—this the doctors explained by the nature of the wounds, which + had cut through his lungs: the blood was choking him, it flowed slowly, + like red froth. In vain did the woman lift him up, and ask him several + questions. She saw plainly enough that he desired to speak, but he could + not make himself understood. Noticing that he was trying to get his hand + to his pocket, she quickly drew out of it a little note-book, which she + opened and gave to him. + </p> + <p> + The wounded man took the pencil out of the note-book and tried to write. + In fact, the witness saw him form several letters, but with great + difficulty. As she could not read, however, she was unable to understand + their meaning. Exhausted by the effort, the colonel left the note-book in + the woman’s hand, which he squeezed tightly, looking at her strangely, as + if he wanted to say (these are the witness’s own words): “It is important—it + is my murderer’s name!” + </p> + <p> + Maddalena Pietri was going up to the village, when she met Barricini, the + mayor, with his son Vincentello. It was then almost dark. She told them + what she had seen. The mayor took the note-book, hurried up to his house, + put on his sash, and fetched his secretary and the gendarmes. Left alone + with young Vincentello, Maddalena Pietri suggested that he should go to + the colonel’s assistance, in case he was still alive, but Vincentello + replied that if he were to go near a man who had been the bitter enemy of + his family, he would certainly be accused of having killed him. A very + short time afterward the mayor arrived, found the colonel dead, had the + corpse carried away, and drew up his report. + </p> + <p> + In spite of the agitation so natural on such an occasion, Monsieur + Barricini had hastened to place the colonel’s note-book under seal, and to + make all the inquiries in his power, but none of them resulted in any + discovery of importance. + </p> + <p> + When the examining magistrate arrived the note-book was opened, and on a + blood-stained page were seen letters written in a trembling hand, but + still quite legible; the sheet bore the word <i>Agosti</i>—and the + judge did not doubt that the colonel had intended to point out Agostini as + his murderer. Nevertheless, Colomba della Rebbia, who had been summoned by + the magistrate, asked leave to examine the note-book. After turning the + leaves for a few moments, she stretched out her hand toward the mayor and + cried, “There stands the murderer!” Then with a precision and a clearness + which were astonishing, considering the passion of sorrow that shook her, + she related that, a few days previously, her father had received a letter + from his son, which he had burned, but that before doing so he had written + Orso’s address (he had just changed his garrison) in the note-book with + his pencil. Now, his address was no longer in the note-book, and Colomba + concluded that the mayor had torn out the leaf on which it was written, + which probably was that on which her father had traced the murderer’s + name, and for that name the mayor, according to Colomba, had substituted + Agostini’s. The magistrate, in fact, noticed that one sheet was missing + from the quire on which the name was written, but he remarked also that + leaves were likewise missing from other quires in the same note-book, and + certain witnesses testified that the colonel had a habit of tearing out + pages when he wanted to light a cigar—therefore nothing was more + probable than that, by an oversight, he had burned the address he had + copied. Further, it was shown that the mayor could not have read the + note-book on receiving it from Maddalena Pietri, on account of the + darkness, and it was proved that he had not stopped an instant before he + went into his house, that the sergeant of the gendarmes had gone there + with him, and had seen him light a lamp and put the note-book into an + envelope which he had sealed before his eyes. + </p> + <p> + When this officer had concluded his deposition, Colomba, half-distracted, + cast herself at his feet, and besought him, by all he held most sacred, to + say whether he had not left the mayor alone for a single moment. After a + certain amount of hesitation, the man, who was evidently affected by the + young girl’s excitement, admitted that he had gone into the next room to + fetch a sheet of foolscap, but that he had not been away a minute, and + that the mayor had talked to him all the time he was groping for the paper + in a drawer. Moreover, he deposed that when he came back the blood-stained + note-book was still on the table, in the very place where the mayor had + thrown it when he first came in. + </p> + <p> + Monsieur Barricini gave his evidence with the utmost coolness. He made + allowances, he said, for Mademoiselle della Rebbia’s excitement, and was + ready to condescend to justify himself. He proved that he had spent his + whole evening in the village, that his son Vincentello had been with him + in front of the house at the moment when the crime was committed, and that + his son Orlanduccio, who had had an attack of fever that very day, had + never left his bed. He produced every gun in his house, and not one of + them had been recently discharged. He added, that, as regarded the + note-book, he had at once realized its importance; that he had sealed it + up, and placed it in the hands of his deputy, foreseeing that he himself + might be suspected, on account of his quarrel with the colonel. Finally, + he reminded the court that Agostini had threatened to kill the man who had + written a letter in his name, and he insinuated that this ruffian had + probably suspected the colonel, and murdered him. Such a vengeance, for a + similar reason, is by no means unprecedented in the history of brigandage. + </p> + <p> + Five days after Colonel della Rebbia’s death, Agostini was surprised by a + detachment of riflemen, and killed, fighting desperately to the last. On + his person was found a letter from Colomba, beseeching him to declare + whether he was guilty of the murder imputed to him, or not. As the bandit + had sent no answer, it was pretty generally concluded that he had not the + courage to tell a daughter he had murdered her father. Yet those who + claimed to know Agostini’s nature thoroughly, whispered that if he had + killed the colonel, he would have boasted of the deed. Another bandit, + known by the name of Brandolaccio, sent Colomba a declaration in which he + bore witness “on his honour” to his comrade’s innocence—but the only + proof he put forward was that Agostini had never told him that he + suspected the colonel. + </p> + <p> + The upshot was that the Barricini suffered no inconvenience, the examining + magistrate was loud in his praise of the mayor, and the mayor, on his + side, crowned his handsome behaviour by relinquishing all his claims over + the stream, concerning which he had brought the lawsuit against Colonel + della Rebbia. + </p> + <p> + According to the custom of her country, Colomba improvised a <i>ballata</i> + in presence of her father’s corpse, and before his assembled friends. In + it she poured out all her hatred against the Barricini, formally charged + them with the murder, and threatened them with her brother’s vengeance. It + was this same <i>ballata</i>, which had grown very popular, that the + sailor had sung before Miss Lydia. When Orso, who was in the north of + France, heard of his father’s death, he applied for leave, but failed to + obtain it. A letter from his sister led him to believe at first in the + guilt of the Barricini, but he soon received copies of all the documents + connected with the inquiry and a private letter from the judge, which + almost convinced him that the bandit Agostini was the only culprit. Every + three months Colomba had written to him, reiterating her suspicions, which + she called her “proofs.” In spite of himself, these accusations made his + Corsican blood boil, and sometimes he was very near sharing his sister’s + prejudices. Nevertheless, every time he wrote to her he repeated his + conviction that her allegations possessed no solid foundation, and were + quite unworthy of belief. He even forbade her, but always vainly, to + mention them to him again. + </p> + <p> + Thus two years went by. At the end of that time Orso was placed on + half-pay, and then it occurred to him to go back to his own country—not + at all for the purpose of taking vengeance on people whom he believed + innocent, but to arrange a marriage for his sister, and the sale of his + own small property—if its value should prove sufficient to enable + him to live on the Continent. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII + </h2> + <p> + Whether it was that the arrival of his sister had reminded Orso forcibly + of his paternal home, or that Colomba’s unconventional dress and manners + made him feel shy before his civilized friends, he announced, the very + next day, his determination to leave Ajaccio, and to return to Pietranera. + But he made the colonel promise that when he went to Bastia he would come + and stay in his modest manor-house, and undertook, in return, to provide + him with plenty of buck, pheasant, boar, and other game. + </p> + <p> + On the day before that of his departure Orso proposed that, instead of + going out shooting, they should all take a walk along the shores of the + gulf. With Miss Lydia on his arm he was able to talk in perfect freedom—for + Colomba had stayed in the town to do her shopping, and the colonel was + perpetually leaving the young people to fire shots at sea-gulls and + gannets, greatly to the astonishment of the passers-by, who could not + conceive why any man should waste his powder on such paltry game. + </p> + <p> + They were walking along the path leading to the Greek Chapel, which + commands the finest view to be had of the bay, but they paid no attention + to it. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Lydia,” said Orso, after a silence which had lasted long enough to + become embarrassing, “tell me frankly, what do you think of my sister?” + </p> + <p> + “I like her very much,” answered Miss Nevil. “Better than you,” she added, + with a smile; “for she is a true Corsican, and you are rather too + civilized a savage!” + </p> + <p> + “Too civilized! Well, in spite of myself, I feel that I am growing a + savage again, since I have set my foot on the island! A thousand horrid + thoughts disturb and torment me, and I wanted to talk with you a little + before I plunge into my desert!” + </p> + <p> + “You must be brave, monsieur! Look at your sister’s resignation; she sets + you an example!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! do not be deceived! Do not believe in her resignation. She has not + said a word to me as yet, but every look of hers tells me what she expects + of me.” + </p> + <p> + “What does she expect of you, then?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, nothing! Except that I should try whether your father’s gun will kill + a man as surely as it kills a partridge.” + </p> + <p> + “What an idea! You can actually believe that, when you have just + acknowledged that she has said nothing to you yet? It really is too + dreadful of you!” + </p> + <p> + “If her thoughts were not fixed on vengeance, she would have spoken to me + at once about our father; she has never done it. She would have mentioned + the names of those she considers—wrongly, I know—to be his + murderers. But no; not a word! That is because we Corsicans, you see, are + a cunning race. My sister realizes that she does not hold me completely in + her power, and she does not choose to startle me while I may still escape + her. Once she has led me to the edge of the precipice, and once I turn + giddy there, she will thrust me into the abyss.” + </p> + <p> + Then Orso gave Miss Nevil some details of his father’s death, and + recounted the principal proofs which had culminated in his belief that + Agostini was the assassin. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing,” he added, “has been able to convince Colomba. I saw that by her + last letter. She has sworn the Barricini shall die, and—you see, + Miss Nevil, what confidence I have in you!—they would not be alive + now, perhaps, if one of the prejudices for which her uncivilized education + must be the excuse had not convinced her that the execution of this + vengeance belongs to me, as head of her family, and that my honour depends + upon it!” + </p> + <p> + “Really and truly, Monsieur della Rebbia!” said Miss Nevil, “you slander + your sister!” + </p> + <p> + “No. As you have said it yourself, she is a Corsican; she thinks as they + all think. Do you know why I was so sad yesterday?” + </p> + <p> + “No. But for some time past you have been subject to these fits of + sadness. You were much pleasanter in the earlier days of our + acquaintance.” + </p> + <p> + “Yesterday, on the contrary, I was more cheery and happy than I generally + am. I had seen how kind, how indulgent, you were to my sister. The colonel + and I were coming home in a boat. Do you know what one of the boatmen said + to me in his infernal <i>patois</i>? ‘You’ve killed a deal of game, Ors’ + Anton’, but you’ll find Orlanduccio Barricini a better shot than you!’” + </p> + <p> + “Well, what was there so very dreadful in that remark? Are you so very + much set upon being considered a skilful sportsman?” + </p> + <p> + “But don’t you see the ruffian was telling me I shouldn’t have courage to + kill Orlanduccio!” + </p> + <p> + “Do you know, M. della Rebbia, you frighten me! The air of this island of + yours seems not only to give people fevers, but to drive them mad. Luckily + we shall be leaving it soon!” + </p> + <p> + “Not without coming to Pietranera—you have promised my sister that.” + </p> + <p> + “And if we were to fail in that promise, we should bring down some + terrible vengeance on our heads, no doubt!” + </p> + <p> + “Do you remember that story your father was telling us, the other day, + about the Indians who threatened the company’s agents that, if they would + not grant their prayer, they would starve themselves to death?” + </p> + <p> + “That means that you would starve yourself to death! I doubt it very much! + You would go hungry for one day and then Mademoiselle Colomba would bring + you such a tempting <i>bruccio</i>[*] that you would quite relinquish your + plan.” + </p> + <p> + [*] A sort of baked cream cheese, a national dish in Corsica. + </p> + <p> + “Your jests are cruel, Miss Nevil. You might spare me. Listen, I am alone + here; I have no one but you to prevent me from going mad, as you call it. + You have been my guardian angel, and now——!” + </p> + <p> + “Now,” said Miss Lydia gravely, “to steady this reason of yours, which is + so easily shaken, you have the honour of a soldier and a man, and,” she + added, turning away to pluck a flower, “if that will be any help to you, + you have the memory of your guardian angel, too!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Miss Nevil, if I could only think you really take some interest!” + </p> + <p> + “Listen, M. della Rebbia,” said Miss Nevil, with some emotion. “As you are + a child, I will treat you as I would treat a child. When I was a little + girl my mother gave me a beautiful necklace, which I had longed for + greatly; but she said to me, ‘Every time you put on this necklace, + remember you do not know French yet.’ The necklace lost some of its value + in my eyes, it was a source of constant self-reproach. But I wore it, and + in the end I knew French. Do you see this ring? It is an Egyptian + scarabaeus, found, if you please, in a pyramid. That strange figure, which + you may perhaps take for a bottle, stands for ‘<i>human life</i>.’ There + are certain people in my country to whom this hieroglyphic should appear + exceedingly appropriate. This, which comes after it, is a shield upon an + arm, holding a lance; that means ‘<i>struggle</i>, <i>battle</i>.’ Thus + the two characters, together, form this motto, which strikes me as a fine + one, ‘<i>Life is a battle</i>.’ Pray do not fancy I can translate + hieroglyphics at sight! It was a man learned in such matters who explained + these to me. Here, I will give you my scarabaeus. Whenever you feel some + wicked Corsican thought stir in you, look at my talisman, and tell + yourself you must win the battle our evil passions wage against us. Why, + really, I don’t preach at all badly!” + </p> + <p> + “I shall think of you, Miss Nevil, and I shall say to myself——” + </p> + <p> + “Say to yourself you have a friend who would be in despair at the idea of + your being hanged—and besides it would be too distressing for your + ancestors the corporals!” + </p> + <p> + With these words she dropped Orso’s arm, laughing and running to her + father. + </p> + <p> + “Papa,” she said, “do leave those poor birds alone, and come and make up + poetry with us, in Napoleon’s grotto!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII + </h2> + <p> + There is always a certain solemnity about a departure, even when the + separation is only to be a short one. Orso and his sister were to start + very early in the morning, and he had taken his leave of Miss Lydia the + night before—for he had no hope that she would disturb her indolent + habits on his account. Their farewells had been cold and grave. Since that + conversation on the sea-shore, Miss Lydia had been afraid she had perhaps + shown too strong an interest in Orso, and on the other hand, her jests, + and more especially her careless tone, lay heavy on Orso’s heart. At one + moment he had thought the young Englishwoman’s manner betrayed a budding + feeling of affection, but now, put out of countenance by her jests, he + told himself she only looked on him as a mere acquaintance, who would be + soon forgotten. Great, therefore, was his surprise, next morning, when, as + he sat at coffee with the colonel, he saw Miss Lydia come into the room, + followed by his sister. She had risen at five o’clock, and for an + Englishwoman, and especially for Miss Nevil, the effort was so great that + it could not but give him some cause for vanity. + </p> + <p> + “I am so sorry you should have disturbed yourself so early,” said Orso. + “No doubt my sister woke you up in spite of my injunctions, and you must + hate us heartily! Perhaps you wish I was hanged already!” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Miss Lydia, very low and in Italian, evidently so that her + father might not hear her, “but you were somewhat sulky with me yesterday, + because of my innocent jokes, and I would not have you carry away an + unpleasant recollection of your humble servant. What terrible people you + are, you Corsicans! Well, good-bye! We shall meet soon, I hope.” + </p> + <p> + And she held out her hand. + </p> + <p> + A sigh was the only answer Orso could find. Colomba came to his side, led + him into a window, and spoke to him for a moment in an undertone, showing + him something she held under her <i>mezzaro</i>. + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle,” said Orso to Miss Nevil, “my sister is anxious to give you + a very odd present, but we Corsicans have not much to offer—except + our affection—which time never wipes out. My sister tells me you + have looked with some curiosity at this dagger. It is an ancient + possession in our family. It probably hung, once upon a time, at the belt + of one of those corporals, to whom I owe the honour of your acquaintance. + Colomba thinks it so precious that she has asked my leave to give it to + you, and I hardly know if I ought to grant it, for I am afraid you’ll + laugh at us!” + </p> + <p> + “The dagger is beautiful,” said Miss Lydia. “But it is a family weapon, I + can not accept it!” + </p> + <p> + “It’s not my father’s dagger,” exclaimed Colomba eagerly; “it was given to + one of mother’s ancestors by King Theodore. If the signorina will accept + it, she will give us great pleasure.” + </p> + <p> + “Come, Miss Lydia,” said Orso, “don’t scorn a king’s dagger!” + </p> + <p> + To a collector, relics of King Theodore are infinitely more precious than + those of the most powerful of monarchs. The temptation was a strong one, + and already Miss Lydia could see the effect the weapon would produce laid + out on a lacquered table in her room at St. James’s Place. + </p> + <p> + “But,” said she, taking the dagger with the hesitating air of one who + longs to accept, and casting one of her most delightful smiles on Colomba, + “dear Signorina Colomba . . . I can not . . . I should not dare to let you + depart thus, unarmed.” + </p> + <p> + “My brother is with me,” said Colomba proudly, “and we have the good gun + your father has given us. Orso, have you put a bullet in it?” + </p> + <p> + Miss Nevil kept the dagger, and to avert the danger consequent on <i>giving</i> + instruments that cut or pierce to a friend, Colomba insisted on receiving + a soldo in payment. + </p> + <p> + A start had to be made at last. Yet once again Orso pressed Miss Nevil’s + hand, Colomba kissed her, and then held up her rosy lips to the colonel, + who was enchanted with this Corsican politeness. From the window of the + drawing-room Miss Lydia watched the brother and sister mount their horses. + Colomba’s eyes shone with a malignant joy which she had never remarked in + them before. The sight of this tall strong creature, with her fanatical + ideas of savage honour, pride written on her forehead, and curled in a + sardonic smile upon her lips, carrying off the young man with his weapons, + as though on some death-dealing errand, recalled Orso’s fears to her, and + she fancied she beheld his evil genius dragging him to his ruin. Orso, who + was already in the saddle, raised his head and caught sight of her. Either + because he had guessed her thought, or desired to send her a last + farewell, he took the Egyptian ring, which he had hung upon a ribbon, and + carried it to his lips. Blushing, Miss Lydia stepped back from the window, + then returning to it almost at once, she saw the two Corsicans cantering + their little ponies rapidly toward the mountains. Half an hour later the + colonel showed them to her, through his glasses, riding along the end of + the bay, and she noticed that Orso constantly turned his head toward the + town. At last he disappeared behind the marshes, the site of which is now + filled by a flourishing nursery garden. + </p> + <p> + Miss Lydia glanced at herself in the glass, and thought she looked pale. + </p> + <p> + “What must that young man think of me,” said she, “and what did I think of + him? And why did I think about him? . . . A travelling acquaintance! . . . + What have I come to Corsica for? . . . Oh! I don’t care for him! . . . No! + no! and besides the thing is impossible . . . And Colomba . . . Fancy me + sister-in-law to a <i>voceratrice</i>, who wears a big dagger!” + </p> + <p> + And she noticed she was still holding King Theodore’s dagger in her hand. + She tossed it on to her toilette table. “Colomba, in London, dancing at + Almacks! . . . Good heavens! what a lion[*] that would be, to show off! . + . . Perhaps she’d make a great sensation! . . . He loves me, I’m certain + of it! He is the hero of a novel, and I have interrupted his adventurous + career. . . . But did he really long to avenge his father in true Corsican + fashion? . . . He was something between a Conrad and a dandy . . . I’ve + turned him into nothing but a dandy! . . . And a dandy with a Corsican + tailor! . . .” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + [*] At this period this name was used in England for people + who were the fashion because they had something + extraordinary about them. +</pre> + <p> + She threw herself on her bed, and tried to sleep—but that proved an + impossibility, and I will not undertake to continue her soliloquy, during + which she declared, more than a hundred times over, that Signor della + Rebbia had not been, was not, and never should be, anything to her. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX + </h2> + <p> + Meanwhile Orso was riding along beside his sister. At first the speed at + which their horses moved prevented all conversation, but when the hills + grew so steep that they were obliged to go at a foot’s pace, they began to + exchange a few words about the friends from whom they had just parted. + Colomba spoke with admiration of Miss Nevil’s beauty, of her golden hair, + and charming ways. Then she asked whether the colonel was really as rich + as he appeared, and whether Miss Lydia was his only child. + </p> + <p> + “She would be a good match,” said she. “Her father seems to have a great + liking for you——” + </p> + <p> + And as Orso made no response, she added: “Our family was rich, in days + gone by. It is still one of the most respected in the island. All these <i>signori</i> + about us are bastards. The only noble blood left is in the families of the + corporals, and as you know, Orso, your ancestors were the chief corporals + in the island. You know our family came from beyond the hills, and it was + the civil wars that forced us over to this side. If I were you, Orso, I + shouldn’t hesitate—I should ask Colonel Nevil for his daughter’s + hand.” Orso shrugged his shoulders. “With her fortune, you might buy the + Falsetta woods, and the vineyards below ours. I would build a fine stone + house, and add a story to the old tower in which Sambucuccio killed so + many Moors in the days of Count Henry, <i>il bel Missere</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “Colomba, you’re talking nonsense,” said Orso, cantering forward. + </p> + <p> + “You are a man, Ors’ Anton’, and of course you know what you ought to do + better than any woman. But I should very much like to know what objection + that Englishman could have to the marriage. Are there any corporals in + England?” + </p> + <p> + After a somewhat lengthy ride, spent in talking in this fashion, the + brother and sister reached a little village, not far from Bocognano, where + they halted to dine and sleep at a friend’s house. They were welcomed with + a hospitality which must be experienced before it can be appreciated. The + next morning, their host, who had stood godfather to a child to whom + Madame della Rebbia had been godmother, accompanied them a league beyond + his house. + </p> + <p> + “Do you see those woods and thickets?” said he to Orso, just as they were + parting. “A man who had met with a misfortune might live there peacefully + for ten years, and no gendarme or soldier would ever come to look for him. + The woods run into the Vizzavona forest, and anybody who had friends at + Bocognano or in the neighbourhood would want for nothing. That’s a good + gun you have there. It must carry a long way. Blood of the Madonna! What + calibre! You might kill better game than boars with it!” + </p> + <p> + Orso answered, coldly, that his gun was of English make, and carried “the + lead” a long distance. The friends embraced, and took their different + ways. + </p> + <p> + Our travellers were drawing quite close to Pietranera, when, at the + entrance of a little gorge, through which they had to pass, they beheld + seven or eight men, armed with guns, some sitting on stones, others lying + on the grass, others standing up, and seemingly on the lookout. Their + horses were grazing a little way off. Colomba looked at them for a moment, + through a spy-glass which she took out of one of the large leathern + pockets all Corsicans wear when on a journey. + </p> + <p> + “Those are our men!” she cried, with a well-pleased air. “Pieruccio had + done his errand well!” + </p> + <p> + “What men?” inquired Orso. + </p> + <p> + “Our herdsmen,” she replied. “I sent Pieruccio off yesterday evening to + call the good fellows together, so that they may attend you home. It would + not do for you to enter Pietranera without an escort, and besides, you + must know the Barricini are capable of anything!” + </p> + <p> + “Colomba,” said Orso, and his tone was severe, “I have asked you, over and + over again, not to mention the Barricini and your groundless suspicions to + me. I shall certainly not make myself ridiculous by riding home with all + these loafers behind me, and I am very angry with you for having sent for + them without telling me.” + </p> + <p> + “Brother, you have forgotten the ways of your own country. It is my + business to protect you, when your own imprudence exposes you to danger. + It was my duty to do what I have done.” + </p> + <p> + Just at that moment the herdsmen, who had caught sight of them, hastened + to their horses, and galloped down the hill to meet them. + </p> + <p> + “Evvviva Ors’ Anton’!” shouted a brawny, white-bearded old fellow, + wrapped, despite the heat, in a hooded cloak of Corsican cloth, thicker + than the skins of his own goats. “The image of his father, only taller and + stronger! What a splendid gun! There’ll be talk about that gun, Ors’ + Anton’!” + </p> + <p> + “Evvviva Ors’ Anton’!” chorused the herdsmen. “We were sure you’d come + back, at last!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Ors’ Anton’!” cried a tall fellow, with a skin tanned brick red. “How + happy your father would be, if he were here to welcome you! The dear, good + man! You would have seen him now, if he would have listened to me—if + he would have let me settle Guidice’s business! . . . But he wouldn’t + listen to me, poor fellow! He knows I was right, now!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, well!” said the old man. “Guidice will lose nothing by waiting.” + </p> + <p> + “Evvviva Ors’ Anton’!” And the reports of a dozen guns capped the plaudit. + </p> + <p> + Very much put out, Orso sat in the midst of the group of mounted men, all + talking at once, and crowding round to shake hands with him. For some time + he could not make himself heard. At last, with the air he put on when he + used to reprimand the men of his company, or send one of them to the + guard-room, he said: + </p> + <p> + “I thank you, friends, for the affection you show for me, and for that + which you felt for my father! But I do not want advice from any of you, + and you must not offer it. I know my own duty.” + </p> + <p> + “He’s right! He’s right!” cried the herdsmen. “You know you may reckon on + us!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I do reckon on you. But at this moment I need no help, and no + personal danger threatens me. Now face round at once, and be off with you + to your goats. I know my way to Pietranera, and I want no guides.” + </p> + <p> + “Fear nothing, Ors’ Anton’,” said the old man. “They would never dare to + show their noses to-day. The mouse runs back to its hole when the tom-cat + comes out!” + </p> + <p> + “Tom-cat yourself, old gray-beard!” said Orso. “What’s your name?” + </p> + <p> + “What! don’t you remember me, Ors’ Anton’? I who have so often taken you + up behind me on that biting mule of mine! You don’t remember Polo Griffo? + I’m an honest fellow, though, and with the della Rebbia, body and soul. + Say but the word, and when that big gun of yours speaks, this old musket + of mine, as old as its master, shall not be dumb. Be sure of that, Ors’ + Anton’!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, well! But be off with you now, in the devil’s name, and let us go + on our way!” + </p> + <p> + At last the herdsmen departed, trotting rapidly off toward the village, + but they stopped every here and there, at all the highest spots on the + road, as though they were looking out for some hidden ambuscade, always + keeping near enough to Orso and his sister to be able to come to their + assistance if necessary. And old Polo Griffo said to his comrades: + </p> + <p> + “I understand him! I understand him! He’ll not say what he means to do, + but he’ll do it! He’s the born image of his father. Ah! you may say you + have no spite against any one, my boy! But you’ve made your vow to Saint + Nega.[*] Bravo! I wouldn’t give a fig for the mayor’s hide—there + won’t be the makings of a wineskin in it before the month is out!” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + [*] This saint is not mentioned in the calendar. To make a + vow to Saint Nega means to deny everything deliberately. +</pre> + <p> + Preceded by this troop of skirmishers, the last descendant of the della + Rebbia entered the village, and proceeded to the old mansion of his + forefathers, the corporals. The Rebbianites, who had long been leaderless, + had gathered to welcome him, and those dwellers in the village who + observed a neutral line of conduct all came to their doorsteps to see him + pass by. The adherents of the Barricini remained inside their houses, and + peeped out of the slits in their shutters. + </p> + <p> + The village of Pietranera is very irregularly built, like most Corsican + villages—for indeed, to see a street, the traveller must betake + himself to Cargese, which was built by Monsieur de Marboeuf. The houses, + scattered irregularly about, without the least attempt at orderly + arrangement, cover the top of a small plateau, or rather of a ridge of the + mountain. Toward the centre of the village stands a great evergreen oak, + and close beside it may be seen a granite trough, into which the water of + a neighbouring spring is conveyed by a wooden pipe. This monument of + public utility was constructed at the common expense of the della Rebbia + and Barricini families. But the man who imagined this to be a sign of + former friendship between the two families would be sorely mistaken. On + the contrary, it is the outcome of their mutual jealousy. Once upon a + time, Colonel della Rebbia sent a small sum of money to the Municipal + Council of his commune to help to provide a fountain. The lawyer Barricini + hastened to forward a similar gift, and to this generous strife Pietranera + owes its water supply. Round about the evergreen oak and the fountain + there is a clear space, known as “the Square,” on which the local idlers + gather every night. Sometimes they play at cards, and once a year, in + Carnival-time, they dance. At the two ends of the square stands two + edifices, of greater height than breadth, built of a mixture of granite + and schist. These are the <i>Towers</i> of the two opposing families, the + Barricini and the della Rebbia. Their architecture is exactly alike, their + height is similar, and it is quite evident that the rivalry of the two + families has never been absolutely decided by any stroke of fortune in + favor of either. + </p> + <p> + It may perhaps be well to explain what should be understood by this word, + “Tower.” It is a square building, some forty feet in height, which in any + other country would be simply described as a pigeon-house. A narrow + entrance-door, eight feet above the level of the ground, is reached by a + very steep flight of steps. Above the door is a window, in front of which + runs a sort of balcony, the floor of which is pierced with openings, like + a machicolation, through which the inhabitants may destroy an unwelcome + visitor without any danger to themselves. Between the window and the door + are two escutcheons, roughly carved. One of these bears what was + originally a Genoese cross, now so battered that nobody but an antiquary + could recognise it. On the other are chiselled the arms of the family to + whom the Tower belongs. If the reader will complete this scheme of + decoration by imagining several bullet marks on the escutcheons and on the + window frames, he will have a fair idea of a Corsican mansion, dating from + the middle ages. I had forgotten to add that the dwelling-house adjoins + the tower, and is frequently connected with it by some interior passage. + </p> + <p> + The della Rebbia house and tower stand on the northern side of the square + at Pietranera. The Barricini house and tower are on the southern side. + Since the colonel’s wife had been buried, no member of either family had + ever been seen on any side of the square, save that assigned by tacit + agreement to its own party. Orso was about to ride past the mayor’s house + when his sister checked him, and suggested his turning down a lane that + would take them to their own dwelling without crossing the square at all. + </p> + <p> + “Why should we go out of our way?” said Orso. “Doesn’t the square belong + to everybody?” and he rode on. + </p> + <p> + “Brave heart!” murmured Colomba. “. . . My father! you will be avenged!” + </p> + <p> + When they reached the square, Colomba put herself between her brother and + the Barricini mansion, and her eyes never left her enemy’s windows. She + noticed that they had been lately barricaded and provided with <i>archere</i>. + <i>Archere</i> is the name given to narrow openings like loopholes, made + between the big logs of wood used to close up the lower parts of the + windows. When an onslaught is expected, this sort of barricade is used, + and from behind the logs the attacked party can fire at its assailants + with ease and safety. + </p> + <p> + “The cowards!” said Colomba. “Look, brother, they have begun to protect + themselves! They have put up barricades! But some day or other they’ll + have to come out.” + </p> + <p> + Orso’s presence on the southern side of the square made a great sensation + at Pietranera, and was taken to be a proof of boldness savouring of + temerity. It was subject of endless comment on the part of the neutrals, + when they gathered around the evergreen oak, that night. + </p> + <p> + “It is a good thing,” they said, “that Barricini’s sons are not back yet, + for they are not so patient as the lawyer, and very likely they would not + have let their enemy set his foot on their ground without making him pay + for his bravado.” + </p> + <p> + “Remember what I am telling you, neighbour,” said an old man, the village + oracle. “I watched Colomba’s face to-day. She had some idea in her head. I + smell powder in the air. Before long, butcher’s meat will be cheap in + Pietranera!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X + </h2> + <p> + Orso had been parted from his father at so early an age that he had + scarcely had time to know him. He had left Pietranera to pursue his + studies at Pisa when he was only fifteen. Thence he had passed into the + military school, and Ghilfuccio, meanwhile, was bearing the Imperial + Eagles all over Europe. On the mainland, Orso only saw his father at rare + intervals, and it was not until 1815 that he found himself in the regiment + he commanded. But the colonel, who was an inflexible disciplinarian, + treated his son just like any other sub-lieutenant—in other words, + with great severity. Orso’s memories of him were of two kinds: He + recollected him, at Pietranera, as the father who would trust him with his + sword, and would let him fire off his gun when he came in from a shooting + expedition, or who made him sit down, for the first time, tiny urchin as + he was, at the family dinner-table. Then he remembered the Colonel della + Rebbia who would put him under arrest for some blunder, and who never + called him anything but Lieutenant della Rebbia. + </p> + <p> + “Lieutenant della Rebbia, you are not in your right place on parade. You + will be confined to barracks three days.” + </p> + <p> + “Your skirmishers are five yards too far from your main body—five + days in barracks.” + </p> + <p> + “It is five minutes past noon, and you are still in your forage-cap—a + week in barracks.” + </p> + <p> + Only once, at Quatre-Bras, he had said to him, “Well done, Orso! But be + cautious!” + </p> + <p> + But, after all, these later memories were not connected in his mind with + Pietranera. The sight of the places so familiar to him in his childish + days, of the furniture he had seen used by his mother, to whom he had been + fondly attached, filled his soul with a host of tender and painful + emotions. Then the gloomy future that lay before him, the vague anxiety he + felt about his sister, and, above all other things, the thought that Miss + Nevil was coming to his house, which now struck him as being so small, so + poor, so unsuited to a person accustomed to luxury—the idea that she + might possibly despise it—all these feelings made his brain a chaos, + and filled him with a sense of deep discouragement. + </p> + <p> + At supper he sat in the great oaken chair, blackened with age, in which + his father had always presided at the head of the family table, and he + smiled when he saw that Colomba hesitated to sit down with him. But he was + grateful to her for her silence during the meal, and for her speedy + retirement afterward. For he felt he was too deeply moved to be able to + resist the attack she was no doubt preparing to make upon him. Colomba, + however, was dealing warily with him, and meant to give him time to + collect himself. He sat for a long time motionless, with his head on his + hand, thinking over the scenes of the last fortnight of his life. He saw, + with alarm, how every one seemed to be watching what would be his + behaviour to the Barricini. Already he began to perceive that the opinion + of Pietranera was beginning to be the opinion of all the world to him. He + would have to avenge himself, or be taken for a coward! But on whom was he + to take vengeance? He could not believe the Barricini to be guilty of + murder. They were his family enemies, certainly, but only the vulgar + prejudice of his fellow-countrymen could accuse them of being murderers. + Sometimes he would look at Miss Nevil’s talisman, and whisper the motto + “Life is a battle!” over to himself. At last, in a resolute voice, he + said, “I will win it!” Strong in that thought, he rose to his feet, took + up the lamp, and was just going up to his room, when he heard a knock at + the door of the house. It was a very unusual hour for any visitor to + appear. Colomba instantly made her appearance, followed by the woman who + acted as their servant. + </p> + <p> + “It’s nothing!” she said, hurrying to the door. + </p> + <p> + Yet before she opened it she inquired who knocked. A gentle voice + answered, “It is I.” + </p> + <p> + Instantly the wooden bar across the door was withdrawn, and Colomba + reappeared in the dining-room, followed by a little ragged, bare-footed + girl of about ten years old, her head bound with a shabby kerchief, from + which escaped long locks of hair, as black as the raven’s wing. The child + was thin and pale, her skin was sunburnt, but her eyes shone with + intelligence. When she saw Orso she stopped shyly, and courtesied to him, + peasant fashion—then she said something in an undertone to Colomba, + and gave her a freshly killed pheasant. + </p> + <p> + “Thanks, Chili,” said Colomba. “Thank your uncle for me. Is he well?” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, signorina, at your service. I couldn’t come sooner because he + was late. I waited for him in the <i>maquis</i> for three hours.” + </p> + <p> + “And you’ve had no supper?” + </p> + <p> + “Why no, signorina! I’ve not had time.” + </p> + <p> + “You shall have some supper here. Has your uncle any bread left?” + </p> + <p> + “Very little, signorina. But what he is most short of is powder. Now the + chestnuts are in, the only other thing he wants is powder.” + </p> + <p> + “I will give you a loaf for him, and some powder, too. Tell him to use it + sparingly—it is very dear.” + </p> + <p> + “Colomba,” said Orso in French, “on whom are you bestowing your charity?” + </p> + <p> + “On a poor bandit belonging to this village,” replied Colomba in the same + language. “This little girl is his niece.” + </p> + <p> + “It strikes me you might place your gifts better. Why should you send + powder to a ruffian who will use it to commit crimes? But for the + deplorable weakness every one here seems to have for the bandits, they + would have disappeared out of Corsica long ago.” + </p> + <p> + “The worst men in our country are not those who are ‘in the country.’” + </p> + <p> + “Give them bread, if it so please you. But I will not have you supply them + with ammunition.” + </p> + <p> + “Brother,” said Colomba, in a serious voice, “you are master here, and + everything in this house belongs to you. But I warn you that I will give + this little girl my <i>mezzaro</i>, so that she may sell it; rather than + refuse powder to a bandit. Refuse to give him powder! I might just as well + make him over to the gendarmes! What has he to protect him against them, + except his cartridges?” + </p> + <p> + All this while the little girl was ravenously devouring a bit of bread, + and carefully watching Colomba and her brother, turn about, trying to read + the meaning of what they were saying in their eyes. + </p> + <p> + “And what has this bandit of yours done? What crime has driven him into + the <i>maquis</i>?” + </p> + <p> + “Brandolaccio has not committed any crime,” exclaimed Colomba. “He killed + Giovan’ Oppizo, who murdered his father while he was away serving in the + army!” + </p> + <p> + Orso turned away his head, took up the lamp, and, without a word, departed + to his bedroom. Then Colomba gave the child food and gunpowder, and went + with her as far as the house-door, saying over and over again: + </p> + <p> + “Mind your uncle takes good care of Orso!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI + </h2> + <p> + It was long before Orso fell asleep, and as a consequence he woke late—late + for a Corsican, at all events. When he left his bed, the first object that + struck his gaze was the house of his enemies, and the <i>archere</i> with + which they had furnished it. He went downstairs and asked for his sister. + </p> + <p> + “She is in the kitchen, melting bullets,” answered Saveria, the + woman-servant. + </p> + <p> + So he could not take a step without being pursued by the image of war. + </p> + <p> + He found Colomba sitting on a stool, surrounded by freshly cast bullets, + and cutting up strips of lead. + </p> + <p> + “What the devil are you doing?” inquired her brother. + </p> + <p> + “You had no bullets for the colonel’s gun,” she answered, in her soft + voice. “I found I had a mould for that calibre, and you shall have + four-and-twenty cartridges to-day, brother.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t need them, thank God!” + </p> + <p> + “You mustn’t be taken at a disadvantage, Ors’ Anton’. You have forgotten + your country, and the people who are about you.” + </p> + <p> + “If I had forgotten, you would soon have reminded me. Tell me, did not a + big trunk arrive here some days ago?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, brother. Shall I take it up to your room?” + </p> + <p> + “You take it up! Why, you’d never be strong enough even to lift it! . . . + Is there no man about who can do it?” + </p> + <p> + “I’m not so weak as you think!” said Colomba, turning up her sleeves, and + displaying a pair of round white arms, perfect in shape, but looking more + than ordinarily strong. “Here, Saveria,” said she to the servant; “come + and help me!” + </p> + <p> + She was already lifting the trunk alone, when Orso came hastily to her + assistance. + </p> + <p> + “There is something for you in this trunk, my dear Colomba,” said he. “You + must excuse the modesty of my gifts. A lieutenant on half-pay hasn’t a + very well-lined purse!” + </p> + <p> + As he spoke, he opened the trunk, and took out of it a few gowns, a shawl, + and some other things likely to be useful to a young girl. + </p> + <p> + “What beautiful things!” cried Colomba. “I’ll put them away at once, for + fear they should be spoiled. I’ll keep them for my wedding,” she added, + with a sad smile, “for I am in mourning now!” + </p> + <p> + And she kissed her brother’s hand. + </p> + <p> + “It looks affected, my dear sister, to wear your mourning for so long.” + </p> + <p> + “I have sworn an oath,” said Colomba resolutely, “I’ll not take off my + mourning. . . .” And her eyes were riveted on the Barricini mansion. + </p> + <p> + “Until your wedding day?” said Orso, trying to avoid the end of her + sentence. + </p> + <p> + “I shall never marry any man,” said Colomba, “unless he has done three + things . . .” And her eyes still rested gloomily on the house of the + enemy. + </p> + <p> + “You are so pretty, Colomba, that I wonder you are not married already! + Come, you must tell me about your suitors. And besides, I’m sure to hear + their serenades. They must be good ones to please a great <i>voceratrice</i> + like you.” + </p> + <p> + “Who would seek the hand of a poor orphan girl? . . . And then, the man + for whom I would change my mourning-dress will have to make the women over + there put on mourning!” + </p> + <p> + “This is becoming a perfect mania,” said Orso to himself. But to avoid + discussion he said nothing at all. + </p> + <p> + “Brother,” said Colomba caressingly, “I have something to give you, too. + The clothes you are wearing are much too grand for this country. Your fine + cloth frock-coat would be in tatters in two days, if you wore it in the <i>maquis</i>. + You must keep it for the time when Miss Nevil comes.” + </p> + <p> + Then, opening a cupboard, she took out a complete hunting dress. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve made you a velvet jacket, and here’s a cap, such as our smart young + men wear. I embroidered it for you, ever so long ago. Will you try them + on?” And she made him put on a loose green velvet jacket, with a huge + pocket at the back. On his head she set a pointed black velvet cap, + embroidered with jet and silk of the same colour, and finished with a sort + of tassel. + </p> + <p> + “Here is our father’s <i>carchera</i>”[*] she said. “His stiletto is in + the pocket of the jacket. I’ll fetch you his pistol.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + [*] Carchera, a belt for cartridges. A pistol is worn + fastened to the left side of it. +</pre> + <p> + “I look like a brigand at the Ambigu-Comique,” said Orso, as he looked at + himself in the little glass Saveria was holding up for him. + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, you look first-rate, dressed like that, Ors’ Anton’,” said the + old servant, “and the smartest <i>pinsuto</i>[*] in Bocognano or Bastelica + is not braver.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + [*] Pinsuto, the name given to men who wear the pointed cap, + <i>barreta pinsuta</i>. +</pre> + <p> + Orso wore his new clothes at breakfast, and during that meal he told his + sister that his trunk contained a certain number of books, that he was + going to send to France and Italy for others, and intended she should + study a great deal. + </p> + <p> + “For it really is disgraceful, Colomba,” he added, “that a grown-up girl + like you should still be ignorant of things that children on the mainland + know as soon as they are weaned.” + </p> + <p> + “You are right, brother,” said Colomba. “I know my own shortcomings quite + well, and I shall be too glad to learn—especially if you are kind + enough to teach me.” + </p> + <p> + Some days went by, and Colomba never mentioned the name of Barricini. She + lavished care and attention on her brother, and often talked to him about + Miss Nevil. Orso made her read French and Italian books, and was + constantly being surprised either by the correctness and good sense of her + comments, or by her utter ignorance on the most ordinary subjects. + </p> + <p> + One morning, after breakfast, Colomba left the room for a moment, and + instead of returning as usual, with a book and some sheets of paper, + reappeared with her <i>mezzaro</i> on her head. The expression of her + countenance was even more serious than it generally was. + </p> + <p> + “Brother,” she said, “I want you to come out with me.” + </p> + <p> + “Where do you want me to go with you?” said Orso, holding out his arm. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t want your arm, brother, but take your gun and your + cartridge-pouch. A man should never go abroad without his arms.” + </p> + <p> + “So be it. I must follow the fashion. Where are we going?” + </p> + <p> + Colomba, without answering, drew her <i>mezzaro</i> closer about her head, + called the watch-dog, and went out followed by her brother. Striding + swiftly out of the village, she turned into a sunken road that wound among + the vineyards, sending on the dog, to whom she made some gesture, which he + seemed to understand, in front of her. He instantly began to run zigzag + fashion, through the vines, first on one side and then on the other, + always keeping within about fifty paces of his mistress, and occasionally + stopping in the middle of the road and wagging his tail. He seemed to + perform his duties as a scout in the most perfect fashion imaginable. + </p> + <p> + “If Muschetto begins to bark, brother,” said Colomba, “cock your gun, and + stand still.” + </p> + <p> + Half a mile beyond the village, after making many detours, Colomba stopped + short, just where there was a bend in the road. On that spot there rose a + little pyramid of branches, some of them green, some withered, heaped + about three feet high. Above them rose the top of a wooden cross, painted + black. In several of the Corsican cantons, especially those among the + mountains, a very ancient custom, connected, it may be with some pagan + superstition, constrains every passer-by to cast either a stone or a + branch on the spot whereon a man has died a violent death. For years and + years—as long as the memory of his tragic fate endures—this + strange offering goes on accumulating from day to day. + </p> + <p> + This is called the dead man’s <i>pile</i>—his “<i>mucchio</i>.” + </p> + <p> + Colomba stopped before the heap of foliage, broke off an arbutus branch, + and cast it on the pile. + </p> + <p> + “Orso,” she said, “this is where your father died. Let us pray for his + soul!” + </p> + <p> + And she knelt down. Orso instantly followed her example. At that moment + the village church-bell tolled slowly for a man who had died during the + preceding night. Orso burst into tears. + </p> + <p> + After a few minutes Colomba rose. Her eyes were dry, but her face was + eager. She hastily crossed herself with her thumb, after the fashion + generally adopted by her companions, to seal any solemn oath, then, + hurrying her brother with her, she took her way back to the village. They + re-entered their house in silence. Orso went up to his room. A moment + afterward Colomba followed him, carrying a small casket which she set upon + the table. Opening it, she drew out a shirt, covered with great stains of + blood. + </p> + <p> + “Here is your father’s shirt, Orso!” + </p> + <p> + And she threw it across his knees. “Here is the lead that killed him!” And + she laid two blackened bullets on the shirt. + </p> + <p> + “Orso! Brother!” she cried, throwing herself into his arms and clasping + him desperately to her. “Orso, you will avenge him!” + </p> + <p> + In a sort of frenzy she kissed him, then kissed the shirt and the bullets, + and went out of the room, leaving her brother sitting on his chair, as if + he had been turned to stone. For some time Orso sat motionless, not daring + to put the terrible relics away. At last, with an effort, he laid them + back in their box, rushed to the opposite end of his room, and threw + himself on his bed, with his face turned to the wall, and his head buried + in his pillow, as though he were trying to shut out the sight of some + ghost. His sister’s last words rang unceasingly in his ears, like the + words of an oracle, fatal, inevitable, calling out to him for blood, and + for innocent blood! I shall not attempt to depict the unhappy young man’s + sensations, which were as confused as those that overwhelm a madman’s + brain. For a long time he lay in the same position, without daring to turn + his head. At last he got up, closed the lid of the casket, and rushed + headlong out of the house, into the open country, moving aimlessly + forward, whither he knew not. + </p> + <p> + By degrees, the fresh air did him good. He grew calmer, and began to + consider his position, and his means of escape from it, with some + composure. He did not, as my readers already know, suspect the Barricini + of the murder, but he did accuse them of having forged Agostini’s letter, + and this letter, he believed, at any rate, had brought about his father’s + death. He felt it was impossible to prosecute them for the forgery. Now + and then, when the prejudices or the instincts of his race assailed him, + and suggested an easy vengeance—a shot fired at the corner of some + path—the thought of his brother-officers, of Parisian drawing-rooms, + and above all, of Miss Nevil, made him shrink from them in horror. Then + his mind dwelt on his sister’s reproaches, and all the Corsican within him + justified her appeal, and even intensified its bitterness. One hope alone + remained to him, in this battle between his conscience and his prejudices—the + hope that, on some pretext or other, he might pick a quarrel with one of + the lawyer’s sons, and fight a duel with him. The idea of killing the + young man, either by a bullet or a sword-thrust reconciled his French and + Corsican ideas. This expedient adopted, he began to meditate means for its + execution, and was feeling relieved already of a heavy burden, when other + and gentler thoughts contributed still further to calm his feverish + agitation. Cicero, in his despair at the death of his daughter Tullia, + forgot his sorrow when he mused over all the fine things he might say + about it. Mr. Shandy consoled himself by discourses of the same nature for + the loss of his son. Orso cooled his blood by thinking that he would + depict his state of mind to Miss Nevil, and that such a picture could not + fail to interest that fair lady deeply. + </p> + <p> + He was drawing near the village, from which he had unconsciously travelled + a considerable distance, when he heard the voice of a little girl, who + probably believed herself to be quite alone, singing in a path that ran + along the edge of the <i>maquis</i>. It was one of those slow, monotonous + airs consecrated to funeral dirges, and the child was singing the words: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “And when my son shall see again the dwelling of his father, + Give him that murdered father’s cross; show him my shirt blood- + spattered.” + </pre> + <p> + “What’s that you’re singing, child?” said Orso, in an angry voice, as he + suddenly appeared before her. + </p> + <p> + “Is that you, Ors’ Anton’?” exclaimed the child, rather startled. “It is + Signorina Colomba’s song.” + </p> + <p> + “I forbid you to sing it!” said Orso, in a threatening voice. + </p> + <p> + The child kept turning her head this way and that, as though looking about + for a way of escape, and she would certainly have run off had she not been + held back by the necessity of taking care of a large bundle which lay on + the grass, at her feet. + </p> + <p> + Orso felt ashamed of his own vehemence. “What are you carrying there, + little one?” said he, with all the gentleness he could muster. And as + Chilina hesitated, he lifted up the linen that was wrapped round the + bundle, and saw it contained a loaf of bread and other food. + </p> + <p> + “To whom are you bringing the loaf, my dear?” he asked again. + </p> + <p> + “You know quite well, Ors’ Anton’: to my uncle.” + </p> + <p> + “And isn’t your uncle a bandit?” + </p> + <p> + “At your service, Ors’ Anton’.” + </p> + <p> + “If you met the gendarmes, they would ask you where you were going. . . .” + </p> + <p> + “I should tell them,” the child replied, at once, “that I was taking food + to the men from Lucca who were cutting down the <i>maquis</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “And if you came across some hungry hunter who insisted on dining at your + expense, and took your provisions away from you?” + </p> + <p> + “Nobody would dare! I would say they are for my uncle!” + </p> + <p> + “Well! he’s not the sort of man to let himself be cheated of his dinner! . + . . Is your uncle very fond of you?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, Ors’ Anton’. Ever since my father died, he has taken care of my + whole family—my mother and my little sister, and me. Before mother + was ill, he used to recommend her to rich people, who gave her employment. + The mayor gives me a frock every year, and the priest has taught me my + catechism, and how to read, ever since my uncle spoke to them about us. + But your sister is kindest of all to us!” + </p> + <p> + Just at this moment a dog ran out on the pathway. The little girl put two + of her fingers into her mouth and gave a shrill whistle, the dog came to + her at once, fawned upon her, and then plunged swiftly into the thicket. + Soon two men, ill-dressed, but very well armed, rose up out of a clump of + young wood a few paces from where Orso stood. It was as though they had + crawled up like snakes through the tangle of cytisus and myrtle that + covered the ground. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Ors’ Anton’, you’re welcome!” said the elder of the two men. “Why, + don’t you remember me?” + </p> + <p> + “No!” said Orso, looking hard at him. + </p> + <p> + “Queer how a beard and a peaked cap alter a man! Come, monsieur, look at + me well! Have you forgotten your old Waterloo men? Don’t you remember + Brando Savelli, who bit open more than one cartridge alongside of you on + that unlucky day?” + </p> + <p> + “What! Is it you?” said Orso. “And you deserted in 1816!” + </p> + <p> + “Even so, sir. Faith! soldiering grows tiresome, and besides, I had a job + to settle over in this country. Aha, Chili! You’re a good girl! Give us + our dinner at once, we’re hungry. You’ve no notion what an appetite one + gets in the <i>maquis</i>. Who sent us this—was it Signorina Colomba + or the mayor?” + </p> + <p> + “No, uncle, it was the miller’s wife. She gave me this for you, and a + blanket for my mother.” + </p> + <p> + “What does she want of me?” + </p> + <p> + “She says the Lucchesi she hired to clear the <i>maquis</i> are asking her + five-and-thirty sous, and chestnuts as well—because of the fever in + the lower parts of Pietranera.” + </p> + <p> + “The lazy scamps! . . . I’ll see to them! . . . Will you share our dinner, + monsieur, without any ceremony? We’ve eaten worse meals together, in the + days of that poor compatriot of ours, whom they have discharged from the + army.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I thank you heartily. They have discharged me, too!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, so I heard. But I’ll wager you weren’t sorry for it. You have your + own account to settle too. . . . Come along, cure,” said the bandit to his + comrade. “Let’s dine! Signor Orso, let me introduce the cure. I’m not + quite sure he is a cure. But he knows as much as any priest, at all + events!” + </p> + <p> + “A poor student of theology, monsieur,” quoth the second bandit, “who has + been prevented from following his vocation. Who knows, Brandolaccio, I + might have been Pope!” + </p> + <p> + “What was it that deprived the Church of your learning?” inquired Orso. + </p> + <p> + “A mere nothing—a bill that had to be settled, as my friend + Brandolaccio puts it. One of my sisters had been making a fool of herself, + while I was devouring book-lore at Pisa University. I had to come home, to + get her married. But her future husband was in too great a hurry; he died + of fever three days before I arrived. Then I called, as you would have + done in my place, on the dead man’s brother. I was told he was married. + What was I to do?” + </p> + <p> + “It really was puzzling! What did you do?” + </p> + <p> + “It was one of those cases in which one has to resort to the gunflint.” + </p> + <p> + “In other words?” + </p> + <p> + “I put a bullet in his head,” said the bandit coolly. + </p> + <p> + Orso made a horrified gesture. Nevertheless, curiosity, and, it may be, + his desire to put off the moment when he must return home, induced him to + remain where he was, and continue his conversation with the two men, each + of whom had at least one murder on his conscience. + </p> + <p> + While his comrade was talking, Brandolaccio was laying bread and meat in + front of him. He helped himself—then he gave some food to this dog, + whom he introduced to Orso under the name of Brusco, as an animal + possessing a wonderful instinct for recognising a soldier, whatever might + be the disguise he had assumed. Lastly, he cut off a hunch of bread and a + slice of raw ham, and gave them to his niece. “Oh, the merry life a bandit + lives!” cried the student of theology, after he had swallowed a few + mouthfuls. “You’ll try it some day, perhaps, Signor della Rebbia, and + you’ll find out how delightful it is to acknowledge no master save one’s + own fancy!” + </p> + <p> + Hitherto the bandit had talked Italian. He now proceeded in French. + </p> + <p> + “Corsica is not a very amusing country for a young man to live in—but + for a bandit, there’s the difference! The women are all wild about us. I, + as you see me now, have three mistresses in three different villages. I am + at home in every one of them, and one of the ladies is married to a + gendarme!” + </p> + <p> + “You know many languages, monsieur!” said Orso gravely. + </p> + <p> + “If I talk French, ‘tis because, look you, <i>maxima debetur pueris + reverentia</i>! We have made up our minds, Brandolaccio and I, that the + little girl shall turn out well, and go straight.” + </p> + <p> + “When she is turned fifteen,” remarked Chilina’s uncle, “I’ll find a good + husband for her. I have one in my eye already.” + </p> + <p> + “Shall you make the proposal yourself?” said Orso. + </p> + <p> + “Of course! Do you suppose that any well-to-do man in this neighbourhood, + to whom I said, ‘I should be glad to see a marriage between your son and + Michilina Savelli,’ would require any pressing?” + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn’t advise him to!” quoth the other bandit. “Friend Brandolaccio + has rather a heavy hand!” + </p> + <p> + “If I were a rogue,” continued Brandolaccio, “a blackguard, a forger, I + should only have to hold my wallet open, and the five-franc pieces would + rain into it.” + </p> + <p> + “Then is there something inside your wallet that attracts them?” said + Orso. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing. But if I were to write to a rich man, as some people have + written, ‘I want a hundred francs,’ he would lose no time about sending + them to me. But I’m a man of honour, monsieur.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you know, Signor della Rebbia,” said the bandit whom his comrade + called the cure, “do you know that in this country, with all its simple + habits, there are some wretches who make use of the esteem our passports” + (and he touched his gun) “insure us, to draw forged bills in our + handwriting?” + </p> + <p> + “I know it,” said Orso, in a gruff tone; “but what bills?” + </p> + <p> + “Six months ago,” said the bandit, “I was taking my walks abroad near + Orezza, when a sort of lunatic came up to me, pulling off his cap to me + even in the distance, and said: ‘Oh, M. le Cure’ (they always call me + that), ‘please excuse me—give me time. I have only been able to get + fifty-five francs together! Honour bright, that’s all I’ve been able to + scrape up.’ I, in my astonishment, said, ‘Fifty-five francs! What do you + mean, you rascal!’ ‘I mean sixty-five,’ he replied; ‘but as for the + hundred francs you asked me to give you, it’s not possible.’ ‘What! you + villain! I ask you for a hundred francs? I don’t know who you are.’ Then + he showed me a letter, or rather a dirty rag of paper, whereby he was + summoned to deposit a hundred francs on a certain spot, on pain of having + his house burned and his cows killed by Giocanto Castriconi—that’s + my name. And they had been vile enough to forge my signature! What annoyed + me most was that the letter was written in <i>patois</i>, and was full of + mistakes in spelling—I who won every prize at the university! I + began by giving my rascal a cuff that made him twist round and round. + ‘Aha! You take me for a thief, blackguard that you are!’ I said, and I + gave him a hearty kick, you know where. Then feeling rather better, I went + on, ‘When are you to take the money to the spot mentioned in the letter?’ + ‘This very day.’ ‘Very good, then take it there!’ It was at the foot of a + pine-tree, and the place had been exactly described. He brought the money, + buried it at the foot of the tree, and came and joined me. I had hidden + myself close by. There I stayed, with my man, for six mortal hours, M. + della Rebbia. I’d have staid three days, if it had been necessary. At the + end of six hours a <i>Bastiaccio</i>, a vile money-lender, made his + appearance. As he bent down to take up the money, I fired, and I had aimed + so well that, as he fell, his head dropped upon the coins he was + unearthing. ‘Now, rascal,’ said I to the peasant, ‘take your money, and + never dare to suspect Giocanto Castriconi of a mean trick again!’ + </p> + <p> + “The poor devil, all of a tremble, picked up his sixty-five francs without + taking the trouble to wipe them. He thanked me, I gave him a good parting + kick, and he may be running away still, for all I know.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, cure!” said Brandolaccio, “I envy you that shot! How you must have + laughed!” + </p> + <p> + “I had hit the money-lender in the temple,” the bandit went on, “and that + reminded me of Virgil’s lines: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . “‘Liquefacto tempora plumbo + Diffidit, ac multa porrectum, extendit arena.’ +</pre> + <p> + “<i>Liquefacto!</i> Do you think, Signor Orso, that the rapidity with + which a bullet flies through the air will melt it? You who have studied + projectiles, tell me whether you think that idea is truth or fiction?” + </p> + <p> + Orso infinitely preferred discussing this question of physics to arguing + with the licentiate as to the morality of his action. Brandolaccio, who + did not find their scientific disquisition entertaining, interrupted it + with the remark that the sun was just going to set. + </p> + <p> + “As you would not dine with us, Ors’ Anton’,” he said, “I advise you not + to keep Mademoiselle Colomba waiting any longer. And then it is not always + wise to be out on the roads after sunset. Why do you come out without a + gun? There are bad folk about here—beware of them! You have nothing + to fear to-day. The Barricini are bringing the prefect home with them. + They have gone to meet him on the road, and he is to stop a day at + Pietranera, before he goes on to Corte, to lay what they call a + corner-stone—such stupid nonsense! He will sleep to-night with the + Barricini; but to-morrow they’ll be disengaged. There is Vincentello, who + is a good-for-nothing fellow, and Orlanduccio, who is not much better. . . + . Try to come on them separately, one to-day, the other to-morrow. . . . + But be on the lookout, that’s all I have to say to you!” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks for the warning,” said Orso. “But there is no quarrel between us. + Until they come to look for me, I shall have nothing to say to them.” + </p> + <p> + The bandit stuck his tongue in his cheek, and smacked it ironically, but + he made no reply. Orso got up to go away. + </p> + <p> + “By the way,” said Brandolaccio, “I haven’t thanked you for your powder. + It came just when I needed it. Now I have everything I want . . . at least + I do still want shoes . . . but I’ll make myself a pair out of the skin of + a moufflon one of these days.” + </p> + <p> + Orso slipped two five-franc pieces into the bandit’s hand. + </p> + <p> + “It was Colomba who sent you the powder. This is to buy the shoes.” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense, Lieutenant!” cried Brandolaccio, handing him back the two + coins. “D’ye take me for a beggar? I accept bread and powder, but I won’t + have anything else!” + </p> + <p> + “We are both old soldiers, so I thought we might have given each other a + lift. Well, good-bye to you!” + </p> + <p> + But before he moved away he had slipped the money into he bandit’s wallet, + unperceived by him. + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye, Ors’ Anton’,” quoth the theologian. “We shall meet again in the + <i>maquis</i>, some day, perhaps, and then we’ll continue our study of + Virgil.” + </p> + <p> + Quite a quarter of an hour after Orso had parted company with these + worthies, he heard a man running after him, as fast as he could go. It was + Brandolaccio. + </p> + <p> + “This is too bad, lieutenant!” he shouted breathlessly, “really it is too + bad! I wouldn’t overlook the trick, if any other man had played it on me. + Here are your ten francs. All my respects to Mademoiselle Colomba. You + have made me run myself quite out of breath. Good-night!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII + </h2> + <p> + Orso found Colomba in a state of considerable anxiety because of his + prolonged absence. But as soon as she saw him she recovered her usual + serene, though sad, expression. During the evening meal the conversation + turned on trivial subjects, and Orso, emboldened by his sister’s apparent + calm, related his encounter with the bandits, and even ventured on a joke + or two concerning the moral and religious education that was being + imparted to little Chilina, thanks to the care of her uncle and of his + worthy colleague Signor Castriconi. + </p> + <p> + “Brandolaccio is an upright man,” said Colomba; “but as to Castriconi, I + have heard he is quite unprincipled.” + </p> + <p> + “I think,” said Orso, “that he is as good as Brandolaccio, and + Brandolaccio is as good as he. Both of them are at open war with society. + Their first crime leads them on to fresh ones, every day, and yet they are + very likely not half so guilty as many people who don’t live in the <i>maquis</i>.” + </p> + <p> + A flash of joy shone in his sister’s eyes. “Yes,” he continued, “these + wretches have a code of honour of their own. It is a cruel prejudice, not + a mean instinct of greed, that has forced them into the life they are + leading.” + </p> + <p> + There was a silence. + </p> + <p> + “Brother,” said Colomba, as she poured out his coffee, “perhaps you have + heard that Carlo-Battista Pietri died last night. Yes, he died of the + marsh-fever.” + </p> + <p> + “Who is Pietri?” + </p> + <p> + “A man belonging to this village, the husband of Maddalena, who took the + pocket-book out of our father’s hand as he was dying. His widow has been + here to ask me to join the watchers, and sing something. You ought to + come, too. They are our neighbours, and in a small place like this we can + not do otherwise than pay them this civility.” + </p> + <p> + “Confound these wakes, Colomba! I don’t at all like my sister to perform + in public in this way.” + </p> + <p> + “Orso,” replied Colomba, “every country pays honour to its dead after its + own fashion. The <i>ballata</i> has come down to us from our forefathers, + and we must respect it as an ancient custom. Maddalena does not possess + the ‘gift,’ and old Fiordispina, the best <i>voceratrice</i> in the + country, is ill. They must have somebody for the <i>ballata</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you believe Carlo-Battista won’t find his way safely into the next + world unless somebody sings bad poetry over his bier? Go if you choose, + Colomba—I’ll go with you, if you think I ought. But don’t improvise! + It really is not fitting at your age, and—sister, I beg you not to + do it!” + </p> + <p> + “Brother, I have promised. It is the custom here, as you know, and, I tell + you again, there is nobody but me to improvise.” + </p> + <p> + “An idiotic custom it is!” + </p> + <p> + “It costs me a great deal to sing in this way. It brings back all our own + sorrows to me. I shall be ill after it, to-morrow. But I must do it. Give + me leave to do it. Brother, remember that when we were at Ajaccio, you + told me to improvise to amuse that young English lady who makes a mock of + our old customs. So why should I not do it to-day for these poor people, + who will be grateful to me, and whom it will help to bear their grief?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, well, as you will. I’ll go bail you’ve composed your <i>ballata</i> + already, and don’t want to waste it.” + </p> + <p> + “No, brother, I couldn’t compose it beforehand. I stand before the dead + person, and I think about those he has left behind him. The tears spring + into my eyes, and then I sing whatever comes into my head.” + </p> + <p> + All this was said so simply that it was quite impossible to suspect + Signorina Colomba of the smallest poetic vanity. Orso let himself be + persuaded, and went with his sister to Pietri’s house. The dead man lay on + a table in the largest room, with his face uncovered. All the doors and + windows stood open, and several tapers were burning round the table. At + the head stood the widow, and behind her a great many women, who filled + all one side of the room. On the other side were the men, in rows, + bareheaded, with their eyes fixed on the corpse, all in the deepest + silence. Each new arrival went up to the table, kissed the dead face, + bowed his or her head to the widow and her son, and joined the circle, + without uttering a word. Nevertheless, from time to time one of the + persons present would break the solemn silence with a few words, addressed + to the dead man. + </p> + <p> + “Why has thou left thy good wife?” said one old crone. “Did she not take + good care of thee? What didst thou lack? Why not have waited another + month? Thy daughter-in-law would have borne thee a grandson!” A tall young + fellow, Pietri’s son, pressed his father’s cold hand and cried: “Oh! why + hast thou not died of the <i>mala morte</i>?[*] Then we could have avenged + thee!” + </p> + <p> + [*] <i>La mala morte</i>, a violent death. + </p> + <p> + These were the first words to fall on Orso’s ear as he entered the room. + At the sight of him the circle parted, and a low murmur of curiosity + betrayed the expectation roused in the gathering by the <i>voceratrice’s</i> + presence. Colomba embraced the widow, took one of her hands, and stood for + some moments wrapped in meditation, with her eyelids dropped. Then she + threw back her <i>mezzaro</i>, gazed fixedly at the corpse, and bending + over it, her face almost as waxen as that of the dead man, she began thus: + </p> + <p> + “Carlo-Battista! May Christ receive thy soul! . . . To live is to suffer! + Thou goest to a place . . . where there is neither sun nor cold. . . . No + longer dost thou need thy pruning-hook . . . nor thy heavy pick. . . . + There is no more work for thee! . . . Henceforward all thy days are + Sundays! . . . Carlo-Battista! May Christ receive thy soul! . . . Thy son + rules in thy house. . . . I have seen the oak fall, . . . dried up by the + <i>libeccio</i>. . . . I thought it was dead indeed, . . . but when I + passed it again, its root . . . had thrown up a sapling. . . . The sapling + grew into an oak . . . of mighty shade. . . . Under its great branches, + Maddele, rest thee well! . . . And think of the oak that is no more!” + </p> + <p> + Here Maddalena began to sob aloud, and two or three men who, on occasion, + would have shot at a Christian as coolly as at a partridge, brushed big + tears off their sunburnt faces. + </p> + <p> + For some minutes Colomba continued in this strain, addressing herself + sometimes to the corpse, sometimes to the family, and sometimes, by a + personification frequently employed in the <i>ballata</i>, making the dead + man himself speak words of consolation or counsel to his kinsfolk. As she + proceeded, her face assumed a sublime expression, a delicate pink tinge + crept over her features, heightening the brilliancy of her white teeth and + the lustre of her flashing eyes. She was like a Pythoness on her tripod. + Save for a sigh here and there, or a strangled sob, not the slightest + noise rose from the assembly that crowded about her. Orso, though less + easily affected than most people by this wild kind of poetry, was soon + overcome by the general emotion. Hidden in a dark corner of the room, he + wept as heartily as Pietri’s own son. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly a slight stir was perceptible among the audience. The circle + opened, and several strangers entered. The respect shown them, and the + eagerness with which room was made for them, proved them to be people of + importance, whose advent was a great honour to the household. + Nevertheless, out of respect for the <i>ballata</i>, nobody said a word to + them. The man who had entered first seemed about forty years of age. From + his black coat, his red rosette, his confident air, and look of authority, + he was at once guessed to be the prefect. Behind him came a bent old man + with a bilious-looking complexion, whose furtive and anxious glance was + only partially concealed by his green spectacles. He wore a black coat, + too large for him, and which, though still quite new, had evidently been + made several years previously. He always kept close beside the prefect and + looked as though he would fain hide himself under his shadow. Last of all, + behind him, came two tall young men, with sunburnt faces, their cheeks + hidden by heavy whiskers, proud and arrogant-looking, and showing symptoms + of an impertinent curiosity. Orso had had time to forget the faces of his + village neighbours; but the sight of the old man in green spectacles + instantly called up old memories in his mind. His presence in attendance + on the prefect sufficed to insure his recognition. This was Barricini, the + lawyer, mayor of Pietranera, who had come, with his two sons, to show the + prefect what a <i>ballata</i> was. It would be difficult exactly to + describe what happened within Orso’s soul at that moment, but the presence + of his father’s foe filled him with a sort of horror, and more than ever + he felt inclined to yield to the suspicions with which he had been + battling for so long. + </p> + <p> + As to Colomba, when she saw the man against whom she had sworn a deadly + hatred, her mobile countenance assumed a most threatening aspect. She + turned pale, her voice grew hoarse, the line she had begun to declaim died + on her lips. But soon, taking up her <i>ballata</i> afresh, she proceeded + with still greater vehemence. + </p> + <p> + “When the hawk bemoans himself . . . beside his harried nest, . . . the + starlings flutter round him . . . insulting his distress.” + </p> + <p> + A smothered laugh was heard. The two young men who had just come in + doubtless considered the metaphor too bold. + </p> + <p> + “The falcon will rouse himself. . . . He will spread his wings. . . . He + will wash his beak in blood! . . . Now, to thee, Carlo-Battista, let thy + friends . . . bid an eternal farewell! . . . Long enough have their tears + flowed! . . . Only the poor orphan girl will not weep for thee! . . . + Wherefore should she moan? . . . Thou has fallen asleep, full of years, . + . in the midst of thine own kin . . . ready to appear . . . in the + presence of the Almighty. . . . The orphan weeps for her father . . . + overtaken by vile murderers, . . struck from behind. . . . For her father, + whose blood lies red . . . beneath the heaped-up green leaves. . . . But + she has gathered up this blood, . . this innocent and noble blood! . . . + She has poured it out over Pietranera . . . that it may become a deadly + poison. . . . And the mark shall be on Pietranera . . . until the blood of + the guilty . . . shall have wiped out the blood of the innocent man!” + </p> + <p> + As Colomba pronounced the last words, she dropped into a chair, drew her + <i>mezzaro</i> over her face, and was heard sobbing beneath it. The + weeping women crowded round the <i>improvisatrice</i>; several of the men + were casting savage glances at the mayor and his sons; some of the elders + began to protest against the scandal to which their presence had given + rise. The dead man’s son pushed his way through the throng, and was about + to beg the mayor to clear out with all possible speed. But this + functionary had not waited for the suggestion. He was on his way to the + door, and his two sons were already in the street. The prefect said a few + words of condolence to young Pietri, and followed them out, almost + immediately. Orso went to his sister’s side, took her arm, and drew her + out of the room. + </p> + <p> + “Go with them,” said young Pietri to some of his friends. “Take care no + harm comes to them!” + </p> + <p> + Hastily two or three young men slipped their stilettos up the left sleeves + of their jackets and escorted Orso and his sister to their own door. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIII + </h2> + <p> + Panting, exhausted, Colomba was utterly incapable of uttering a single + word. Her head rested on her brother’s shoulder, and she clasped one of + his hands tightly between her own. Orso, though secretly somewhat annoyed + by her peroration, was too much alarmed to reprove her, even in the + mildest fashion. He was silently waiting till the nervous attack from + which she seemed to be suffering should have passed, when there was a + knock at the door, and Saveria, very much flustered, announced the + prefect. At the words, Colomba rose, as though ashamed of her weakness, + and stood leaning on a chair, which shook visibly beneath her hand. + </p> + <p> + The prefect began with some commonplace apology for the unseasonable hour + of his visit, condoled with Mademoiselle Colomba, touched on the danger + connected with strong emotions, blamed the custom of composing funeral + dirges, which the very talent of the <i>voceratrice</i> rendered the more + harrowing to her auditors, skilfully slipped in a mild reproof concerning + the tendency of the improvisation just concluded, and then, changing his + tone— + </p> + <p> + “M. della Rebbia,” he said, “I have many messages for you from your + English friends. Miss Nevil sends her affectionate regards to your sister. + I have a letter for you from her.” + </p> + <p> + “A letter from Miss Nevil!” cried Orso. + </p> + <p> + “Unluckily I have not got it with me. But you shall have it within five + minutes. Her father has not been well. For a little while we were afraid + he had caught one of our terrible fevers. Luckily he is all right again, + as you will observe for yourself, for I fancy you will see him very soon.” + </p> + <p> + “Miss Nevil must have been very much alarmed!” + </p> + <p> + “Fortunately she did not become aware of the danger till it was quite gone + by. M. della Rebbia, Miss Nevil has talked to me a great deal about you + and about your sister.” + </p> + <p> + Orso bowed. + </p> + <p> + “She has a great affection for you both. Under her charming appearance, + and her apparent frivolity, a fund of good sense lies hidden.” + </p> + <p> + “She is a very fascinating person,” said Orso. + </p> + <p> + “I have come here, monsieur, almost at her prayer. Nobody is better + acquainted than I with a fatal story which I would fain not have to recall + to you. As M. Barricini is still the mayor of Pietranera, and as I am + prefect of the department, I need hardly tell you what weight I attach to + certain suspicions which, if I am rightly informed, some incautious + individuals have communicated to you, and which you, I know, have spurned + with the indignation your position and your character would have led me to + expect.” + </p> + <p> + “Colomba,” said Orso, moving uneasily to his chair. “You are very tired. + You had better go to bed.” + </p> + <p> + Colomba shook her head. She had recovered all her usual composure, and her + burning eyes were fixed on the prefect. + </p> + <p> + “M. Barricini,” the prefect continued, “is exceedingly anxious to put an + end to the sort of enmity . . . or rather, the condition of uncertainty, + existing between yourself and him. . . . On my part, I should be delighted + to see you both in those relations of friendly intercourse appropriate to + people who certainly ought to esteem each other.” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” replied Orso in a shaking voice, “I have never charged + Barricini with my father’s murder. But he committed an act which must + always prevent me from having anything to do with him. He forged a + threatening letter, in the name of a certain bandit, or at least he hinted + in an underhand sort of way that it was forged by my father. That letter, + monsieur, was probably the indirect cause of my father’s death.” + </p> + <p> + The prefect sat thinking for a moment. + </p> + <p> + “That your father should have believed that, when his own hasty nature led + him into a lawsuit with Signor Barricini, is excusable. But such blindness + on your part really can not be admitted. Pray consider that Barricini + could have served no interest of his own by forging the letter. I will not + talk to you about his character, for you are not acquainted with it, and + are prejudiced against it; but you can not suppose that a man conversant + with the law——” + </p> + <p> + “But, monsieur,” said Orso, rising to his feet, “be good enough to + recollect that when you tell me the letter was not Barricini’s work, you + ascribe it to my father. And my father’s honour, monsieur, is mine!” + </p> + <p> + “No man on earth, sir, is more convinced of Colonel della Rebbia’s honour + than myself! But the writer of the letter is now known.” + </p> + <p> + “Who wrote it?” exclaimed Colomba, making a step toward the prefect. + </p> + <p> + “A villain, guilty of several crimes—such crimes as you Corsicans + never pardon—a thief, one Tomaso Bianchi, at present confined in the + prison at Bastia, has acknowledged that he wrote the fatal letter.” + </p> + <p> + “I know nothing of the man,” said Orso. “What can have been his object?” + </p> + <p> + “He belongs to this neighbourhood,” said Colomba. “He is brother to a man + who was our miller—a scamp and a liar, unworthy of belief.” + </p> + <p> + “You will soon see what his interest in the matter was,” continued the + prefect. “The miller of whom your sister speaks—I think his name was + Teodoro—was the tenant of a mill belonging to the colonel, standing + on the very stream the ownership of which M. Barricini was disputing with + your father. The colonel, always a generous man, made very little profit + out of the mill. Now Tomaso thought that if Barricini got possession of + the stream there would be a heavy rent to pay, for it is well known that + Barricini is rather fond of money. In short, to oblige his brother, Tomaso + forged the letter from the bandit—and there’s the whole story. You + know that in Corsica the strength of the family tie is so great that it + does sometimes lead to crime. Please read over this letter to me from the + attorney-general. It confirms what I have just told you.” + </p> + <p> + Orso looked through the letter, which gave a detailed relation of Tomaso’s + confession, and Colomba read it over his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + When she had come to the end of it she exclaimed: + </p> + <p> + “Orlanduccio Barricini went down to Bastia a month ago, when it became + known that my brother was coming home. He must have seen Tomaso, and + bought this lie of him!” + </p> + <p> + “Signorina,” said the prefect, out of patience, “you explain everything by + odious imputations! Is that the way to find out the truth? You, sir, can + judge more coolly. Tell me what you think of the business now? Do you + believe, like this young lady, that a man who has only a slight sentence + to fear would deliberately charge himself with forgery, just to oblige a + person he doesn’t know?” + </p> + <p> + Orso read the attorney-general’s letter again, weighing every word with + the greatest care—for now that he had seen the old lawyer, he felt + it more difficult to convince himself than it would have been a few days + previously. At last he found himself obliged to admit that the explanation + seemed to him to be satisfactory. But Colomba cried out vehemently: + </p> + <p> + “Tomaso Bianchi is a knave! He’ll not be convicted, or he’ll escape from + prison! I am certain of it!” + </p> + <p> + The prefect shrugged his shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “I have laid the information I have received before you, monsieur. I will + now depart, and leave you to your own reflections. I shall wait till your + own reason has enlightened you, and I trust it may prove stronger than + your sister’s suppositions.” + </p> + <p> + Orso, after saying a few words of excuse for Colomba, repeated that he now + believed Tomaso to be the sole culprit. + </p> + <p> + The prefect had risen to take his leave. + </p> + <p> + “If it were not so late,” said he, “I would suggest your coming over with + me to fetch Miss Nevil’s letter. At the same time you might repeat to M. + Barricini what you have just said to me, and the whole thing would be + settled.” + </p> + <p> + “Orso della Rebbia will never set his foot inside the house of a + Barricini!” exclaimed Colomba impetuously. + </p> + <p> + “This young lady appears to be the <i>tintinajo</i>[*] of the family!” + remarked the prefect, with a touch of irony. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + [*] This is the name given to the ram or he-goat which wears + a bell and leads the flock, and it is applied, + metaphorically, to any member of a family who guides it in + all important matters. +</pre> + <p> + “Monsieur,” replied Colomba resolutely, “you are deceived. You do not know + the lawyer. He is the most cunning and knavish of men. I beseech you not + to make Orso do a thing that would overwhelm him with dishonour!” + </p> + <p> + “Colomba!” exclaimed Orso, “your passion has driven you out of your + senses!” + </p> + <p> + “Orso! Orso! By the casket I gave you, I beseech you to listen to me! + There is blood between you and the Barricini. You shall not go into their + house!” + </p> + <p> + “Sister!” + </p> + <p> + “No, brother, you shall not go! Or I will leave this house, and you will + never see me again! Have pity on me, Orso!” and she fell on her knees. + </p> + <p> + “I am grieved,” said the prefect, “to find Mademoiselle Colomba so + unreasonable. You will convince her, I am sure.” + </p> + <p> + He opened the door and paused, seeming to expect Orso to follow him. + </p> + <p> + “I can not leave her now,” said Orso. “To-morrow, if——” + </p> + <p> + “I shall be starting very early,” said the prefect. + </p> + <p> + “Brother,” cried Colomba, clasping her hands, “wait till to-morrow + morning, in any case. Let me look over my father’s papers. You can not + refuse me that!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you shall look them over to-night. But at all events you shall not + torment me afterward with your violent hatreds. A thousand pardons, + monsieur! I am so upset myself to-night—it had better be to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “The night brings counsel,” said the prefect, as he went out. “I hope all + your uncertainty will have disappeared by to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “Saveria,” Colomba called, “take the lantern and attend the Signor + Prefetto. He will give you a letter to bring back to my brother.” + </p> + <p> + She added a few words which reached Saveria’s ear alone. + </p> + <p> + “Colomba,” said Orso, when the prefect was gone, “you have distressed me + very much. Will no evidence convince you?” + </p> + <p> + “You have given me till to-morrow,” she replied. “I have very little time; + but I still have some hope.” + </p> + <p> + Then she took a bunch of keys and ran up to a room on the upper story. + There he could hear her pulling open drawers, and rummaging in the + writing-desk in which Colonel della Rebbia had kept his business papers. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIV + </h2> + <p> + Saveria was a long time away, and when she at last reappeared, carrying a + letter, and followed by little Chilina, rubbing her eyes, and evidently + just waked out of her beauty sleep, Orso was wound up to the highest + possible pitch of impatience. + </p> + <p> + “Chili,” said Orso, “what are you doing here at this hour?” + </p> + <p> + “The signorina sent for me,” replied Chilina. + </p> + <p> + “What the devil does she want with her?” thought Orso to himself. But he + was in a hurry to open Miss Lydia’s letter, and while he was reading it + Chilina went upstairs to his sister’s room. + </p> + <p> + “My father, dear sir, has not been well,” Miss Nevil wrote, “and he is so + indolent, besides, that I am obliged to act as his secretary. You remember + that, instead of admiring the landscape with you and me the other day, he + got his feet wet on the sea-shore—and in your delightful island, + that is quite enough to give one a fever! I can see the face you are + making! No doubt you are feeling for your dagger. But I will hope you have + none now. Well, my father had a little fever, and I had a great fright. + The prefect, whom I persist in thinking very pleasant, sent us a doctor, + also a very pleasant man, who got us over our trouble in two days. There + has been no return of the attack, and my father would like to begin to + shoot again. But I have forbidden that. How did you find matters in your + mountain home? Is your North Tower still in its old place? Are there any + ghosts about it? I ask all these questions because my father remembers you + have promised him buck and boar and moufflon—is that the right name + for those strange creatures? We intend to crave your hospitality on our + way to Bastia, where we are to embark, and I trust the della Rebbia + Castle, which you declare is so old and tumble-down, will not fall in upon + our heads! Though the prefect is so pleasant that subjects of conversation + are never lacking to us—I flatter myself, by the way, that I have + turned his head—we have been talking about your worshipful self. The + legal people at Bastia have sent him certain confessions, made by a rascal + they have under lock and key, which are calculated to destroy your last + remaining suspicions. The enmity which sometimes alarmed me for you must + therefore end at once. You have no idea what a pleasure this has been to + me! When you started hence with the fair <i>voceratrice</i>, with your gun + in hand, and your brow lowering, you struck me as being more Corsican than + ever—too Corsican indeed! <i>Basta!</i> I write you this long letter + because I am dull. The prefect, alas! is going away. We will send you a + message when we start for your mountains, and I shall take the liberty of + writing to Signorina Colomba to ask her to give me a <i>bruccio, ma + solenne</i>! Meanwhile, give her my love. I use her dagger a great deal to + cut the leaves of a novel I brought with me. But the doughty steel revolts + against such usage, and tears my book for me, after a most pitiful + fashion. Farewell, sir! My father sends you ‘his best love.’ Listen to + what the prefect says. He is a sensible man, and is turning out of his + way, I believe, on your account. He is going to lay a foundation-stone at + Corte. I should fancy the ceremony will be very imposing, and I am very + sorry not to see it. A gentleman in an embroidered coat and silk stockings + and a white scarf, wielding a trowel—and a speech! And at the end of + the performance manifold and reiterated shouts of ‘God save the King.’ I + say again, sir, it will make you very vain to think I have written you + four whole pages, and on that account I give you leave to write me a very + long letter. By the way, I think it very odd of you not to have let me + hear of your safe arrival at the Castle of Pietranera! + </p> + <p> + “LYDIA. + </p> + <p> + “P.S.—I beg you will listen to the prefect, and do as he bids you. + We have agreed that this is the course you should pursue, and I shall be + very glad if you do it.” + </p> + <p> + Orso read the letter three or four times over, making endless mental + comments each time as he read. Then he wrote a long answer, which he sent + by Saveria’s hand to a man in the village, who was to go down to Ajaccio + the very next day. Already he had almost dismissed the idea of discussing + his grievance, true or false, against the Barricini, with his sister. Miss + Lydia’s letter had cast a rose-coloured tint over everything about him. He + felt neither hatred nor suspicion now. He waited some time for his sister + to come down, and finding she did not reappear, he went to bed, with a + lighter heart than he had carried for many a day. Colomba, having + dismissed Chilina with some secret instructions, spent the greater part of + the night in reading old papers. A little before daybreak a few tiny + pebbles rattled against the window-pane. At the signal, she went down to + the garden, opened a back door, and conducted two very rough men into her + house. Her first care was to bring them into the kitchen and give them + food. My readers will shortly learn who these men were. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XV + </h2> + <p> + Toward six o’clock next morning one of the prefect’s servants came and + knocked at the door of Orso’s house. He was received by Colomba, and + informed her the prefect was about to start, and was expecting her + brother. Without a moment’s hesitation Colomba replied that her brother + had just had a fall on the stairs, and sprained his foot; and he was + unable to walk a single step, that he begged the prefect to excuse him, + and would be very grateful if he would condescend to take the trouble of + coming over to him. A few minutes after this message had been despatched, + Orso came downstairs, and asked his sister whether the prefect had not + sent for him. + </p> + <p> + With the most perfect assurance she rejoined: + </p> + <p> + “He begs you’ll wait for him here.” + </p> + <p> + Half an hour went by without the slightest perceptible stir in the + Barricini dwelling. Meanwhile Orso asked Colomba whether she had + discovered anything. She replied that she proposed to make her statement + when the prefect came. She affected an extreme composure. But her colour + and her eyes betrayed her state of feverish excitement. + </p> + <p> + At last the door of the Barricini mansion was seen to open. The prefect + came out first, in travelling garb; he was followed by the mayor and his + two sons. What was the stupefaction of the inhabitants of the village of + Pietranera, who had been on the watch since sunrise for the departure of + the chief magistrate of their department, when they saw him go straight + across the square and enter the della Rebbia dwelling, accompanied by the + three Barricini. “They are going to make peace!” exclaimed the village + politicians. + </p> + <p> + “Just as I told you,” one old man went on. “Ors’ Anton’ has lived too much + on the mainland to carry things through like a man of mettle.” + </p> + <p> + “Yet,” responded a Rebbianite, “you may notice it is the Barricini who + have gone across to him. They are suing for mercy.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s the prefect who had wheedled them all round,” answered the old + fellow. “There is no such thing as courage nowadays, and the young chaps + make no more fuss about their father’s blood than if they were all + bastards.” + </p> + <p> + The prefect was not a little astounded to find Orso up and walking about + with perfect ease. In the briefest fashion Colomba avowed her own lie, and + begged him to forgive it. + </p> + <p> + “If you had been staying anywhere else, monsieur, my brother would have + gone to pay his respects to you yesterday.” + </p> + <p> + Orso made endless apologies, vowing he had nothing to do with his sister’s + absurd stratagem, by which he appeared deeply mortified. The prefect and + the elder Barricini appeared to believe in the sincerity of his regret, + and indeed this belief was justified by his evident confusion and the + reproaches he addressed to his sister. But the mayor’s two sons did not + seem satisfied. + </p> + <p> + “We are being made to look like fools,” said Orlanduccio audibly. + </p> + <p> + “If my sister were to play me such tricks,” said Vincentello, “I’d soon + cure her fancy for beginning them again.” + </p> + <p> + The words, and the tone in which they were uttered, offended Orso, and + diminished his good-will. Glances that were anything but friendly were + exchanged between him and the two young men. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile, everybody being seated save Colomba, who remained standing + close to the kitchen door, the prefect took up his parable, and after a + few common-places as to local prejudices, he recalled the fact that the + most inveterate enmities generally have their root in some mere + misunderstanding. Next, turning to the mayor, he told him that Signor + della Rebbia had never believed the Barricini family had played any part, + direct or indirect, in the deplorable event which had bereft him of his + father; that he had, indeed, nursed some doubts as to one detail in the + lawsuit between the two families; that Signor Orso’s long absence, and the + nature of the information sent him, excused the doubt in question; that in + the light of recent revelations he felt completely satisfied, and desired + to re-open friendly and neighbourly relations with Signor Barricini and + his sons. + </p> + <p> + Orso bowed stiffly. Signor Barricini stammered a few words that nobody + could hear, and his sons stared steadily at the ceiling rafters. The + prefect was about to continue his speech, and address the counterpart of + the remarks he had made to Signor Barricini, to Orso, when Colomba stepped + gravely forward between the contracting parties, at the same time drawing + some papers from beneath her neckerchief. + </p> + <p> + “I should be happy indeed,” she said, “to see the quarrel between our two + families brought to an end. But if the reconciliation is to be sincere, + there must be a full explanation, and nothing must be left in doubt. + Signor Prefetto, Tomaso Bianchi’s declaration, coming from a man of such + vile report, seemed to me justly open to doubt. I said your sons had + possibly seen this man in the prison at Bastia.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s false!” interrupted Orlanduccio; “I didn’t see him!” + </p> + <p> + Colomba cast a scornful glance at him, and proceeded with great apparent + composure. + </p> + <p> + “You explained Tomaso’s probable interest in threatening Signor Barricini, + in the name of a dreaded bandit, by his desire to keep his brother Teodoro + in possession of the mill which my father allowed him to hire at a very + low rent.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s quite clear,” assented the prefect. + </p> + <p> + “Where was Tomaso Bianchi’s interest?” exclaimed Colomba triumphantly. + “His brother’s lease had run out. My father had given him notice on the + 1st of July. Here is my father’s account-book; here is his note of warning + given to Teodoro, and the letter from a business man at Ajaccio suggesting + a new tenant.” + </p> + <p> + As she spoke she gave the prefect the papers she had been holding in her + hand. + </p> + <p> + There was an astonished pause. The mayor turned visibly pale. Orso, + knitting his brows, leaned forward to look at the papers, which the + prefect was perusing most attentively. + </p> + <p> + “We are being made to look like fools!” cried Orlanduccio again, springing + angrily to his feet. “Let us be off, father! We ought never to have come + here!” + </p> + <p> + One instant’s delay gave Signor Barricini time to recover his composure. + He asked leave to see the papers. Without a word the prefect handed them + over to him. Pushing his green spectacles up to his forehead, he looked + through them with a somewhat indifferent air, while Colomba watched him + with the eyes of a tigress who sees a buck drawing near to the lair where + she had hidden her cubs. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Signor Barricini, as he pulled down his spectacles and + returned the documents, “knowing the late colonel’s kind heart, Tomaso + thought—most likely he thought—that the colonel would change + his mind about the notice. As a matter of fact, Bianchi is still at the + mill, so—” + </p> + <p> + “It was I,” said Colomba, and there was scorn in her voice, “who left him + there. My father was dead, and situated as I was, I was obliged to treat + my brother’s dependents with consideration.” + </p> + <p> + “Yet,” quoth the prefect, “this man Tomaso acknowledges that he wrote the + letter. That much is clear.” + </p> + <p> + “The thing that is clear to me,” broke in Orso, “is that there is some + vile infamy underneath this whole business.” + </p> + <p> + “I have to contradict another assertion made by these gentlemen,” said + Colomba. + </p> + <p> + She threw open the door into the kitchen and instantly Brandolaccio, the + licentiate in theology, and Brusco, the dog, marched into the room. The + two bandits were unarmed—apparently, at all events; they wore their + cartridge belts, but the pistols, which are their necessary complement, + were absent. As they entered the room they doffed their caps respectfully. + </p> + <p> + The effect produced by their sudden appearance may be conceived. The mayor + almost fell backward. His sons threw themselves boldly in front of him, + each one feeling for his dagger in his coat pocket. The prefect made a + step toward the door, and Orso, seizing Brandolaccio by the collar, + shouted: + </p> + <p> + “What have you come here for, you villain?” + </p> + <p> + “This is a trap!” cried the mayor, trying to get the door open. But, by + the bandits’ orders, as was afterward discovered, Saveria had locked it on + the outside. + </p> + <p> + “Good people,” said Brandolaccio, “don’t be afraid of me. I’m not such a + devil as I look. We mean no harm at all. Signor Prefetto, I’m your very + humble servant. Gently, lieutenant! You’re strangling me! We’re here as + witnesses! Now then, Padre, speak up! Your tongue’s glib enough!” + </p> + <p> + “Signor Prefetto,” quoth the licentiate, “I have not the honour of being + known to you. My name is Giocanto Castriconi, better known as the Padre. + Aha, it’s coming back to you! The signorina here, whom I have not the + pleasure of knowing either, has sent to ask me to supply some information + about a fellow of the name of Tomaso Bianchi, with whom I chanced to be + shut up, about three weeks ago, in the prison at Bastia. This is what I + have to tell you.” + </p> + <p> + “Spare yourself the trouble,” said the prefect. “I can not listen to + anything from such a man as you. Signor della Rebbia, I am willing to + believe you have had nothing to do with this detestable plot. But are you + master in your own house? Will you have the door opened? Your sister may + have to give an account of the strange relations in which she lives with a + set of bandits.” + </p> + <p> + “Signor Prefetto!” cried Colomba, “I beseech you to listen to what this + man has to say! You are here to do justice to everybody, and it is your + duty to search out the truth. Speak, Giocanto Castriconi!” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t listen to him,” chorused the three Barricini. + </p> + <p> + “If everybody talks at once,” remarked the bandit, with a smile, “nobody + can contrive to hear what anybody says. Well, in the prison at Bastia I + had as my companion—not as my friend—this very man, Tomaso. He + received frequent visits from Signor Orlanduccio.” + </p> + <p> + “You lie!” shouted the two brothers together. + </p> + <p> + “Two negatives make an affirmative,” pursued Castriconi coolly. “Tomaso + had money, he ate and drank of the best. I have always been fond of good + cheer (that’s the least of my failings), and in spite of my repugnance to + rubbing shoulders with such a wretch, I let myself be tempted, several + times over, into dining with him. Out of gratitude, I proposed he should + escape with me. A young person—to whom I had shown some kindness—had + provided me with the necessary means. I don’t intend to compromise + anybody. Tomaso refused my offer, telling me he was certain to be all + right, as lawyer Barricini had spoken to all the judges for him, and he + was sure to get out of prison with a character as white as snow, and with + money in his pocket, too. As for me, I thought it better to get into the + fresh air. <i>Dixi</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “Everything that fellow has said is a heap of lies,” reiterated + Orlanduccio stoutly. “If we were in the open country, and each of us had + his gun, he wouldn’t talk in that way.” + </p> + <p> + “Here’s a pretty folly!” cried Brandolaccio. “Don’t you quarrel with the + Padre, Orlanduccio!” + </p> + <p> + “Will you be good enough to allow me to leave this room, Signor della + Rebbia,” said the prefect, and he stamped his foot in his impatience. + </p> + <p> + “Saveria! Saveria!” shouted Orso, “open the door, in the devil’s name!” + </p> + <p> + “One moment,” said Brandolaccio. “We have to slip away first, on our side. + Signor Prefetto, the custom, when people meet in the house of a mutual + friend, is to allow each other half an hour’s law, after departure.” + </p> + <p> + The prefect cast a scornful glance at him. + </p> + <p> + “Your servant, signorina, and gentlemen all!” said Brandolaccio. Then + stretching out his arm, “Hi, Brusco,” he cried to his dog, “jump for the + Signor Prefetto!” + </p> + <p> + The dog jumped; the bandits swiftly snatched up their arms in the kitchen, + fled across the garden, and at a shrill whistle the door of the room flew + open as though by magic. + </p> + <p> + “Signor Barricini,” said Orso, and suppressed fury vibrated in his voice, + “I hold you to be a forger! This very day I shall charge you before the + public prosecutor with forgery and complicity with Bianchi. I may perhaps + have a still more terrible accusation to bring against you!” + </p> + <p> + “And I, Signor della Rebbia,” replied the mayor, “shall lay my charge + against you for conspiracy and complicity with bandits. Meanwhile the + prefect will desire the gendarmes to keep an eye upon you.” + </p> + <p> + “The prefect will do his duty,” said that gentleman sternly. “He will see + the public order is not disturbed at Pietranera; he will take care justice + is done. I say this to you all, gentlemen!” + </p> + <p> + The mayor and Vincentello were outside the room already, and Orlanduccio + was following them, stepping backward, when Orso said to him in an + undertone: + </p> + <p> + “Your father is an old man. One cuff from me would kill him. It is with + you and with your brother that I intend to deal.” + </p> + <p> + Orlanduccio’s only response was to draw his dagger and fly like a madman + at Orso. But before he could use his weapon Colomba caught hold of his arm + and twisted it violently, while Orso gave him a blow in the face with his + fist, which made him stagger several paces back, and come into violent + collision with the door frame. Orlanduccio’s dagger dropped from his hand. + But Vincentello had his ready, and was rushing back into the room, when + Colomba, snatching up a gun convinced him that the struggle must be + unequal. At the same time the prefect threw himself between the + combatants. + </p> + <p> + “We shall soon meet, Ors’ Anton’!” shouted Orlanduccio, and slamming the + door of the room violently, he turned the key in the lock, so as to insure + himself time to retreat. + </p> + <p> + For a full quarter of an hour Orso and the prefect kept their places in + dead silence, at opposite ends of the room. Colomba, the pride of triumph + shining on her brow, gazed first at one and then at the other, as she + leaned on the gun that had turned the scale of victory. + </p> + <p> + “What a country! Oh, what a country!” cried the prefect at last, rising + hastily from his chair. “Signor della Rebbia, you did wrong! You must give + me your word of honour to abstain from all violence, and to wait till the + law settles this cursed business.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Signor Prefetto, I was wrong to strike that villain. But I did + strike him, after all, and I can’t refuse him the satisfaction he has + demanded of me.” + </p> + <p> + “Pooh! no! He doesn’t want to fight you! But supposing he murders you? + You’ve done everything you could to insure it.” + </p> + <p> + “We’ll protect ourselves,” said Colomba. + </p> + <p> + “Orlanduccio,” said Orso, “strikes me as being a plucky fellow, and I + think better of him than that, monsieur. He was very quick about drawing + his dagger. But perhaps I should have done the same thing in his place, + and I’m glad my sister has not an ordinary fine lady’s wrist.” + </p> + <p> + “You are not to fight,” exclaimed the prefect. “I forbid it!” + </p> + <p> + “Allow me to say, monsieur, that in matters that affect my honour the only + authority I acknowledge is that of my own conscience.” + </p> + <p> + “You sha’n’t fight, I tell you!” + </p> + <p> + “You can put me under arrest, monsieur—that is, if I let you catch + me. But if you were to do that, you would only delay a thing that has now + become inevitable. You are a man of honour yourself, monsieur; you know + there can be no other course.” + </p> + <p> + “If you were to have my brother arrested,” added Colomba, “half the + village would take his part, and we should have a fine fusillade.” + </p> + <p> + “I give you fair notice, monsieur, and I entreat you not to think I am + talking mere bravado. I warn you that if Signor Barricini abuses his + authority as mayor, to have me arrested, I shall defend myself.” + </p> + <p> + “From this very day,” said the prefect, “Signor Barricini is suspended. I + trust he will exculpate himself. Listen to me, my young gentleman, I have + a liking for you. What I ask of you is nothing to speak of. Just to stay + quietly at home till I get back from Corte. I shall only be three days + away. I’ll bring back the public prosecutor with me, and then we’ll sift + this wretched business to the bottom. Will you promise me you will abstain + from all hostilities till then?” + </p> + <p> + “I can not promise that, monsieur, if, as I expect, Orlanduccio asks me to + meet him.” + </p> + <p> + “What, Signor della Rebbia! Would you—a French officer—think + of going out with a man you suspect of being a forger?” + </p> + <p> + “I struck him, monsieur!” + </p> + <p> + “But supposing you struck a convict, and he demanded satisfaction of you, + would you fight him? Come, come, Signor Orso! But I’ll ask you to do even + less, do nothing to seek out Orlanduccio. I’ll consent to your fighting + him if he asks you for a meeting.” + </p> + <p> + “He will ask for it, I haven’t a doubt of that. But I’ll promise I won’t + give him fresh cuffs to induce him to do it.” + </p> + <p> + “What a country!” cried the prefect once more, as he strode to and fro. + “Shall I never get back to France?” + </p> + <p> + “Signor Prefetto,” said Colomba in her most dulcet tones, “it is growing + very late. Would you do us the honour of breakfasting here?” + </p> + <p> + The prefect could not help laughing. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve been here too long already—it may look like partiality. And + there is that cursed foundation-stone. I must be off. Signorina della + Rebbia! what calamities you may have prepared this day!” + </p> + <p> + “At all events, Signor Prefetto, you will do my sister the justice of + believing her convictions are deeply rooted—and I am sure, now, that + you yourself believe them to be well-founded.” + </p> + <p> + “Farewell, sir!” said the prefect, waving his hand. “I warn you that the + sergeant of gendarmes will have orders to watch everything you do.” + </p> + <p> + When the prefect had departed— + </p> + <p> + “Orso,” said Colomba, “this isn’t the Continent. Orlanduccio knows nothing + about your duels, and besides, that wretch must not die the death of a + brave man.” + </p> + <p> + “Colomba, my dear, you are a clever woman. I owe you a great deal from + having saved me from a hearty knife-thrust. Give me your little hand to + kiss! But, hark ye, let me have my way. There are certain matters that you + don’t understand. Give me my breakfast. And as soon as the prefect had + started off send for little Chilina, who seems to perform all the + commissions she is given in the most wonderful fashion. I shall want her + to take a letter for me.” + </p> + <p> + While Colomba was superintending the preparation of his breakfast, Orso + went up to his own room and wrote the following note: + </p> + <p> + “You must be in a hurry to meet me, and I am no less eager. We can meet at + six o’clock to-morrow morning in the valley of Acquaviva. I am a skilful + pistol-shot, so I do not suggest that weapon to you. I hear you are a good + shot with a gun. Let us each take a double-barrelled gun. I shall be + accompanied by a man from this village. If your brother wishes to go with + you, take a second witness, and let me know. In that case only, I should + bring two with me. + </p> + <p> + “ORSO ANTONIO DELLA REBBIA.” + </p> + <p> + After spending an hour with the deputy-mayor, and going into the Barricini + house for a few minutes, the prefect, attended by a single gendarme, + started for Corte. A quarter of an hour later, Chilina carried over the + letter my readers have just perused, and delivered it into Orlanduccio’s + own hands. + </p> + <p> + The answer was not prompt, and did not arrive till evening. It bore the + signature of the elder Barricini, and informed Orso that he was laying the + threatening letter sent to his son before the public prosecutor. His + missive concluded thus: “Strong in the sense of a clear conscience, I + patiently wait till the law has pronounced on your calumnies.” + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile five or six herdsmen, summoned by Colomba, arrived to garrison + the della Rebbia Tower. In spite of Orso’s protests, <i>archere</i> were + arranged in the windows looking onto the square, and all through the + evening offers of service kept coming in from various persons belonging to + the village. There was even a letter from the bandit-theologian, + undertaking, for himself and Brandolaccio, that in the event of the + mayor’s calling on the gendarmes, they themselves would straightway + intervene. The following postscript closed the letter: + </p> + <p> + “Dare I ask you what the Signor Prefetto thinks of the excellent education + bestowed by my friend on Brusco, the dog? Next to Chilina, he is the most + docile and promising pupil I have ever come across.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVI + </h2> + <p> + The following day went by without any hostile demonstration. Both sides + kept on the defensive. Orso did not leave his house, and the door of the + Barricini dwelling remained closely shut. The five gendarmes who had been + left to garrison Pietranera were to be seen walking about the square and + the outskirts of the village, in company with the village constable, the + sole representative of the urban police force. The deputy-mayor never put + off his sash. But there was no actual symptom of war, except the loopholes + in the two opponents’ houses. Nobody but a Corsican would have noticed + that the group round the evergreen oak in the middle of the square + consisted solely of women. + </p> + <p> + At supper-time Colomba gleefully showed her brother a letter she had just + received from Miss Nevil. + </p> + <p> + “My dear Signorina Colomba,” it ran, “I learn with great pleasure, through + a letter from your brother, that your enmities are all at an end. I + congratulate you heartily. My father can not endure Ajaccio now your + brother is not there to talk about war and go out shooting with him. We + are starting to-day, and shall sleep at the house of your kinswoman, to + whom we have a letter. The day after to-morrow, somewhere about eleven + o’clock, I shall come and ask you to let me taste that mountain <i>bruccio</i> + of yours, which you say is so vastly superior to what we get in the town. + </p> + <p> + “Farewell, dear Signorina Colomba. + </p> + <p> + “Your affectionate + </p> + <p> + “LYDIA NEVIL.” + </p> + <p> + “Then she hasn’t received my second letter!” exclaimed Orso. + </p> + <p> + “You see by the date of this one that Miss Lydia must have already started + when your letter reached Ajaccio. But did you tell her not to come?” + </p> + <p> + “I told her we were in a state of siege. That does not seem to me a + condition that permits of our receiving company.” + </p> + <p> + “Bah! These English people are so odd. The very last night I slept in her + room she told me she would be sorry to leave Corsica without having seen a + good <i>vendetta</i>. If you choose, Orso, you might let her see an + assault on our enemies’ house.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you know, Colomba,” said Orso, “Nature blundered when she made you a + woman. You’d have made a first-rate soldier.” + </p> + <p> + “Maybe. Anyhow, I’m going to make my <i>bruccio</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t waste your time. We must send somebody down to warn them and stop + them before they start.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean to say you would send a messenger out in such weather, to + have him and your letter both swept away by a torrent? How I pity those + poor bandits in this storm! Luckily they have good <i>piloni</i> (thick + cloth cloaks with hoods). Do you know what you ought to do, Orso. If the + storm clears you should start off very early to-morrow morning, and get to + our kinswoman’s house before they leave it. That will be easy enough, for + Miss Lydia always gets up so late. You can tell them everything that has + happened here, and if they still persist in coming, why! we shall be very + glad to welcome them.” + </p> + <p> + Orso lost no time in assenting to this plan, and after a few moments’ + silence, Colomba continued: + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps, Orso, you think I was joking when I talked of an assault on the + Barricini’s house. Do you know we are in force—two to one at the + very least? Now that the prefect has suspended the mayor, every man in the + place is on our side. We might cut them to pieces. It would be quite easy + to bring it about. If you liked, I could go over to the fountain and begin + to jeer at their women folk. They would come out. Perhaps—they are + such cowards!—they would fire at me through their loopholes. They + wouldn’t hit me. Then the thing would be done. They would have begun the + attack, and the beaten party must take its chance. How is anybody to know + which person’s aim has been true, in a scuffle? Listen to your own sister, + Orso! These lawyers who are coming will blacken lots of paper, and talk a + great deal of useless stuff. Nothing will come of it all. That old fox + will contrive to make them think they see stars in broad midday. Ah! if + the prefect hadn’t thrown himself in front of Vincentello, we should have + had one less to deal with.” + </p> + <p> + All this was said with the same calm air as that with which she had + spoken, an instant previously, of her preparations for making the <i>bruccio</i>. + </p> + <p> + Orso, quite dumfounded, gazed at his sister with an admiration not unmixed + with alarm. + </p> + <p> + “My sweet Colomba,” he said, as he rose from the table, “I really am + afraid you are the very devil. But make your mind easy. If I don’t succeed + in getting the Barricini hanged, I’ll contrive to get the better of them + in some other fashion. ‘Hot bullet or cold steel’—you see I haven’t + forgotten my Corsican.” + </p> + <p> + “The sooner the better,” said Colomba, with a sigh. “What horse will you + ride to-morrow, Ors’ Anton’?” + </p> + <p> + “The black. Why do you ask?” + </p> + <p> + “So as to make sure he has some barley.” + </p> + <p> + When Orso went up to his room, Colomba sent Saveria and the herdsmen to + their beds, and sat on alone in the kitchen, where the <i>bruccio</i> was + simmering. Now and then she seemed to listen, and was apparently waiting + very anxiously for her brother to go to bed. At last, when she thought he + was asleep, she took a knife, made sure it was sharp, slipped her little + feet into thick shoes, and passed noiselessly out into the garden. + </p> + <p> + This garden, which was inclosed by walls, lay next to a good-sized piece + of hedged ground, into which the horses were turned—for Corsican + horses do not know what a stable means. They are generally turned loose + into a field, and left to themselves, to find pasture and shelter from + cold winds, as best they may. + </p> + <p> + Colomba opened the garden gate with the same precaution, entered the + inclosure, and whistling gently, soon attracted the horses, to whom she + had often brought bread and salt. As soon as the black horse came within + reach, she caught him firmly by the mane, and split his ear open with her + knife. The horse gave a violent leap, and tore off with that shrill cry + which sharp pain occasionally extorts from his kind. Quite satisfied, + Colomba was making her way back into the garden, when Orso threw open his + window and shouted, “Who goes there?” At the same time she heard him cock + his gun. Luckily for her the garden-door lay in the blackest shadow, and + was partly screened by a large fig-tree. She very soon gathered, from the + light she saw glancing up and down in her brother’s room, that he was + trying to light his lamp. She lost no time about closing the garden-door, + and slipping along the wall, so that the outline of her black garments was + lost against the dark foliage of the fruit-trees, and succeeded in getting + back into the kitchen a few moments before Orso entered it. + </p> + <p> + “What’s the matter?” she inquired. + </p> + <p> + “I fancied I heard somebody opening the garden-door,” said Orso. + </p> + <p> + “Impossible! The dog would have barked. But let us go and see!” + </p> + <p> + Orso went round the garden, and having made sure that the outer door was + safely secured, he was going back to his room, rather ashamed of his false + alarm. + </p> + <p> + “I am glad, brother,” remarked Colomba, “that you are learning to be + prudent, as a man in your position ought to be.” + </p> + <p> + “You are training me well,” said Orso. “Good-night!” + </p> + <p> + By dawn the next morning Orso was up and ready to start. His style of + dress betrayed the desire for smartness felt by every man bound for the + presence of the lady he would fain please, combined with the caution of a + Corsican <i>in vendetta</i>. Over a blue coat, that sat closely to his + figure, he wore a small tin case full of cartridges, slung across his + shoulder by a green silk cord. His dagger lay in his side pocket, and in + his hand he carried his handsome Manton, ready loaded. While he was + hastily swallowing the cup of coffee Colomba had poured out for him, one + of the herdsmen went out to put the bridle and saddle on the black horse. + Orso and his sister followed close on his heels and entered the field. The + man had caught the horse, but he had dropped both saddle and bridle, and + seemed quite paralyzed with horror, while the horse, remembering the wound + it had received during the night, and trembling for its other ear, was + rearing, kicking, and neighing like twenty fiends. + </p> + <p> + “Now then! Make haste!” shouted Orso. + </p> + <p> + “Ho, Ors’ Anton’! Ho, Ors’ Anton’!” yelled the herdsman. “Holy Madonna!” + and he poured out a string of imprecations, numberless, endless, and most + of them quite untranslatable. + </p> + <p> + “What can be the matter?” inquired Colomba. They all drew near to the + horse, and at the sight of the creature’s bleeding head and split ear + there was a general outcry of surprise and indignation. My readers must + know that among the Corsicans to mutilate an enemy’s horse is at once a + vengeance, a challenge, and a mortal threat. “Nothing but a bullet-wound + can expiate such a crime.” + </p> + <p> + Though Orso, having lived so long on the mainland, was not so sensitive as + other Corsicans to the enormity of the insult, still, if any supporter of + the Barricini had appeared in his sight at that moment, he would probably + have taken vengeance on him for the outrage he ascribed to his enemies. + </p> + <p> + “The cowardly wretches!” he cried. “To avenge themselves on a poor brute, + when they dare not meet me face to face!” + </p> + <p> + “What are we waiting for?” exclaimed Colomba vehemently. “They come here + and brave us! They mutilate our horses! and we are not to make any + response? Are you men?” + </p> + <p> + “Vengeance!” shouted the herdsmen. “Let us lead the horse through the + village, and attack their house!” + </p> + <p> + “There’s a thatched barn that touches their Tower,” said old Polo Griffo; + “I’d set fire to it in a trice.” + </p> + <p> + Another man wanted to fetch the ladders out of the church steeple. A third + proposed they should break in the doors of the house with a heavy beam + intended for some house in course of building, which had been left lying + in the square. Amid all the angry voices Colomba was heard telling her + satellites that before they went to work she would give each man of them a + large glass of anisette. + </p> + <p> + Unluckily, or rather luckily, the impression she had expected to produce + by her own cruel treatment of the poor horse was largely lost on Orso. He + felt no doubt that the savage mutilation was due to one of his foes, and + he specially suspected Orlanduccio; but he did not believe that the young + man, whom he himself had provoked and struck, had wiped out his shame by + slitting a horse’s ear. On the contrary, this mean and ridiculous piece of + vengeance had increased Orso’s scorn for his opponents, and he now felt, + with the prefect, that such people were not worthy to try conclusions with + himself. As soon as he was able to make himself heard, he informed his + astonished partisans that they would have to relinquish all their + bellicose intentions, and that the power of the law, which would shortly + be on the spot, would amply suffice to avenge the hurt done to a horse’s + ear. + </p> + <p> + “I’m master here!” he added sternly; “and I insist on being obeyed. The + first man who dares to say anything more about killing or burning, will + quite possibly get a scorching at my hands! Be off! Saddle me the gray + horse!” + </p> + <p> + “What’s this, Orso?” said Colomba, drawing him apart. “You allow these + people to insult us? No Barricini would have dared to mutilate any beast + of ours in my father’s time.” + </p> + <p> + “I promise you they shall have reason to repent it. But it is gendarme’s + and jailer’s work to punish wretches who only venture to raise their hands + against brute beasts. I’ve told you already, the law will punish them; and + if not, you will not need to remind me whose son I am.” + </p> + <p> + “Patience!” answered Colomba, with a sigh. + </p> + <p> + “Remember this, sister,” continued Orso; “if I find, when I come back, + that any demonstration whatever has been made against the Barricini I + shall never forgive you.” Then, in a gentler tone, he added, “Very + possibly—very probably—I shall bring the colonel and his + daughter back with me. See that their rooms are well prepared, and that + the breakfast is good. In fact, let us make our guests as comfortable as + we can. It’s a very good thing to be brave, Colomba, but a woman must know + how to manage her household, as well. Come, kiss me, and be good! Here’s + the gray, ready saddled.” + </p> + <p> + “Orso,” said Colomba, “you mustn’t go alone.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t need anybody,” replied Orso; “and I’ll promise you nobody shall + slit my ear.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I’ll never consent to your going alone, while there is a feud. Here! + Polo Griffo! Gian’ Franco! Memmo! Take your guns; you must go with my + brother.” + </p> + <p> + After a somewhat lively argument, Orso had to give in, and accept an + escort. From the most excited of the herdsmen he chose out those who had + been loudest in their desire to commence hostilities; then, after laying + fresh injunctions on his sister and the men he was leaving behind, he + started, making a detour, this time, so as to avoid the Barricinis’ + dwelling. + </p> + <p> + They were a long way from Pietranera, and were travelling along at a great + pace, when, as they crossed a streamlet that ran into a marsh, Polo Griffo + noticed several porkers wallowing comfortably in the mud, in full + enjoyment at once of the warmth of the sun and the coolness of the water. + Instantly he took aim at the biggest, fired at its head, and shot it dead. + The dead creature’s comrades rose and fled with astonishing swiftness, and + though another herdsman fired at them they reached a thicket and + disappeared into it, safe and sound. + </p> + <p> + “Idiots!” cried Orso. “You’ve been taking pigs for wild boars!” + </p> + <p> + “Not a bit, Ors’ Anton’,” replied Polo Griffo. “But that herd belongs to + the lawyer, and I’ve taught him, now, to mutilate our horses.” + </p> + <p> + “What! you rascal!” shouted Orso, in a perfect fury. “You ape the vile + behaviour of our enemies! Be off, villains! I don’t want you! You’re only + fit to fight with pigs. I swear to God that if you dare follow me I’ll + blow your brains out!” + </p> + <p> + The herdsmen stared at each other, struck quite dumb. Orso spurred his + horse, galloped off, and was soon out of sight. + </p> + <p> + “Well, well!” said Polo Griffo. “Here’s a pretty thing. You devote + yourself to people, and then this is how they treat you. His father, the + colonel, was angry with you long ago, because you levelled your gun at the + lawyer. Great idiot you were, not to shoot. And now here is his son. You + saw what I did for him. And he talks about cracking my skull, just as he + would crack a gourd that lets the wine leak out. That’s what people learn + on the mainland, Memmo!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and if any one finds out it was you who killed that pig there’ll be + a suit against you, and Ors’ Anton’ won’t speak to the judges, nor buy off + the lawyer for you. Luckily nobody saw, and you have Saint Nega to help + you out.” + </p> + <p> + After a hasty conclave, the two herdsmen concluded their wisest plan was + to throw the dead pig into a bog, and this project they carefully + executed, after each had duly carved himself several slices out of the + body of this innocent victim of the feud between the Barricini and the + della Rebbia. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVII + </h2> + <p> + Once rid of his unruly escort, Orso proceeded calmly on his way, far more + absorbed by the prospective pleasure of seeing Miss Nevil than stirred by + any fear of coming across his enemies. + </p> + <p> + “The lawsuit I must bring against these Barricini villains,” he mused, + “will necessitate my going down to Bastia. Why should I not go there with + Miss Nevil? And once at Bastia, why shouldn’t we all go together to the + springs of Orezza?” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly his childish recollections of that picturesque spot rose up + before him. He fancied himself on the verdant lawn that spreads beneath + the ancient chestnut-trees. On the lustrous green sward, studded with blue + flowers like eyes that smiled upon him, he saw Miss Lydia seated at his + side. She had taken off her hat, and her fair hair, softer and finer than + any silk, shone like gold in the sunlight that glinted through the + foliage. Her clear blue eyes looked to him bluer than the sky itself. With + her cheek resting on one hand, she was listening thoughtfully to the words + of love he poured tremblingly into her ear. She wore the muslin gown in + which she had been dressed that last day at Ajaccio. From beneath its + folds peeped out a tiny foot, shod with black satin. Orso told himself + that he would be happy indeed if he might dare to kiss that little foot—but + one of Miss Lydia’s hands was bare and held a daisy. He took the daisy + from her, and Lydia’s hand pressed his, and then he kissed the daisy, and + then he kissed her hand, and yet she did not chide him . . . and all these + thoughts prevented him from paying any attention to the road he was + travelling, and meanwhile he trotted steadily onward. For the second time, + in his fancy, he was about to kiss Miss Nevil’s snow-white hand, when, as + his horse stopped short, he very nearly kissed its head, in stern reality. + Little Chilina had barred his way, and seized his bridle. + </p> + <p> + “Where are you going to, Ors’ Anton’?” she said. “Don’t you know your + enemy is close by?” + </p> + <p> + “My enemy!” cried Orso, furious at being interrupted at such a delightful + moment. “Where is he?” + </p> + <p> + “Orlanduccio is close by, he’s waiting for you! Go back, go back!” + </p> + <p> + “Ho! Ho! So he’s waiting for me! Did you see him?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Ors’ Anton’! I was lying down in the heather when he passed by. He + was looking round everywhere through his glass.” + </p> + <p> + “And which way did he go?” + </p> + <p> + “He went down there. Just where you were going!” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you!” + </p> + <p> + “Ors’ Anton’, hadn’t you better wait for my uncle? He must be here soon—and + with him you would be safe.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t be frightened, Chili. I don’t need your uncle.” + </p> + <p> + “If you would let me, I would go in front of you.” + </p> + <p> + “No, thanks! No, thanks!” + </p> + <p> + And Orso, spurring his horse, rode rapidly in the direction to which the + little girl had pointed. + </p> + <p> + His first impulse had been one of blind fury, and he had told himself that + fortune was offering him an excellent opportunity of punishing the coward + who had avenged the blow he had received by mutilating a horse. But as he + moved onward the thought of his promise to the prefect, and, above all, + his fear of missing Miss Nevil’s visit, altered his feelings, and made him + almost wish he might not come upon Orlanduccio. Soon, however, the memory + of his father, the indignity offered to his own horse, and the threats of + the Barricini, stirred his rage afresh, and incited him to seek his foe, + and to provoke and force him to a fight. Thus tossed by conflicting + feelings, he continued his progress, though now he carefully scrutinized + every thicket and hedge, and sometimes even pulled up his horse to listen + to the vague sounds to be heard in any open country. Ten minutes after he + had left little Chilina (it was then about nine o’clock in the morning) he + found himself on the edge of an exceedingly steep declivity. The road, or + rather the very slight path, which he was following, ran through a <i>maquis</i> + that had been lately burned. The ground was covered with whitish ashes, + and here and there some shrubs, and a few big trees, blackened by the + flames, and entirely stripped of their leaves, still stood erect—though + life had long since departed out of them. The sight of a burned <i>maquis</i> + is enough to make a man fancy he has been transported into midwinter in + some northern clime, and the contrast between the barrenness of the ground + over which the flames have passed, with the luxuriant vegetation round + about it, heightens this appearance of sadness and desolation. But at that + moment the only thing that struck Orso in this particular landscape was + one point—an important one, it is true, in his present + circumstances. The bareness of the ground rendered any kind of ambush + impossible, and the man who has reason to fear that at any moment he may + see a gun-barrel thrust out of a thicket straight at his own chest, looks + on a stretch of smooth ground, with nothing on it to intercept his view, + as a kind of oasis. After this burned <i>maquis</i> came a number of + cultivated fields, inclosed, according to the fashion of that country, + with breast-high walls, built of dry stones. The path ran between these + fields, producing, from a distance, the effect of a thick wood. + </p> + <p> + The steepness of the declivity made it necessary for Orso to dismount. He + was walking quickly down the hill, which was slippery with ashes (he had + thrown the bridle on his horse’s neck), and was hardly five-and-twenty + paces from one of these stone fences, when, just in front of him, on the + right-hand side of the road, he perceived first of all the barrel of a + gun, and then a head, rising over the top of the wall. The gun was + levelled, and he recognised Orlanduccio, just ready to fire. Orso swiftly + prepared for self-defence, and the two men, taking deliberate aim, stared + at each other for several seconds, with that thrill of emotion which the + bravest must feel when he knows he must either deal death or endure it. + </p> + <p> + “Vile coward!” shouted Orso. + </p> + <p> + The words were hardly out of his mouth when he saw the flash of + Orlanduccio’s gun, and almost at the same instant a second shot rang out + on his left from the other side of the path, fired by a man whom he had + not noticed, and who was aiming at him from behind another wall. Both + bullets struck him. The first, Orlanduccio’s, passed through his left arm, + which Orso had turned toward him as he aimed. The second shot struck him + in the chest, and tore his coat, but coming in contact with the blade of + his dagger, it luckily flattened against it, and only inflicted a trifling + bruise. Orso’s left arm fell helpless at his side, and the barrel of his + gun dropped for a moment, but he raised it at once, and aiming his weapon + with his right hand only, he fired at Orlanduccio. His enemy’s head, which + was only exposed to the level of the eyes, disappeared behind the wall. + Then Orso, swinging round to the left, fired the second barrel at a man in + a cloud of smoke whom he could hardly see. This face likewise disappeared. + The four shots had followed each other with incredible swiftness; no + trained soldiers ever fired their volleys in quicker succession. After + Orso’s last shot a great silence fell. The smoke from his weapon rose + slowly up into the sky. There was not a movement, not the slightest sound + from behind the wall. But for the pain in his arm, he could have fancied + the men on whom he had just fired had been phantoms of his own + imagination. + </p> + <p> + Fully expecting a second volley, Orso moved a few steps, to place himself + behind one of the burned trees that still stood upright in the <i>maquis</i>. + Thus sheltered, he put his gun between his knees, and hurriedly reloaded + it. Meanwhile his left arm began to hurt him horribly, and felt as if it + were being dragged down by a huge weight. + </p> + <p> + What had become of his adversaries? He could not understand. If they had + taken to flight, if they had been wounded, he would certainly have heard + some noise, some stir among the leaves. Were they dead, then? Or, what was + far more likely, were they not waiting behind their wall for a chance of + shooting at him again. In his uncertainty, and feeling his strength fast + failing him, he knelt down on his right knee, rested his wounded arm upon + the other, and took advantage of a branch that protruded from the trunk of + the burned tree to support his gun. With his finger on the trigger, his + eye fixed on the wall, and his ear strained to catch the slightest sound, + he knelt there, motionless, for several minutes, which seemed to him a + century. At last, behind him, in the far distance, he heard a faint shout, + and very soon a dog flew like an arrow down the slope, and stopped short, + close to him, wagging its tail. It was Brusco, the comrade and follower of + the bandits—the herald, doubtless, of his master’s approach. Never + was any honest man more impatiently awaited. With his muzzle in the air, + and turned toward the nearest fence, the dog sniffed anxiously. Suddenly + he gave vent to a low growl, sprang at a bound over the wall, and almost + instantly reappeared upon its crest, whence he gazed steadily at Orso with + eyes that spoke surprise as clearly as a dog’s may do it. Then he sniffed + again, this time toward the other inclosure, the wall of which he also + crossed. Within a second he was back on the top of that, with the same air + of astonishment and alarm, and straightway he bounded into the thicket + with his tail between his legs, still gazing at Orso, and retiring from + him slowly, and sideways, until he had put some distance between them. + Then off he started again, tearing up the slope almost as fast as he had + come down it, to meet a man, who, in spite of its steepness, was rapidly + descending. + </p> + <p> + “Help, Brando!” shouted Orso, as soon as he thought he was within hearing. + </p> + <p> + “Hallo! Ors’ Anton’! are you wounded?” inquired Brandolaccio, as he ran up + panting. “Is it in your body or your limbs?” + </p> + <p> + “In the arm.” + </p> + <p> + “The arm—oh, that’s nothing! And the other fellow?” + </p> + <p> + “I think I hit him.” + </p> + <p> + Brandolaccio ran after the dog to the nearest field and leaned over to + look at the other side of the wall, then pulling off his cap— + </p> + <p> + “Signor Orlanduccio, I salute you!” said he, then turning toward Orso, he + bowed to him, also, gravely. + </p> + <p> + “That,” he remarked, “is what I call a man who has been properly done + for.” + </p> + <p> + “Is he still alive?” asked Orso, who could hardly breathe. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! he wouldn’t wish it! he’d be too much vexed about the bullet you put + into his eye! Holy Madonna! What a hole! That’s a good gun, upon my soul! + what a weight! That spatters a man’s brains for you! Hark ye, Ors’ Anton’! + when I heard the first <i>piff, piff</i>, says I to myself: ‘Dash it, + they’re murdering my lieutenant!’ Then I heard <i>boum, boum</i>. ‘Ha, + ha!’ says I, ‘that’s the English gun beginning to talk—he’s firing + back.’ But what on earth do you want with me, Brusco?” + </p> + <p> + The dog guided him to the other field. + </p> + <p> + “Upon my word,” cried Brandolaccio, utterly astonished, “a right and left, + that’s what it is! Deuce take it! Clear enough, powder must be dear, for + you don’t waste it!” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean, for God’s sake?” asked Orso. + </p> + <p> + “Come, sir, don’t try to humbug me; you bring down the dame, and then you + want somebody to pick it up for you. Well! there’s one man who’ll have a + queer dessert to-day, and that’s Lawyer Barricini!—you want + butcher’s meat, do you? Well, here you have it. Now, who the devil will be + the heir?” + </p> + <p> + “What! is Vincentello dead too?” + </p> + <p> + “Dead as mutton. <i>Salute a noi!</i> The good point about you is that you + don’t let them suffer. Just come over and look at Vincentello; he’s + kneeling here with his head against the wall, as if he were asleep. You + may say he sleeps like lead, this time, poor devil.” + </p> + <p> + Orso turned his head in horror. + </p> + <p> + “Are you certain he’s dead?” + </p> + <p> + “You’re like Sampiero Corso, who never had to fire more than once. Look at + it there, in his chest, on the left—just where Vincileone was hit at + Waterloo. I’ll wager that bullet isn’t far from his heart—a right + and left! Ah! I’ll never talk about shooting again. Two with two shots, + and bullets at that! The two brothers! If he’d had a third shot he’d have + killed their papa. Better luck next time. What a shot! Ors’ Anton’! And to + think that an honest poor chap like me will never get the chance of a + right and a left two gendarmes!” + </p> + <p> + As he talked the bandit was scanning Orso’s arm, and splitting up his + sleeve with his dagger. + </p> + <p> + “This is nothing,” said he. “But this coat of yours will give Signorina + Colomba work to do. Ha! what’s this I see? this gash upon your chest? + Nothing went in there, surely? No! you wouldn’t be so brisk as you are! + Come, try to move your finger. Do you feel my teeth when I bite your + little finger? Not very well? Never mind! It won’t be much. Let me take + your handkerchief and your neckcloth. Well, your coat’s spoilt, anyhow! + What the devil did you make yourself so smart for? Were you going to a + wedding? There! drink a drop of wine. Why on earth don’t you carry a + flask? Does any Corsican ever go out without a flask?” + </p> + <p> + Then again he broke off the dressing of the wound to exclaim: + </p> + <p> + “A right and left! Both of them stone dead! How the Padre will laugh! A + right and left! Oh, here’s that little dawdle Chilina at last!” + </p> + <p> + Orso made no reply—he was as pale as death and shaking in every + limb. + </p> + <p> + “Chili!” shouted Brandolaccio, “go and look behind that wall!” + </p> + <p> + The child, using both hands and feet, scrambled onto the wall, and the + moment she caught sight of Orlanduccio’s corpse she crossed herself. + </p> + <p> + “That’s nothing,” proceeded the bandit; “go and look farther on, over + there!” + </p> + <p> + The child crossed herself again. + </p> + <p> + “Was it you, uncle?” she asked timidly. + </p> + <p> + “Me! Don’t you know I’ve turned into a useless old fellow! This, Chili, is + the signor’s work; offer him your compliments.” + </p> + <p> + “The signorina will be greatly rejoiced,” said Chilina, “and she will be + very much grieved to know you are wounded, Ors’ Anton’.” + </p> + <p> + “Now then, Ors’ Anton’,” said the bandit, when he had finished binding up + the wound. “Chilina, here, has caught your horse. You must get on his + back, and come with me to the Stazzona <i>maquis</i>. It would be a sly + fellow who’d lay his hand on you there. When we get to the Cross of Santa + Christina, you’ll have to dismount. You’ll give over your horse to + Chilina, who’ll go off and warn the signorina. You can say anything to the + child, Ors’ Anton’. She would let herself be cut in pieces rather than + betray her friends,” and then, fondly, he turned to the little girl, + “That’s it, you little hussy; a ban on you, a curse on you—you + jade!” For Brandolaccio, who was superstitious, like most bandits, feared + he might cast a spell on a child if he blessed it or praised it, seeing it + is a well-known fact that the mysterious powers that rule the <i>Annocchiatura</i>[*] + have a vile habit of fulfilling our wishes in the very opposite sense to + that we give them. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + [*] <i>Annocchiatura</i>, an involuntary spell cast either by the + eye or by spoken words. +</pre> + <p> + “Where am I to go, Brando?” queried Orso in a faint voice. + </p> + <p> + “Faith! you must choose; either to jail or to the <i>maquis</i>. But no + della Rebbia knows the path that leads him to the jail. To the <i>maquis</i>, + Ors’ Anton’.” + </p> + <p> + “Farewell, then, to all my hopes!” exclaimed the wounded man, sadly. + </p> + <p> + “Your hopes? Deuce take it! Did you hope to do any better with a + double-barrelled gun? How on earth did the fellows contrive to hit you? + The rascals must have been as hard to kill as cats.” + </p> + <p> + “They fired first,” said Orso. + </p> + <p> + “True, true; I’d forgotten that!—<i>piff, piff—boum, boum</i>! + A right and left, and only one hand! If any man can do better, I’ll go + hang myself. Come! now you’re safely mounted! Before we start, just give a + glance at your work. It isn’t civil to leave one’s company without saying + good-bye.” + </p> + <p> + Orso spurred his horse. He would not have looked at the two poor wretches + he had just destroyed, for anything on earth. + </p> + <p> + “Hark ye, Ors’ Anton’,” quoth the bandit, as he caught hold of the horse’s + bridle, “shall I tell you the truth? Well, no offence to you! I’m sorry + for those poor young fellows! You’ll pardon me, I hope; so good-looking, + so strong, so young. Orlanduccio, I’ve shot with him so often! Only four + days ago he gave me a bundle of cigars, and Vincentello—he was + always so cheery. Of course you’ve only done what you had to do, and + indeed the shot was such a splendid one, nobody could regret it. But I, + you see, had nothing to do with your vengeance. I know you’re perfectly in + the right. When one has an enemy one must get rid of him. But the + Barricini were an old family. Here’s another of them wiped out, and by a + right and left too! It’s striking.” + </p> + <p> + As he thus spoke his funeral oration over the Barricini, Brandolaccio + hastily guided Orso, Chilina, and Brusco, the dog, toward the Stazzona <i>maquis</i>. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVIII + </h2> + <p> + Meanwhile, very shortly after Orso’s departure, Colomba’s spies had warned + her that the Barricini were out on the warpath, and from that moment she + was racked by the most intense anxiety. She was to be seen moving hither + and thither all over the house, between the kitchen and the rooms that + were being made ready for her guests, doing nothing, yet always busy, and + constantly stopping to look out of a window for any unusual stir in the + village. Toward eleven o’clock, a somewhat numerous cavalcade rode into + Pietranera. This was the colonel, with his daughter, their servants, and + their guide. Colomba’s first word, as she welcomed them, was “Have you + seen my brother?” Then she questioned the guide as to the road they had + taken, and the hour of their departure, and having heard his answers, she + could not understand why they had not met him. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps,” said the guide, “your brother took the higher path; we came by + the lower one.” + </p> + <p> + But Colomba only shook her head and asked more questions. In spite of her + natural firmness of character, increased as it was by her proud desire to + conceal any sign of weakness before strangers, she could not hide her + anxiety, and as soon as she had informed them of the attempted + reconciliation, and of its unfortunate issue, this was shared by the + colonel and Miss Lydia. Miss Nevil became very uneasy, and wanted to have + messengers sent off in every direction, and her father offered to remount + at once and set out with the guide in search of Orso. Her guests’ alarm + recalled Colomba to a sense of her duties as a hostess. She strove to + force a smile as she pressed the colonel to come to table, and suggested + twenty plausible reasons, which she herself demolished within an instant, + to account for her brother’s delay. The colonel, feeling it to be his + duty, as a man, to reassure the ladies, put forward his own explanation. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll wager,” he said, “that della Rebbia has come across some game or + other. He has not been able to stand out against that temptation, and we + shall soon see him come in with a heavy bag. ‘Pon my soul,” he went on, + “we did hear four shots fired on the road. Two of them were louder than + the others, and I said to my girl, ‘I’ll bet anything that’s della Rebbia + out shooting! My gun is the only one that would make that noise.’” + </p> + <p> + Colomba turned pale, and Lydia, who was watching her closely, had no + difficulty in guessing the suspicions with which the colonel’s conjecture + had inspired her. After a few minutes’ silence, Colomba eagerly inquired + whether the two louder reports had been heard before or after the others. + But neither the colonel, his daughter, nor the guide had paid much + attention to this all-important detail. + </p> + <p> + Toward one o’clock, as none of Colomba’s messengers had yet returned, she + gathered all her courage, and insisted that her guests should sit down to + table with her. But, except the colonel, none of them could eat. At the + slightest sound in the square, Colomba ran to the window. Then drearily + she returned to her place, and struggled yet more drearily to carry on a + trivial conversation, to which nobody paid the slightest attention, and + which was broken by long intervals of silence. All at once they heard a + horse’s gallop. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! That must be my brother at last!” said Colomba, rising from her + chair. But when she saw Chilina astride on Orso’s horse—“My brother + is dead!” she cried, in a heart-rending voice. + </p> + <p> + The colonel dropped his glass. Miss Lydia screamed. They all rushed to the + door of the house. Before Chilina could jump off her steed, she was + snatched up like a feather by Colomba, who held her so tight that she + almost choked her. The child understood her agonized look, and her first + words were those of the chorus in Othello: “He lives!” Colomba’s grasp + relaxed, and nimbly as a kitten Chilina dropped upon the ground. + </p> + <p> + “The others?” queried Colomba hoarsely. Chilina crossed herself with her + first and middle finger. A deep flush instantly replaced the deadly pallor + of Colomba’s face. She cast one fierce look at the Barricini dwelling, and + then, with a smile, she turned to her guests. + </p> + <p> + “Let us go in and drink our coffee,” she said. + </p> + <p> + The story the bandit’s Iris had to tell was a long one. Her narrative, + translated literally into Italian by Colomba, and then into English by + Miss Nevil, wrung more than one oath from the colonel, more than one sigh + from the fair Lydia. But Colomba heard it all unmoved. Only she twisted + her damask napkin till it seemed as if she must tear it in pieces. She + interrupted the child, five or six times over, to make her repeat again + that Brandolaccio had said the wound was not dangerous, and that he had + seen many worse. When she had finished her tale, Chilina announced that + Orso earnestly begged he might be sent writing materials, and that he + desired his sister would beseech a lady who might be staying in his house + not to depart from it, until she had received a letter from him. + </p> + <p> + “That is what was worrying him most,” the child added; “and even after I + had started he called me back, to bid me not forget the message. It was + the third time he had given it to me.” When Colomba heard of her brother’s + injunction she smiled faintly, and squeezed the fair Englishwoman’s hand. + That young lady burst into tears, and did not seem to think it advisable + to translate that particular part of the story to her father. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my dear,” cried Colomba, kissing Miss Nevil. “You shall stay with + me, and you shall help us.” + </p> + <p> + Then, taking a pile of old linen out of a cupboard, she began to cut it + up, to make lint and bandages. Any one who saw her flashing eyes, her + heightened colour, her alternate fits of anxiety and composure, would have + found it hard to say whether distress at her brother’s wound, or delight + at the extinction of her foes, were most affecting her. One moment she was + pouring out the colonel’s coffee, and telling him how well she made it, + the next she was setting Miss Lydia and Chilina to work, exhorting them to + sew bandages, and roll them up. Then, for the twentieth time, she would + ask whether Orso’s wound was very painful. She constantly broke off her + own work to exclaim to the colonel: + </p> + <p> + “Two such cunning men, such dangerous fellows! And he alone, wounded, with + only one arm! He killed the two of them! What courage, colonel! Isn’t he a + hero? Ah, Miss Nevil! How good it is to live in a peaceful country like + yours! I’m sure you did not really know my brother till now! I said it—‘The + falcon will spread his wings!’ You were deceived by his gentle look! + That’s because with you, Miss Nevil—Ah! if he could see you working + for him now! My poor Orso!” + </p> + <p> + Miss Lydia was doing hardly any work, and could not find a single word to + say. Her father kept asking why nobody went to lay a complaint before a + magistrate. He talked about a coroner’s inquest, and all sorts of other + proceedings quite unknown to Corsican economy. And then he begged to be + told whether the country house owned by that worthy Signor Brandolaccio, + who had brought succour to the wounded man, was very far away from + Pietranera, and whether he could not go there himself, to see his friend. + </p> + <p> + And Colomba replied, with her usual composure, that Orso was in the <i>maquis</i>; + that he was being taken care of by a bandit; that it would be a great risk + for him to show himself until he was sure of the line the prefect and the + judges were likely to take; and, finally, that she would manage to have + him secretly attended by a skilful surgeon. + </p> + <p> + “Above all things, colonel,” she added, “remember that you heard the four + shots, and that you told me Orso fired last.” + </p> + <p> + The colonel could make neither head nor tail of the business, and his + daughter did nothing but heave sighs and dry her eyes. + </p> + <p> + The day was far advanced, when a gloomy procession wended its way into the + village. The bodies of his two sons were brought home to Lawyer Barricini, + each corpse thrown across a mule, which was led by a peasant. A crowd of + dependents and idlers followed the dreary <i>cortege</i>. With it appeared + the gendarmes, who always came in too late, and the deputy-mayor, throwing + up his hands, and incessantly repeating, “What will Signor Prefetto say!” + Some of the women, among them Orlanduccio’s foster-mother, were tearing + their hair and shrieking wildly. But their clamorous grief was less + impressive than the dumb despair of one man, on whom all eyes were fixed. + This was the wretched father, who passed from one corpse to the other, + lifting up the earth-soiled heads, kissing the blackened lips, supporting + the limbs that were stiff already, as if he would save them from the + jolting of the road. Now and then he opened his mouth as though about to + speak, but not a cry came, not a word. His eyes never left the dead + bodies, and as he walked, he knocked himself against the stones, against + the trees, against every obstacle that chanced to lie in his path. + </p> + <p> + The women’s lamentations grew louder, and the men’s curses deeper, when + Orso’s house appeared in sight. When some shepherds of the della Rebbia + party ventured on a triumphant shout, their enemy’s indignation became + ungovernable. “Vengeance! Vengeance!” exclaimed several voices. Stones + were thrown, and two shots, fired at the windows of the room in which + Colomba and her guests were sitting, pierced the outside shutters, and + carried splinters of wood on to the table at which the two ladies were + working. Miss Lydia screamed violently, the colonel snatched up a gun, and + Colomba, before he could stop her, rushed to the door of the house and + threw it violently open. There, standing high on the threshold, with her + two hands outstretched to curse her enemies: + </p> + <p> + “Cowards!” she cried. “You fire on women and on foreigners! Are you + Corsicans? Are you men? Wretches, who can only murder a man from behind. + Come on! I defy you! I am alone! My brother is far away! Come! kill me, + kill my guests! It would be worthy of you! . . . But you dare not, cowards + that you are! You know we avenge our wrongs! Away with you! Go, weep like + women, and be thankful we do not ask you for more blood!” + </p> + <p> + There was something terrible and imposing in Colomba’s voice and mien. At + the sight of her the crowd recoiled as though it beheld one of those evil + fairies of which so many tales are told on long winter evenings, in + Corsica. The deputy-mayor, the gendarmes, and a few women seized the + opportunity, and threw themselves between the two factions; for the della + Rebbia herdsmen were already loading their guns, and for a moment a + general fight in the middle of the square had appeared imminent. But the + two parties were both leaderless, and Corsicans, whose rage is always + subject to discipline, seldom come to blows unless the chief authors of + their internecine quarrels are present. Besides, Colomba, who had learned + prudence from victory, restrained her little garrison. + </p> + <p> + “Let the poor folks weep in peace,” she said. “Let the old man carry his + own flesh home. What is the good of killing an old fox who has no teeth + left to bite with, . . . Giudice Barricini! Remember the 2d of August! + Remember the blood-stained pocket-book in which you wrote with your + forger’s hand! My father had written down your debt! Your sons have paid + it. You may go free, old Barricini!” + </p> + <p> + With folded arms and a scornful smile upon her lips, Colomba watched the + bearers carry the corpses of her enemies into their home, and the crowd + without it melt gradually away. Then she closed her own door, and, going + back into the dining-room, she said to the colonel: + </p> + <p> + “I beg, sir, you will forgive my fellow-countrymen! I never could have + believed that any Corsican would have fired on a house that sheltered + strangers, and I am ashamed of my country.” + </p> + <p> + That night, when Miss Lydia had gone up to her room, the colonel followed + her, and inquired whether they had not better get out of a village where + they ran incessant risk of having a bullet through their heads, the very + next morning, and leave this country, seething with treachery and murder, + as soon as possible. + </p> + <p> + Miss Nevil did not answer for some time, and her father’s suggestion + evidently caused her considerable perplexity. At last she said: + </p> + <p> + “How can we leave this poor young creature, just when she is so much in + need of consolation? Don’t you think that would be cruel, father?” + </p> + <p> + “I only spoke on your account, child,” said the colonel. “And I assure you + that if I once felt you were safe in the hotel at Ajaccio, I should be + very sorry to leave this cursed island myself, without shaking that plucky + fellow della Rebbia’s hand again.” + </p> + <p> + “Well then, father, let us wait a while, and before we start let us make + quite sure we can not be of any use to them.” + </p> + <p> + “Kind soul!” said the colonel, as he kissed his daughter’s forehead. “It + is a pleasure to see you sacrifice yourself for the sake of softening + other people’s suffering. Let us stay on. We shall never have to repent + having done right.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Lydia tossed sleeplessly to and fro in her bed. Sometimes she took + the vague night sounds for preparations for an attack on the house. + Sometimes, less alarmed on her own account, she thought of poor wounded + Orso, who was probably lying on the cold earth, with no help beyond what + she might expect from a bandit’s charity. She fancied him covered with + blood, and writhing in hideous suffering; and the extraordinary thing was + that whenever Orso’s image rose up before her mind’s eye, she always + beheld him as she had seen him when he rode away, pressing the talisman + she had bestowed upon him to his lips. Then she mused over his courage. + She told herself he had exposed himself to the frightful danger he had + just escaped on her account, just for the sake of seeing her a little + sooner. A very little more, and she would have persuaded herself that Orso + had earned his broken arm in her defence! She reproached herself with + being the cause of his wound. But she admired him for it all the more, and + if that celebrated right and left was not so splendid a feat in her sight + as in Brandolaccio’s or Colomba’s, still she was convinced few heroes of + romance could ever had behaved with such intrepidity and coolness, in so + dangerous a pinch. + </p> + <p> + Her room was that usually occupied by Colomba. Above a kind of oaken <i>prie-dieu</i>, + and beside a sprig of blessed palm, a little miniature of Orso, in his + sub-lieutenant’s uniform, hung on the wall. Miss Nevil took the portrait + down, looked at it for a long time, and laid it at last on the table by + her bed, instead of hanging it up again in its place. She did not fall + asleep till daybreak, and when she woke the sun had travelled high above + the horizon. In front of her bed she beheld Colomba, waiting, motionless, + till she should open her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Well, dear lady, are you not very uncomfortable in this poor house of + ours?” said Colomba to her. “I fear you have hardly slept at all.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you any news, dear friend?” cried Miss Nevil, sitting up in bed. + </p> + <p> + Her eye fell on Orso’s picture, and she hastily tossed her handkerchief + upon it. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I have news,” said Colomba, with a smile. + </p> + <p> + Then she took up the picture. + </p> + <p> + “Do you think it like him? He is better looking than that!” + </p> + <p> + “Really,” stammered Miss Nevil, quite confused, “I took down that picture + in a fit of absence! I have a horrid habit of touching everything and + never putting anything back! How is your brother?” + </p> + <p> + “Fairly well. Giocanto came here before four o’clock this morning. He + brought me a letter for you, Miss Lydia. Orso hasn’t written anything to + me! It is addressed to Colomba, indeed, but underneath that he has written + ‘For Miss N.’ But sisters are never jealous! Giocanto says it hurt him + dreadfully to write. Giocanto, who writes a splendid hand, offered to do + it at his dictation. But he would not let him. He wrote it with a pencil, + lying on his back. Brandolaccio held the paper for him. My brother kept + trying to raise himself, and then the very slightest movement gave him the + most dreadful agony in his arm. Giocanto says it was pitiful. Here is his + letter.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Nevil read the letter, which, as an extra precaution, no doubt, was + written in English. Its contents were as follows: + </p> + <p> + “MADEMOISELLE: An unhappy fate has driven me on. I know not what my + enemies will say, what slanders they will invent. I care little, so long + as you, mademoiselle, give them no credence! Ever since I first saw you I + have been nursing wild dreams. I needed this catastrophe to show me my own + folly. + </p> + <p> + “I have come back to my senses now. I know the future that lies before me, + and I shall face it with resignation. I dare not keep this ring you gave + me, and which I believed to be a lucky talisman. I fear, Miss Nevil, you + may regret your gift has been so ill-bestowed. Or rather, I fear it may + remind me of the days of my own madness. Colomba will give it to you. + Farewell, mademoiselle! You are about to leave Corsica, and I shall never + see you again. But tell my sister, at least, that I still possess your + esteem—and I tell you, confidently, that I am still worthy of it. + </p> + <p> + “O.D.R.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Lydia had turned away while she read the letter, and Colomba, who was + watching her closely, gave her the Egyptian ring, with an inquiring glance + as to what it all meant. But Miss Lydia dared not raise her head, and + looked dejectedly at the ring, alternately putting it on her finger and + pulling it off again. + </p> + <p> + “Dear Miss Nevil,” said Colomba, “may I not know what my brother says to + you? Does he say anything about his health?” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed,” said Miss Lydia, colouring, “he doesn’t mention it. His letter + is in English. He desires me to tell my father—He hopes the prefect + will be able to arrange——” + </p> + <p> + With a mischievous smile, Colomba sat down on the bed, took hold of both + Miss Nevil’s hands, and, looking at her with her piercing eyes— + </p> + <p> + “Will you be kind?” she said. “Won’t you answer my brother’s letter? You + would do him so much good! For a moment I thought of waking you when his + letter came, and then I didn’t dare!” + </p> + <p> + “You did very wrong,” replied Miss Nevil. “If a word from me could—” + </p> + <p> + “I can’t send him any letter now. The prefect has arrived, and Pietranera + is full of his policemen. Later on, we’ll see what we can do. Oh, Miss + Nevil, if you only knew my brother, you would love him as dearly as I do. + He’s so good! He’s so brave! Just think of what he has done! One man + against two, and wounded as well!” + </p> + <p> + The prefect had returned. Warned by an express messenger sent by the + deputy-mayor, he had brought over the public prosecutor, the registrar, + and all their myrmidons, to investigate the fresh and terrible catastrophe + which had just complicated, or it may be ended, the warfare between the + chief families of Pietranera. Shortly after his arrival, he saw the + colonel and his daughter, and did not conceal his fear that the business + might take on an ugly aspect. + </p> + <p> + “You know,” he said, “that the fight took place without witnesses, and the + reputation of these two unhappy men stood so high, both for bravery and + cunning, that nobody will believe Signor della Rebbia can have killed them + without the help of the bandits with whom he is now supposed to have taken + refuge.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s not possible,” said the colonel. “Orso della Rebbia is a most + honourable fellow. I’ll stake my life on that.” + </p> + <p> + “I believe you,” said the prefect. “But the public prosecutor (those + gentry always are suspicious) does not strike me as being particularly + well disposed toward him. He holds one bit of evidence which goes rather + against our friend—a threatening letter to Orlanduccio, in which he + suggests a meeting, and is inclined to think that meeting was a trap.” + </p> + <p> + “That fellow Orlanduccio refused to fight it out like a gentleman.” + </p> + <p> + “That is not the custom here. In this country, people lie in ambush, and + kill each other from behind. There is one deposition in his favour—that + of a child, who declares she heard four reports, two of which were louder + than the others, and produced by a heavy weapon, such as Signor della + Rebbia’s gun. Unluckily, the child is the niece of one of the bandits + suspected of being his accomplices, and has probably been taught her + lesson.” + </p> + <p> + “Sir,” broke in Miss Lydia, reddening to the roots of her hair, “we were + on the road when those shots were fired, and we heard the same thing.” + </p> + <p> + “Really? That’s most important! And you, colonel, no doubt you remarked + the very same thing?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” responded Miss Lydia quickly. “It was my father, who is so + accustomed to firearms, who said to me, ‘There’s Signor della Rebbia + shooting with my gun!’” + </p> + <p> + “And you are sure those shots you recognised were the last?” + </p> + <p> + “The two last, weren’t they, papa?” + </p> + <p> + Memory was not the colonel’s strong point, but as a standing rule, he knew + better than to contradict his daughter. + </p> + <p> + “I must mention this to the public prosecutor at once, colonel. And + besides, we expect a surgeon this evening, who will make an examination of + the two bodies, and find out whether the wounds were caused by that + particular weapon.” + </p> + <p> + “I gave it to Orso,” said the colonel, “and I wish I knew it was at the + bottom of the sea. At least——Plucky boy! I’m heartily glad he + had it with him, for I don’t quite know how he would have got off if it + hadn’t been for my Manton.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIX + </h2> + <p> + It was rather late when the surgeon put in an appearance. On his road up + he had met with an adventure of his own. He had been stopped by Giocanto + Castriconi, who, with the most scrupulous politeness, called on him to + come and attend a wounded man. He had been conducted to Orso’s retreat, + and had applied the first dressings to his wound. The bandit had then + accompanied the doctor some distance on his way, and had greatly edified + him by his talk concerning the most celebrated professors at Pisa, whom he + described as his intimate friends. + </p> + <p> + “Doctor,” said the theologian, as they parted, “you have inspired me with + such a feeling of respect that I think it hardly necessary to remind you + that a physician should be as discreet as a confessor.” And as he said the + words he clicked the trigger of his gun. “You have quite forgotten the + spot at which we have had the honour of meeting. Fare you well! I’m + delighted to have made your acquaintance.” + </p> + <p> + Colomba besought the colonel to be present at the post-mortem examination. + </p> + <p> + “You know my brother’s gun better than anybody,” she said, “and your + presence will be most valuable. Besides there are so many wicked people + here that we should run a great risk if there were nobody present to + protect our interests.” + </p> + <p> + When she was left alone with Miss Lydia, she complained that her head + ached terribly, and proposed that they should take a walk just outside the + village. + </p> + <p> + “The fresh air will do me good,” she said. “It is so long since I’ve been + out of doors.” + </p> + <p> + As they walked along she talked about her brother, and Miss Lydia, who + found the subject tolerably interesting, did not notice that they had + travelled a long way from Pietranera. The sun was setting when she became + aware of this fact, and she begged Colomba to return. Colomba said she + knew a cross-cut which would greatly shorten the walk back, and turning + out of the path, she took another, which seemed much less frequented. Soon + she began to climb a hill, so steep that to keep her balance she was + continually obliged to catch hold of branches with one hand, while she + pulled her companion up after her with the other. After about twenty + minutes of this trying ascent, they found themselves on a small plateau, + clothed with arbutus and myrtle, growing round great granite boulders that + jutted above the soil in every direction. Miss Lydia was very tired, there + was no sign of the village, and it was almost quite dark. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know, Colomba, my dear,” she said, “I’m afraid we’ve lost our + way!” + </p> + <p> + “No fear!” answered Colomba. “Let us get on. You follow me.” + </p> + <p> + “But I assure you we’re going wrong. The village can’t be over there. I’m + certain we’re turning our backs on it. Why, look at those lights, far + away. Pietranera must be in that direction.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear soul,” said Colomba, and she looked very much agitated, “you’re + perfectly right. But in the <i>maquis</i>—less than a hundred yards + from here—” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “My brother is lying. If you choose, I might see him, and give him one + kiss.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Nevil made a gesture of astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “I got out of Pietranera without being noticed,” continued Colomba, + “because I was with you, otherwise I should have been followed. To be so + close to him, and not to see him! Why shouldn’t you come with me to see my + poor brother? You would make him so happy!” + </p> + <p> + “But, Colomba—That wouldn’t be at all proper on my part——” + </p> + <p> + “I see. With you women who live in towns, your great anxiety is to be + proper. We village women only think of what is kind.” + </p> + <p> + “But it’s so late! And then what will your brother think of me?” + </p> + <p> + “He’ll think his friends have not forsaken him, and that will give him + courage to bear his sufferings.” + </p> + <p> + “And my father? He’ll be so anxious!” + </p> + <p> + “He knows you are with me. Come! Make up your mind. You were looking at + his picture this morning,” she added, with a sly smile. + </p> + <p> + “No! Really and truly, I don’t dare, Colomba! Think of the bandits who are + there.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, what matter? The bandits don’t know you. And you were longing to + see some.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, dear!” + </p> + <p> + “Come, signorina, settle something. I can’t leave you alone here. I don’t + know what might happen to you. Let us go on to see Orso, or else let us go + back to the village together. I shall see my brother again. God knows when—never, + perhaps!” + </p> + <p> + “What’s that you are saying, Colomba? Well, well, let us go! But only for + a minute, and then we’ll get home at once.” + </p> + <p> + Colomba squeezed her hand, and without making any reply walked on so + quickly that Miss Lydia could hardly keep up with her. She soon halted, + luckily, and said to her companion: + </p> + <p> + “We won’t go any farther without warning them. We might have a bullet + flying at our heads.” + </p> + <p> + She began to whistle through her fingers. Soon they heard a dog bark, and + the bandits’ advanced sentry shortly came in sight. This was our old + acquaintance Brusco, who recognised Colomba at once and undertook to be + her guide. After many windings through the narrow paths in the <i>maquis</i> + they were met by two men, armed to the teeth. + </p> + <p> + “Is that you, Brandolaccio?” inquired Colomba. “Where is my brother?” + </p> + <p> + “Just over there,” replied the bandit. “But go quietly. He’s asleep, and + for the first time since his accident. Zounds, it’s clear that where the + devil gets through, a woman will get through too!” + </p> + <p> + The two girls moved forward cautiously, and beside a fire, the blaze of + which was carefully concealed by a little wall of stones built round it, + they beheld Orso, lying on a pile of heather, and covered with a <i>pilone</i>. + He was very pale, and they could hear his laboured breathing. Colomba sat + down near him, and gazed at him silently, with her hands clasped, as + though she were praying in her heart. Miss Lydia hid her face in her + handkerchief, and nestled close against her friend, but every now and then + she lifted her head to take a look at the wounded man over Colomba’s + shoulder. Thus a quarter of an hour passed by without a word being said by + anybody. At a sign from the theologian, Brandolaccio had plunged with him + into the <i>maquis</i>, to the great relief of Miss Lydia, who for the + first time fancied the local colour of the bandits’ wild beards and + warlike equipment was a trifle too strong. + </p> + <p> + At last Orso stirred. Instantly, Colomba bent over him, and kissed him + again and again, pouring out questions anent his wound, his suffering, and + his needs. After having answered that he was doing as well as possible, + Orso inquired, in his turn, whether Miss Nevil was still at Pietranera, + and whether she had written to him. Colomba, bending over her brother, + completely hid her companion from his sight, and indeed the darkness would + have made any recognition difficult. She was holding one of Miss Nevil’s + hands. With the other she slightly raised her wounded brother’s head. + </p> + <p> + “No, brother,” she replied. “She did not give me any letter for you. But + are you still thinking about Miss Nevil? You must love her very much!” + </p> + <p> + “Love her, Colomba!—But—but now she may despise me!” + </p> + <p> + At this point Miss Nevil made a struggle to withdraw her fingers. But it + was no easy matter to get Colomba to slacken her grasp. Small and + well-shaped though her hand was, it possessed a strength of which we have + already noticed certain proofs. + </p> + <p> + “Despise you!” cried Colomba. “After what you’ve done? No, indeed! She + praises you! Oh, Orso, I could tell you so many things about her!” + </p> + <p> + Lydia’s hand was still struggling for its freedom, but Colomba kept + drawing it closer to Orso. + </p> + <p> + “But after all,” said the wounded man, “why didn’t she answer me? If she + had sent me a single line, I should have been happy.” + </p> + <p> + By dint of pulling at Miss Nevil’s hand, Colomba contrived at last to put + it into her brother’s. Then, moving suddenly aside, she burst out + laughing. + </p> + <p> + “Orso,” she cried, “mind you don’t speak evil of Miss Lydia—she + understands Corsican quite well.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Lydia took back her hand at once and stammered some unintelligible + words. Orso thought he must be dreaming. + </p> + <p> + “You here, Miss Nevil? Good heavens! how did you dare? Oh, how happy you + have made me!” + </p> + <p> + And raising himself painfully, he strove to get closer to her. + </p> + <p> + “I came with your sister,” said Miss Lydia, “so that nobody might suspect + where she was going. And then I—I wanted to make sure for myself. + Alas! how uncomfortable you are here!” + </p> + <p> + Colomba had seated herself behind Orso. She raised him carefully so that + his head might rest on her lap. She put her arms round his neck and signed + to Miss Lydia to come near him. + </p> + <p> + “Closer! closer!” she said. “A sick man mustn’t talk too loud.” And when + Miss Lydia hesitated, she caught her hand and forced her to sit down so + close to Orso that her dress touched him, and her hand, still in Colomba’s + grasp, lay on the wounded man’s shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Now he’s very comfortable!” said Colomba cheerily. “Isn’t it good to lie + out in the <i>maquis</i> on such a lovely night? Eh, Orso?” + </p> + <p> + “How you must be suffering!” exclaimed Miss Lydia. + </p> + <p> + “My suffering is all gone now,” said Orso, “and I should like to die + here!” And his right hand crept up toward Miss Lydia’s, which Colomba + still held captive. + </p> + <p> + “You really must be taken to some place where you can be properly cared + for, Signor della Rebbia,” said Miss Nevil. “I shall never be able to + sleep in my bed, now that I have seen you lying here, so uncomfortable, in + the open air.” + </p> + <p> + “If I had not been afraid of meeting you, Miss Nevil, I should have tried + to get back to Pietranera, and I should have given myself up to the + authorities.” + </p> + <p> + “And why were you afraid of meeting her, Orso?” inquired Colomba. + </p> + <p> + “I had disobeyed you, Miss Nevil, and I should not have dared to look at + you just then.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you know you make my brother do everything you choose, Miss Lydia?” + said Colomba, laughing. “I won’t let you see him any more.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope this unlucky business will soon be cleared up, and that you will + have nothing more to fear,” said Miss Nevil. “I shall be so happy, when we + go away, to know justice has been done you, and that both your loyalty and + your bravery have been acknowledged.” + </p> + <p> + “Going away, Miss Nevil! Don’t say that word yet!” + </p> + <p> + “What are we to do? My father can not spend his whole life shooting. He + wants to go.” + </p> + <p> + Orso’s hand, which had been touching Miss Lydia’s, dropped away, and there + was silence for a moment. + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense!” said Colomba. “We won’t let you go yet. We have plenty of + things to show you still at Pietranera. Besides, you have promised to + paint my picture, and you haven’t even begun it so far. And then I’ve + promised to compose you a <i>serenata</i>, with seventy-five verses. And + then—but what can Brusco be growling about? And here’s Brandolaccio + running after him. I must go and see what’s amiss.” + </p> + <p> + She rose at once, and laying Orso’s head, without further ceremony, on + Miss Lydia’s lap, she ran after the bandits. + </p> + <p> + Miss Nevil, somewhat startled at finding herself thus left in sole charge + of a handsome young Corsican gentleman in the middle of a <i>maquis</i>, + was rather puzzled what to do next. + </p> + <p> + For she was afraid that any sudden movement on her part might hurt the + wounded man. But Orso himself resigned the exquisite pillow on which his + sister had just laid his head, and raising himself on his right arm, he + said: + </p> + <p> + “So you will soon be gone, Miss Lydia? I never expected your stay in this + unhappy country would have been a long one. And yet since you have come to + me here, the thought that I must bid you farewell has grown a hundred + times more bitter to me. I am only a poor lieutenant. I had no future—and + now I am an outlaw. What a moment in which to tell you that I love you, + Miss Lydia! But no doubt this is my only chance of saying it. And I think + I feel less wretched now I have unburdened my heart to you.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Lydia turned away her head, as if the darkness were not dark enough + to hide her blushes. + </p> + <p> + “Signor della Rebbia,” she said, and her voice shook, “should I have come + here at all if——” and as she spoke she laid the Egyptian + talisman in Orso’s hand. Then, with a mighty effort to recover her usual + bantering tone—“It’s very wrong of you, Signor Orso, to say such + things! You know very well that here, in the middle of the <i>maquis</i>, + and with your bandits all about me, I should never dare to be angry with + you.” + </p> + <p> + Orso made an attempt to kiss the hand that held out the talisman. Miss + Lydia drew it quickly back; he lost his balance, and fell on his wounded + arm. He could not stifle a moan of pain. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, dear, you’ve hurt yourself, and it was my fault!” she cried, as she + raised him up. “Forgive me!” They talked for some time longer, very low, + and very close together. + </p> + <p> + Colomba, running hastily up, found them in the very same position in which + she had left them. + </p> + <p> + “The soldiers!” she cried. “Orso! try to get up and walk! I’ll help you!” + </p> + <p> + “Leave me!” said Orso. “Tell the bandits to escape. What do I care if I am + taken? But take away Miss Lydia. For God’s sake, don’t let anybody see her + here!” + </p> + <p> + “I won’t leave you,” said Brandolaccio, who had come up on Colomba’s + heels. + </p> + <p> + “The sergeant in charge is the lawyer’s godson. He’ll shoot you instead of + arresting you, and then he’ll say he didn’t do it on purpose.” + </p> + <p> + Orso tried to rise; he even took a few steps. But he soon halted. “I can’t + walk,” he said. “Fly, all of you! Good-bye, Miss Nevil! Give me your hand! + Farewell!” + </p> + <p> + “We won’t leave you!” cried the two girls. + </p> + <p> + “If you can’t walk,” said Brandolaccio, “I must carry you. Come, sir, a + little courage! We shall have time to slip away by the ravine. The Signor + Padre will keep them busy.” + </p> + <p> + “No, leave me!” said Orso, lying down on the ground. “Colomba, take Miss + Nevil away!—for God’s sake!” + </p> + <p> + “You’re strong, Signorina Colomba,” said Brandolaccio. “Catch hold of his + shoulders; I’ll take his feet. That’s it! Now, then march!” + </p> + <p> + In spite of his protests, they began to carry him rapidly along. Miss + Lydia was following them, in a terrible fright, when a gun was fired, and + five or six other reports instantly responded. Miss Lydia screamed and + Brandolaccio swore an oath, but he doubled his pace, and Colomba, + imitating him, tore through the thicket without paying the slightest heed + to the branches that slashed her face and tore her dress. + </p> + <p> + “Bend down, bend down, dear!” she called out to her companion. “You may be + hit by some stray bullet!” + </p> + <p> + They had walked, or rather run, some five hundred paces in this fashion + when Brandolaccio vowed he could go no further, and dropped on the ground, + regardless of all Colomba’s exhortations and reproaches. + </p> + <p> + “Where is Miss Nevil?” was Orso’s one inquiry. + </p> + <p> + Terrified by the firing, checked at every step by the thick growth of the + <i>maquis</i>, Miss Nevil had soon lost sight of the fugitives, and been + left all alone in a state of the most cruel alarm. + </p> + <p> + “She has been left behind,” said Brandolaccio, “but she’ll not be lost—women + always turn up again. Do listen to the row the Padre is making with your + gun, Ors’ Anton’! Unluckily, it’s as black as pitch, and nobody takes much + harm from being shot at in the dark.” + </p> + <p> + “Hush!” cried Colomba. “I hear a horse. We’re saved!” + </p> + <p> + Startled by the firing, a horse which had been wandering through the <i>maquis</i>, + was really coming close up to them. + </p> + <p> + “Saved, indeed!” repeated Brandolaccio. It did not take the bandit more + than an instant to rush up to the creature, catch hold of his mane, and + with Colomba’s assistance, bridle him with a bit of knotted rope. + </p> + <p> + “Now we must warn the Padre,” he said. He whistled twice; another distant + whistle answered the signal, and the loud voice of the Manton gun was + hushed. Then Brandolaccio sprang on the horse’s back. Colomba lifted her + brother up in front of the bandit, who held him close with one hand and + managed his bridle with the other. + </p> + <p> + In spite of the double load, the animal, urged by a brace of hearty kicks, + started off nimbly, and galloped headlong down a steep declivity on which + anything but a Corsican steed would have broken its neck a dozen times. + </p> + <p> + Then Colomba retraced her steps, calling Miss Nevil at the top of her + voice; but no answering cry was heard. + </p> + <p> + After walking hither and thither for some time, trying to recover the + path, she stumbled on two riflemen, who shouted, “Who goes there?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, gentlemen,” cried Colomba jeeringly, “here’s a pretty racket! How + many of you are killed?” + </p> + <p> + “You were with the bandits!” said one of the soldiers. “You must come with + us.” + </p> + <p> + “With pleasure!” she replied. “But there’s a friend of mine somewhere + close by, and we must find her first.” + </p> + <p> + “You friend is caught already, and both of you will sleep in jail + to-night!” + </p> + <p> + “In jail, you say? Well, that remains to be seen. But take me to her, + meanwhile.” + </p> + <p> + The soldiers led her to the bandits’ camp, where they had collected the + trophies of their raid—to wit, the cloak which had covered Orso, an + old cooking-pot, and a pitcher of cold water. On the same spot she found + Miss Nevil, who had fallen among the soldiers, and, being half dead with + terror, did nothing but sob in answer to their questions as to the number + of the bandits, and the direction in which they had gone. + </p> + <p> + Colomba threw herself into her arms and whispered in her ear, “They are + safe!” Then, turning to the sergeant, she said: “Sir, you can see this + young lady knows none of the things you are trying to find out from her. + Give us leave to go back to the village, where we are anxiously expected.” + </p> + <p> + “You’ll be taken there, and faster than you like, my beauty,” rejoined the + sergeant. “And you’ll have to explain what you were after at this time of + night with the ruffians who have just got away. I don’t know what + witchcraft those villains practise, but they certainly do bewitch the + women—for wherever there are bandits about, you are dead certain to + find pretty girls.” + </p> + <p> + “You’re very flattering, sergeant!” said Colomba, “but you’ll do well to + be careful what you say. This young lady is related to the prefect, and + you’d better be careful of your language before her.” + </p> + <p> + “A relation of the prefect’s,” whispered one of the soldiers to his chief. + “Why, she does wear a hat!” + </p> + <p> + “Hats have nothing to do with it,” said the sergeant. “They were both of + them with the Padre—the greatest woman-wheedler in the whole + country, so it’s my business to march them off. And, indeed, there’s + nothing more for us to do here. But for that d——d Corporal + Taupin—the drunken Frenchman showed himself before I’d surrounded + the <i>maquis</i>—we should have had them all like fish in a net.” + </p> + <p> + “Are there only seven of you here?” inquired Colomba. “It strikes me, + gentlemen, that if the three Poli brothers—Gambini, Sarocchi, and + Teodoro—should happen to be at the Cross of Santa Christina, with + Brandolaccio and the Padre, they might give you a good deal of corn to + grind. If you mean to have a talk with the Commandante della Campagna, I’d + just as soon not be there. In the dark, bullets don’t show any respect for + persons.” + </p> + <p> + The idea of coming face to face with the dreaded bandits mentioned by + Colomba made an evident impression on the soldiers. The sergeant, still + cursing Corporal Taupin—“that dog of a Frenchman”—gave the + order to retire, and his little party moved toward Pietranera, carrying + the <i>pilone</i> and the cooking-pot; as for the pitcher, its fate was + settled with a kick. + </p> + <p> + One of the men would have laid hold of Miss Lydia’s arm, but Colomba + instantly pushed him away. + </p> + <p> + “Let none of you dare to lay a finger on her!” she said. “Do you fancy we + want to run away? Come, Lydia, my dear, lean on me, and don’t cry like a + baby. We’ve had an adventure, but it will end all right. In half an hour + we shall be at our supper, and for my part I’m dying to get to it.” + </p> + <p> + “What will they think of me!” Miss Nevil whispered. + </p> + <p> + “They’ll think you lost your way in the <i>maquis</i>, that’s all.” + </p> + <p> + “What will the prefect say? Above all, what will my father say?” + </p> + <p> + “The prefect? You can tell him to mind his own business! Your father? I + should have thought, from the way you and Orso were talking, that you had + something to say to your father.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Nevil squeezed her arm, and answered nothing. + </p> + <p> + “Doesn’t my brother deserve to be loved?” whispered Colomba in her ear. + “Don’t you love him a little?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Colomba!” answered Miss Nevil, smiling in spite of her blushes, + “you’ve betrayed me! And I trusted you so!” + </p> + <p> + Colomba slipped her arm round her, and kissed her forehead. + </p> + <p> + “Little sister,” she whispered very low, “will you forgive me?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, I suppose I must, my masterful sister,” answered Lydia, as she + kissed her back. + </p> + <p> + The prefect and the public prosecutor were staying with the deputy-mayor, + and the colonel, who was very uneasy about his daughter, was paying them + his twentieth call, to ask if they had heard of her, when a rifleman, whom + the sergeant had sent on in advance, arrived with the full story of the + great fight with the brigands—a fight in which nobody had been + either killed or wounded, but which had resulted in the capture of a + cooking-pot, a <i>pilone</i>, and two girls, whom the man described as the + mistresses, or the spies, of the two bandits. + </p> + <p> + Thus heralded, the two prisoners appeared, surrounded by their armed + escort. + </p> + <p> + My readers will imagine Colomba’s radiant face, her companion’s confusion, + the prefect’s surprise, the colonel’s astonishment and joy. The public + prosecutor permitted himself the mischievous entertainment of obliging + poor Lydia to undergo a kind of cross-examination, which did not conclude + until he had quite put her out of countenance. + </p> + <p> + “It seems to me,” said the prefect, “that we may release everybody. These + young ladies went out for a walk—nothing is more natural in fine + weather. They happened to meet a charming young man, who has been lately + wounded—nothing could be more natural, again.” Then, taking Colomba + aside— + </p> + <p> + “Signorina,” he said, “you can send word to your brother that this + business promises to turn out better than I had expected. The post-mortem + examination and the colonel’s deposition both prove that he only defended + himself, and that he was alone when the fight took place. Everything will + be settled—only he must leave the <i>maquis</i> and give himself up + to the authorities.” + </p> + <p> + It was almost eleven o’clock when the colonel, his daughter, and Colomba + sat down at last to their supper, which had grown cold. Colomba ate + heartily, and made great fun of the prefect, the public prosecutor, and + the soldiers. The colonel ate too, but never said a word, and gazed + steadily at his daughter, who would not lift her eyes from her plate. At + last, gently but seriously, he said in English: + </p> + <p> + “Lydia, I suppose you are engaged to della Rebbia?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, father, to-day,” she answered, steadily, though she blushed. Then + she raised her eyes, and reading no sign of anger in her father’s face, + she threw herself into his arms and kissed him, as all well-brought-up + young ladies do on such occasions. + </p> + <p> + “With all my heart!” said the colonel. “He’s a fine fellow. But, by G—d, + we won’t live in this d—-d country of his, or I’ll refuse my + consent.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know English,” said Colomba, who was watching them with an air of + the greatest curiosity, “but I’ll wager I’ve guessed what you are saying!” + </p> + <p> + “We are saying,” quoth the colonel, “that we are going to take you for a + trip to Ireland.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, with pleasure; and I’ll be the Surella Colomba. Is it settled, + colonel? Shall we shake hands on it?” + </p> + <p> + “In such a case,” remarked the colonel, “people exchanges kisses!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XX + </h2> + <p> + One afternoon, a few months after the double shot which, as the newspapers + said, “plunged the village of Pietranera into a state of consternation,” a + young man with his left arm in a sling, rode out of Bastia, toward the + village of Cardo, celebrated for its spring, which in summer supplies the + more fastidious inhabitants of the town with delicious water. He was + accompanied by a young lady, tall and remarkably handsome, mounted on a + small black horse, the strength and shape of which would have attracted + the admiration of a connoisseur, although, by some strange accident, one + of its ears had been lacerated. On reaching the village, the girl sprang + nimbly to the ground, and, having helped her comrade to dismount, she + unfastened the somewhat heavy wallets strapped to his saddle-bow. The + horses were left in charge of a peasant. The girl, laden with the wallets, + which she had concealed under her <i>mezzaro</i>, and the young man, + carrying a double-barrelled gun, took their way toward the mountain, along + a very steep path that did not appear to lead to any dwelling. When they + had climbed to one of the lower ridges of the Monte Querico, they halted, + and sat down on the grass. They were evidently expecting somebody, for + they kept perpetually looking toward the mountain, and the young lady + often consulted a pretty gold watch—as much, it may be, for the + pleasure of admiring what appeared a somewhat newly acquired trinket, as + in order to know whether the hour appointed for some meeting or other had + come. They had not long to wait. A dog ran out of the <i>maquis</i>, and + when the girl called out “Brusco!” it approached at once, and fawned upon + them. Presently two bearded men appeared, with guns under their arms, + cartridge-belts round their waists, and pistols hanging at their sides. + Their torn and patched garments contrasted oddly with their weapons, which + were brilliantly polished, and came from a famous Continental factory. In + spite of the apparent inequality of their positions, the four actors in + this scene greeted one another in terms of old and familiar friendship. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Ors’ Anton’,” said the elder bandit to the young man, “so your + business is settled—the indictment against you has fallen through? I + congratulate you. I’m sorry the lawyer has left the island. I’d like to + see his rage. And how’s your arm?” + </p> + <p> + “They tell me I shall get rid of my sling in a fortnight,” said the young + man. “Brando, my good friend, I’m going to Italy to-morrow—I wanted + to say good-bye to you and to the cure. That’s why I asked you to come + here.” + </p> + <p> + “You’re in a fine hurry,” said Brandolaccio. “Only acquitted yesterday, + and you’re off to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “Business must be attended to,” said the young lady merrily. “Gentlemen, + I’ve brought some supper. Fall to, if you please, and don’t you forget my + friend Brusco.” + </p> + <p> + “You spoil Brusco, Mademoiselle Colomba. But he’s a grateful dog. You + shall see. Here, Brusco,” and he held out his gun horizontally, “jump for + the Barricini!” + </p> + <p> + The dog stood motionless, licking his chops, and staring at his master. + </p> + <p> + “Jump for the della Rebbia!” And he leaped two feet higher than he need + have done. + </p> + <p> + “Look here, my friends,” said Orso, “you’re plying a bad trade; and even + if you don’t end your career on that square below us,[*] the best you can + look for is to die in the <i>maquis</i> by some gendarme’s bullet.” + </p> + <p> + [*] The square at Bastia on which executions take place. + </p> + <p> + “Well, well,” said Castriconi, “that’s no more than death, anyhow; and + it’s better than being killed in your bed by a fever, with your heirs + snivelling more or less honestly all round you. To men who are accustomed + to the open air like us, there’s nothing so good as to die ‘in your + shoes,’ as the village folk say.” + </p> + <p> + “I should like to see you get out of this country,” said Orso, “and lead a + quieter life. For instance, why shouldn’t you settle in Sardinia, as + several of your comrades have done? I could make the matter easy for you.” + </p> + <p> + “In Sardinia!” cried Brandolaccio. “<i>Istos Sardos!</i> Devil take them + and their lingo! We couldn’t live in such bad company.” + </p> + <p> + “Sardinia’s a country without resources,” added the theologian. “For my + part, I despise the Sardinians. They keep mounted men to hunt their + bandits. That’s a stigma on both the bandits and the country.[*] Out upon + Sardinia, say I! The thing that astounds me, Signor della Rebbia, is that + you, who are a man of taste and understanding, should not have taken to + our life in the <i>maquis</i>, after having once tried it, as you did.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + [*] I owe this criticism of Sardinia to an ex-bandit of my + acquaintance, and he alone must bear the responsibility of + it. He means that bandits who let themselves be caught by + horse soldiers are idiots, and that soldiers who try to + catch bandits on horseback have very little chance of + getting at them. +</pre> + <p> + “Well,” said Orso, with a smile, “when I was lucky enough to be your + guest, I wasn’t in very good case for enjoying the charms of your + position, and my ribs still ache when I think of the ride I took one + lovely night, thrown like a bundle across an unsaddled horse that my good + friend Brandolaccio guided.” + </p> + <p> + “And the delight of escaping from your pursuers,” rejoined Castriconi; “is + that nothing to you? How can you fail to realize the charm of absolute + freedom in such a beautiful climate as ours? With this to insure respect,” + and he held up his gun, “we are kings of everything within its range. We + can give orders, we can redress wrongs. That’s a highly moral + entertainment, monsieur, and a very pleasant one, which we don’t deny + ourselves. What can be more beautiful than a knight-errant’s life, when he + has good weapons, and more common sense than Don Quixote had? Listen! The + other day I was told that little Lilla Luigi’s uncle—old miser that + he is—wouldn’t give her a dowry. So I wrote to him. I didn’t use + threats—that’s not my way. Well, well, in one moment the man was + convinced. He married his niece, and I made two people happy. Believe me, + Orso, there’s no life like the bandit’s life! Pshaw! You’d have joined us, + perhaps, if it hadn’t been for a certain young Englishwoman whom I have + scarcely seen myself, but about whose beauty every one in Bastia is + talking.” + </p> + <p> + “My future sister-in-law doesn’t like the <i>maquis</i>,” laughed Colomba. + “She got too great a fright in one of them.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Orso, “you are resolved to stay here? So be it! But tell me + whether there is anything I can do for you?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing,” said Brandolaccio. “You’ve heaped kindnesses upon us. Here’s + little Chilina with her dowry ready, so that there’ll be no necessity for + my friend the cure to write one of his persuasive letters to insure her + marrying well. We know the man on your farm will give us bread and powder + whenever we need them. So fare you well! I hope we shall see you back in + Corsica one of these days.” + </p> + <p> + “In case of pressing need,” said Orso, “a few gold coins are very useful. + Now we are such old friends, you won’t refuse this little <i>cartouche</i>.[*] + It will help you to provide cartridges of another kind.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + [*] <i>Cartouche</i> means a collection of gold pieces as well as + a cartridge. +</pre> + <p> + “No money between you and me, sir,” said Brandolaccio resolutely. + </p> + <p> + “In the world money is everything,” remarked Castriconi, “but in the <i>maquis</i>, + all a man need care for is a brave heart, and a gun that carries true.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t want to leave you without giving you something to remember me + by,” persisted Orso. “Come, Brandolaccio, what can I leave with you?” + </p> + <p> + The bandit scratched his head and cast a sidelong glance at Orso’s gun. + </p> + <p> + “By my faith, if I dared—but no! you’re too fond of it.” + </p> + <p> + “What would you like?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing! ‘Tisn’t anything at all. It’s knowing how to use it as well. I + keep thinking of that devil of a double-shot of yours—and with only + one hand, too! Oh! that never could happen twice over!” + </p> + <p> + “Is it the gun you fancy? I bought it for you. But see you don’t use it + more than you are obliged.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I won’t promise to make as good use of it as you. But make your mind + easy. When any other man has it, you may be certain it’s all over with + Brando Savelli.” + </p> + <p> + “And you, Castriconi—what am I to give you?” + </p> + <p> + “Since you really insist on giving me some tangible keepsake, I’ll simply + ask you to send me the smallest Horace you can get. It will amuse me, and + prevent me from forgetting all my Latin. There’s a little woman who sells + cigars on the jetty at Bastia. If you give it to her, she’ll see I get + it.” + </p> + <p> + “You shall have an Elzevir, my erudite friend. There just happens to be + one among some books I was going to take away with me. Well, good friends, + we must part! Give me your hands. If you should ever think of Sardinia + write to me. Signor N., the notary, will give you my address on the + mainland.” + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow, lieutenant,” said Brando, “when you get out in the harbour, + look up to this spot on the mountain-side. We shall be here, and we’ll + wave our handkerchiefs to you.” + </p> + <p> + And so they parted. Orso and his sister took their way back to Cardo, and + the bandits departed up the mountain. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXI + </h2> + <p> + One lovely April morning, Sir Thomas Nevil, his daughter, a newly made + bride—Orso, and Colomba, drove out of Pisa to see a lately + discovered Etruscan vault to which all strangers who came to that part of + the country paid a visit. + </p> + <p> + Orso and his wife went down into the ancient building, pulled out their + pencils, and began to sketch the mural paintings. But the colonel and + Colomba, who neither of them cared much for archaeology, left them to + themselves, and walked about in the neighbourhood. + </p> + <p> + “My dear Colomba,” said the colonel, “we shall never get back to Pisa in + time for lunch. Aren’t you hungry? There are Orso and his wife buried in + their antiquities; when once they begin sketching together, it lasts + forever!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” remarked Colomba. “And yet they never bring the smallest sketch + home with them.” + </p> + <p> + “I think,” proceeded the colonel, “our best plan would be to make our way + to that little farm-house yonder. We should find bread there, and perhaps + some <i>aleatico</i>. Who knows, we might even find strawberries and + cream! And then we should be able to wait patiently for our artists.” + </p> + <p> + “You are quite right, colonel. You and I are the reasonable members of + this family. We should be very foolish if we let ourselves by martyrized + by that pair of lovers, who live on poetry! Give me your arm! Don’t you + think I’m improving? I lean on people’s arms, wear fashionable hats and + gowns and trinkets—I’m learning I don’t know how many fine things—I’m + not at all a young savage any more. Just observe the grace with which I + wear this shawl. That fair-haired spark—that officer belonging to + your regiment who came to the wedding—oh, dear! I can’t recollect + his name!—a tall, curly-headed man, whom I could knock over with one + hand——” + </p> + <p> + “Chatsworth?” suggested the colonel. + </p> + <p> + “That’s it!—but I never shall be able to say it!—Well, you + know he’s over head and ears in love with me!” + </p> + <p> + “O Colomba, you’re growing a terrible flirt! We shall have another wedding + before long.” + </p> + <p> + “I! Marry! And then who will there be to bring up my nephew—when + Orso provides me with a nephew? And who’ll teach him to talk Corsican? + Yes, he shall talk Corsican, and I’ll make him a peaked cap, just to vex + you.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, well, wait till you have your nephew, and then you shall teach him + to use a dagger, if you choose.” + </p> + <p> + “Farewell to daggers!” said Colomba merrily. “I have a fan now, to rap + your fingers with when you speak ill of my country.” + </p> + <p> + Chatting thus, they reached the farm-house, where they found wine, + strawberries, and cream. Colomba helped the farmer’s wife to gather the + strawberries, while the colonel drank his <i>aleatico</i>. At the turning + of a path she caught sight of an old man, sitting in the sun, on a straw + chair. He seemed ill, his cheeks were fallen in, his eyes were hollow, he + was frightfully thin; as he sat there, motionless, pallid, staring fixedly + in front of him, he looked more like a corpse than like a living creature. + Colomba watched him for some minutes, and with a curiosity so great that + it attracted the woman’s attention. + </p> + <p> + “That poor old fellow is a countryman of yours,” she said. “For I know you + are from Corsica by the way you talk, signorina! He has had great trouble + in his own country. His children met with some terrible death. They say—you’ll + excuse me, signorina—that when they quarrel, your compatriots don’t + show each other very much mercy. Then the poor old gentleman, being left + all alone, came over to Pisa, to a distant relation of his, who owns this + farm. Between his misfortunes and his sorrow, the good man is a little + cracked. . . . The lady found him troublesome—for she sees a great + deal of company. So she sent him out here. He’s very gentle—no worry + at all. He doesn’t speak three words the whole day long. In fact, his + brain’s quite gone. The doctor comes to see him every week. He says he + won’t live long.” + </p> + <p> + “There’s no hope for him, then!” said Colomba. “In such a case, death will + be a mercy.” + </p> + <p> + “You might say a word to him in Corsican, signorina. Perhaps it would + cheer him up to hear the speech of his own country.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll see!” said Colomba, and her smile was mysterious. + </p> + <p> + She drew nearer to the old man, till her shadow fell across his chair. + Then the poor idiot lifted his head and stared at Colomba, while she + looked at him, smiling still. After a moment, the old man passed his hand + across his forehead, and closed his eyes, as though he would have shut out + the sight of Colomba. He opened them again, desperately wide this time. + His lips began to work, he tried to stretch out his hands, but, fascinated + by Colomba’s glance, he sat, nailed, as it were, to his chair, unable to + move or utter a word. At last great tears dropped from his eyes, and a few + sobs escaped from his heaving chest. + </p> + <p> + “‘Tis the first time I’ve seen him like this,” said the good woman. “This + signorina belongs to your own country; she has come to see you,” said she + to the old man. + </p> + <p> + “Mercy!” he cried in a hoarse voice. “Mercy! Are you not content? The leaf + I burned. How did you read it? But why did you take them both? + Orlanduccio! You can’t have read anything against him! You should have + left me one, only one! Orlanduccio—you didn’t read <i>his</i> name!” + </p> + <p> + “I had to have them both!” answered Colomba, speaking low and in the + Corsican dialect. “The branches are topped off! If the stem had not been + rotten, I would have torn it up! Come! make no moan. You will not suffer + long! <i>I</i> suffered for two years!” + </p> + <p> + The old man cried out, and then his head dropped on his breast. Colomba + turned her back on him, and went slowly into the house, humming some + meaningless lines out of a <i>ballata</i>: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “I must have the hand + that fired, the eye that aimed, the heart + that planned.” + </pre> + <p> + While the farmer’s wife ran to attend on the old man, Colomba, with + blazing eyes and brilliant cheeks, sat down to luncheon opposite the + colonel. + </p> + <p> + “What’s the matter with you?” he said. “You look just as you did that day + at Pietranera, when they fired at us while we were at dinner.” + </p> + <p> + “Old Corsican memories had come back to me. But all that’s done with. I + shall be godmother, sha’n’t I? Oh! what fine names I’ll give him! + Ghilfuccio—Tomaso—Orso—Leone!” + </p> + <p> + The farmer’s wife came back into the room. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” inquired Colomba, with the most perfect composure. “Is he dead, or + had he only fainted?” + </p> + <p> + “It was nothing, signorina. But it’s curious what an effect the sight of + you had on him.” + </p> + <p> + “And the doctor says he won’t last long?” + </p> + <p> + “Not two months, very likely.” + </p> + <p> + “He’ll be no great loss!” remarked Colomba. + </p> + <p> + “What the devil are you talking about?” inquired the colonel. + </p> + <p> + “About an idiot from my own country, who is boarded out here. I’ll send + from time to time to find out how he is. Why, Colonel Nevil, aren’t you + going to leave any strawberries for Lydia and my brother?” + </p> + <p> + When Colomba left the farm-house and got into the carriage, the farmer’s + wife looked after her for a while. Then, turning to her daughter: + </p> + <p> + “Dost see that pretty young lady yonder?” she said. “Well, I’m certain she + has the evil eye!” + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Columba, by Prosper Merimee + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK COLUMBA *** + +***** This file should be named 2708-h.htm or 2708-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/7/0/2708/ + +Produced by Dagny; Emma Dudding; John Bickers; David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Columba + +Author: Prosper Merimee + +Release Date: March 28, 2006 [EBook #2708] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK COLUMBA *** + + + + +Produced by Dagny; Emma Dudding; John Bickers + + + + + +COLOMBA + +By Prosper Merimee + + + + +Translated By The Lady Mary Loyd + + + + +CHAPTER I + + + "Pe far la to vendetta, + Sta sigur', vasta anche ella." + + --Vocero du Niolo. + + +Early in the month of October, 181-, Colonel Sir Thomas Nevil, a +distinguished Irish officer of the English army, alighted with his +daughter at the Hotel Beauveau, Marseilles, on their return from a +tour in Italy. The perpetual and universal admiration of enthusiastic +travellers has produced a sort of reaction, and many tourists, in their +desire to appear singular, now take the _nil admirari_ of Horace for +their motto. To this dissatisfied class the colonel's only daughter, +Miss Lydia, belonged. "The Transfiguration" has seemed to her mediocre, +and Vesuvius in eruption an effect not greatly superior to that produced +by the Birmingham factory chimneys. Her great objection to Italy, on +the whole, was its lack of local colour and character. My readers must +discover the sense of these expressions as best they may. A few years +ago I understood them very well myself, but at the present time I can +make nothing of them. At first, Miss Lydia had flattered herself she had +found things on the other side of the Alps which nobody had ever before +seen, about which she could converse _avec les honnetes gens_, as M. +Jourdain calls them. But soon, anticipated in every direction by her +countrymen, she despaired of making any fresh discoveries, and went over +to the party of the opposition. It is really very tiresome not to be +able to talk abut the wonders of Italy without hearing somebody say "Of +course you know the Raphael in the Palazzo---- at ----? It is the finest +thing in Italy!" and just the thing _you_ happen to have overlooked! +As it would take too long to see everything, the simplest course is to +resort to deliberate and universal censure. + +At the Hotel Beauveau Miss Lydia met with a bitter disappointment. She +had brought back a pretty sketch of the Pelasgic or Cyclopean Gate +at Segni, which, as she believed, all other artists had completely +overlooked. Now, at Marseilles, she met Lady Frances Fenwick, who showed +her her album, in which appeared, between a sonnet and a dried flower, +the very gate in question, brilliantly touched in with sienna. Miss +Lydia gave her drawing to her maid--and lost all admiration for Pelasgic +structures. + +This unhappy frame of mind was shared by Colonel Nevil, who, since the +death of his wife, looked at everything through his daughter's eyes. In +his estimation, Italy had committed the unpardonable sin of boring his +child, and was, in consequence, the most wearisome country on the face +of the earth. He had no fault to find, indeed, with the pictures and +statues, but he was in a position to assert that Italian sport was +utterly wretched, and that he had been obliged to tramp ten leagues +over the Roman Campagna, under a burning sun, to kill a few worthless +red-legged partridges. + +The morning after his arrival at Marseilles he invited Captain +Ellis--his former adjutant, who had just been spending six weeks in +Corsica--to dine with him. The captain told Miss Lydia a story about +bandits, which had the advantage of bearing no resemblance to the robber +tales with which she had been so frequently regaled, on the road between +Naples and Rome, and he told it well. At dessert, the two men, left +alone over their claret, talked of hunting--and the colonel learned that +nowhere is there more excellent sport, or game more varied and abundant, +than in Corsica. "There are plenty of wild boars," said Captain Ellis. +"And you have to learn to distinguish them from the domestic pigs, which +are astonishingly like them. For if you kill a pig, you find yourself in +difficulties with the swine-herds. They rush out of the thickets (which +they call _maquis_) armed to the teeth, make you pay for their beasts, +and laugh at you besides. Then there is the mouflon, a strange animal, +which you will not find anywhere else--splendid game, but hard to +get--and stags, deer, pheasants, and partridges--it would be impossible +to enumerate all the kinds with which Corsica swarms. If you want +shooting, colonel, go to Corsica! There, as one of my entertainers +said to me, you can get a shot at every imaginable kind of game, from a +thrush to a man!" + +At tea, the captain once more delighted Lydia with the tale of a +_vendetta transversale_ (A vendetta in which vengeance falls on a more +or less distant relation of the author of the original offence.), +even more strange than his first story, and he thoroughly stirred +her enthusiasm by his descriptions of the strange wild beauty of the +country, the peculiarities of its inhabitants, and their primitive +hospitality and customs. Finally, he offered her a pretty little +stiletto, less remarkable for its shape and copper mounting than for its +origin. A famous bandit had given it to Captain Ellis, and had assured +him it had been buried in four human bodies. Miss Lydia thrust it +through her girdle, laid it on the table beside her bed, and unsheathed +it twice over before she fell asleep. Her father meanwhile was dreaming +he had slain a mouflon, and that its owner insisted on his paying for +it, a demand to which he gladly acceded, seeing it was a most curious +creature, like a boar, with stag's horns and a pheasant's tail. + +"Ellis tells me there's splendid shooting in Corsica," said the colonel, +as he sat at breakfast, alone with his daughter. "If it hadn't been for +the distance, I should like to spend a fortnight there." + +"Well," replied Miss Lydia, "why shouldn't we go to Corsica? While you +are hunting I can sketch--I should love to have that grotto Captain +Ellis talked about, where Napoleon used to go and study when he was a +child, in my album." + +It was the first time, probably, that any wish expressed by the +colonel had won his daughter's approbation. Delighted as he was by the +unexpected harmony on their opinions, he was nevertheless wise enough +to put forward various objections, calculated to sharpen Miss Lydia's +welcome whim. In vain did he dwell on the wildness of the country, and +the difficulties of travel there for a lady. Nothing frightened her; she +liked travelling on horseback of all things; she delighted in the idea +of bivouacking in the open; she even threatened to go as far as Asia +Minor--in short, she found an answer to everything. No Englishwoman had +ever been to Corsica; therefore she must go. What a pleasure it would +be, when she got back to St. James's Place, to exhibit her album! "But, +my dear creature, why do you pass over that delightful drawing?" "That's +only a trifle--just a sketch I made of a famous Corsican bandit who was +our guide." "What! you don't mean to say you have been to Corsica?" + +As there were no steamboats between France and Corsica, in those days, +inquiries were made for some ship about to sail for the island Miss +Lydia proposed to discover. That very day the colonel wrote to Paris, +to countermand his order for the suite of apartments in which he was +to have made some stay, and bargained with the skipper of a Corsican +schooner, just about to set sail for Ajaccio, for two poor cabins, but +the best that could be had. Provisions were sent on board, the skipper +swore that one of his sailors was an excellent cook, and had not +his equal for _bouilleabaisse_; he promised mademoiselle should be +comfortable, and have a fair wind and a calm sea. + +The colonel further stipulated, in obedience to his daughter's wishes, +that no other passenger should be taken on board, and that the captain +should skirt the coast of the island, so that Miss Lydia might enjoy the +view of the mountains. + + + +CHAPTER II + +On the day of their departure everything was packed and sent on board +early in the morning. The schooner was to sail with the evening +breeze. Meanwhile, as the colonel and his daughter were walking on the +Canebiere, the skipper addressed them, and craved permission to take on +board one of his relations, his eldest son's godfather's second +cousin, who was going back to Corsica, his native country, on important +business, and could not find any ship to take him over. + +"He's a charming fellow," added Captain Mattei, "a soldier, an officer +in the Infantry of the Guard, and would have been a colonel already if +_the other_ (meaning Napoleon) had still been emperor!" + +"As he is a soldier," began the colonel--he was about to add, "I shall +be very glad he should come with us," when Miss Lydia exclaimed in +English: + +"An infantry officer!" (Her father had been in the cavalry, and she +consequently looked down on every other branch of the service.) "An +uneducated man, very likely, who would be sea-sick, and spoil all the +pleasure of our trip!" + +The captain did not understand a word of English, but he seemed to catch +what Miss Lydia was saying by the pursing up of her pretty mouth, and +immediately entered upon an elaborate panegyric of his relative, which +he wound up by declaring him to be a gentleman, belonging to a family of +_corporals_, and that he would not be in the very least in the colonel's +way, for that he, the skipper, would undertake to stow him in some +corner, where they should not be aware of his presence. + +The colonel and Miss Nevil thought it peculiar that there should be +Corsican families in which the dignity of corporal was handed down from +father to son. But, as they really believed the individual in question +to be some infantry corporal, they concluded he was some poor devil +whom the skipper desired to take out of pure charity. If he had been an +officer, they would have been obliged to speak to him and live with +him; but there was no reason why they should put themselves out for a +corporal--who is a person of no consequence unless his detachment is +also at hand, with bayonets fixed, ready to convey a person to a place +to which he would rather not be taken. + +"Is your kinsman ever sea-sick?" demanded Miss Nevil sharply. + +"Never, mademoiselle, he is as steady as a rock, either on sea or land!" + +"Very good then, you can take him," said she. + +"You can take him!" echoed the colonel, and they passed on their way. + +Toward five o'clock in the evening Captain Mattei came to escort them +on board the schooner. On the jetty, near the captain's gig, they met a +tall young man wearing a blue frock-coat, buttoned up to his chin; his +face was tanned, his eyes were black, brilliant, wide open, his whole +appearance intelligent and frank. His shoulders, well thrown back, and +his little twisted mustache clearly revealed the soldier--for at that +period mustaches were by no means common, and the National Guard had not +carried the habits and appearance of the guard-room into the bosom of +every family. + +When the young man saw the colonel he doffed his cap, and thanked him in +excellent language, and without the slightest shyness, for the service +he was rendering him. + +"Delighted to be of use to you, my good fellow!" said the colonel, with +a friendly nod, and he stepped into the gig. + +"He's not very ceremonious, this Englishman of yours," said the young +man in Italian, and in an undertone, to the captain. + +The skipper laid his forefinger under his left eye, and pulled down the +corners of his mouth. To a man acquainted with the language of signs, +this meant that the Englishman understood Italian, and was an oddity +into the bargain. The young man smiled slightly and touched his +forehead, in answer to Mattei's sign, as though to indicate that every +Englishman had a bee in his bonnet. Then he sat down beside them, and +began to look very attentively, though not impertinently, at his pretty +fellow-traveller. + +"These French soldiers all have a good appearance," remarked the +colonel in English to his daughter, "and so it is easy to turn them into +officers." Then addressing the young man in French, he said, "Tell me, +my good man, what regiment have you served in?" The young man nudged his +second cousin's godson's father gently with his elbow, and suppressing +an ironic smile, replied that he had served in the Infantry of the +Guard, and that he had just quitted the Seventh Regiment of Light +Infantry. + +"Were you at Waterloo? You are very young!" + +"I beg your pardon, colonel, that was my only campaign." + +"It counts as two," said the colonel. + +The young Corsican bit his lips. + +"Papa," said Miss Lydia in English, "do ask him if the Corsicans are +very fond of their Buonaparte." + +Before the colonel could translate her question into French, the young +man answered in fairly good English, though with a marked accent: + +"You know, mademoiselle, that no man is ever a prophet in his own +country. We, who are Napoleon's fellow-countrymen, are perhaps less +attached to him than the French. As for myself, though my family was +formerly at enmity with his, I both love and admire him." + +"You speak English!" exclaimed the colonel. + +"Very ill, as you may perceive!" + +Miss Lydia, though somewhat shocked by the young man's easy tone, could +not help laughing at the idea of a personal enmity between a corporal +and an emperor. She took this as a foretaste of Corsican peculiarities, +and made up her mind to note it down in her journal. + +"Perhaps you were a prisoner in England?" asked the colonel. + +"No, colonel, I learned English in France, when I was very young, from a +prisoner of your nation." + +Then, addressing Miss Nevil: + +"Mattei tells me you have just come back from Italy. No doubt, +mademoiselle, you speak the purest Tuscan--I fear you'll find it +somewhat difficult to understand our dialect." + +"My daughter understands every Italian dialect," said the colonel. "She +has the gift of languages. She doesn't get it from me." + +"Would mademoiselle understand, for instance, these lines from one of +our Corsican songs in which a shepherd says to his shepherdess: + + "S'entrassi 'ndru paradisu santu, santu, + E nun truvassi a tia, mi n'escriria." + + ("If I entered the holy land of paradise + and found thee not, I would depart!") + + --_Serenata di Zicavo_. + +Miss Lydia did understand. She thought the quotation bold, and the look +which accompanied it still bolder, and replied, with a blush, "Capisco." + +"And are you going back to your own country on furlough?" inquired the +colonel. + +"No, colonel, they have put me on half-pay, because I was at Waterloo, +probably, and because I am Napoleon's fellow-countryman. I am going +home, as the song says, low in hope and low in purse," and he looked up +to the sky and sighed. + +The colonel slipped his hand into his pocket, and tried to think of some +civil phrase with which he might slip the gold coin he was fingering +into the palm of his unfortunate enemy. + +"And I too," he said good-humouredly, "have been put on half-pay, +but your half-pay can hardly give you enough to buy tobacco! Here, +corporal!" and he tried to force the gold coin into the young man's +closed hand, which rested on the gunwale of the gig. + +The young Corsican reddened, drew himself up, bit his lips, and seemed, +for a moment, on the brink of some angry reply. Then suddenly his +expression changed and he burst out laughing. The colonel, grasping his +gold piece still in his hand, sat staring at him. + +"Colonel," said the young man, when he had recovered his gravity, "allow +me to offer you two pieces of advice--the first is never to offer money +to a Corsican, for some of my fellow-countrymen would be rude enough to +throw it back in your face; the second is not to give people titles +they do not claim. You call me 'corporal,' and I am a lieutenant--the +difference is not very great, no doubt, still----" + +"Lieutenant! Lieutenant!" exclaimed Sir Thomas. "But the skipper told me +you were a corporal, and that your father and all your family had been +corporals before you!" + +At these words the young man threw himself back and laughed louder than +ever, so merrily that the skipper and his two sailors joined the chorus. + +"Forgive me, colonel!" he cried at last. "The mistake is so comical, and +I have only just realized it. It is quite true that my family glories in +the fact that it can reckon many corporals among its ancestors--but our +Corsican corporals never wore stripes upon their sleeves! Toward the +year of grace 1100 certain villages revolted against the tyranny of the +great mountain nobles, and chose leaders of their own, whom they called +_corporals_. In our island we think a great deal of being descended from +these tribunes." + +"I beg your pardon, sir," exclaimed the colonel, "I beg your pardon a +thousand times! As you understand the cause of my mistake, I hope you +will do me the kindness of forgiving it!" and he held out his hand. + +"It is the just punishment of my petty pride," said the young man, still +laughing, and cordially shaking the Englishman's hand. "I am not at all +offended. As my friend Mattei has introduced me so unsuccessfully, allow +me to introduce myself. My name is Orso della Rebbia; I am a lieutenant +on half-pay; and if, as the sight of those two fine dogs of yours leads +me to believe, you are coming to Corsica to hunt, I shall be very proud +to do you the honours of our mountains and our _maquis_--if, indeed, I +have not forgotten them altogether!" he added, with a sigh. + +At this moment the gig came alongside the schooner, the lieutenant +offered his hand to Miss Lydia, and then helped the colonel to swing +himself up on deck. Once there, Sir Thomas, who was still very much +ashamed of his blunder, and at a loss to know what he had better do to +make the man whose ancestry dated from the year 1100 forget it, invited +him to supper, without waiting for his daughter's consent, and with many +fresh apologies and handshakes. Miss Lydia frowned a little, but, after +all, she was not sorry to know what a corporal really was. She rather +liked there guest, and was even beginning to fancy there was something +aristocratic about him--only she thought him too frank and merry for a +hero of romance. + +"Lieutenant della Rebbia," said the colonel, bowing to him, English +fashion, over a glass of Madeira, "I met a great many of your countrymen +in Spain--they were splendid sharp-shooters." + +"Yes, and a great many of them have stayed in Spain," replied the young +lieutenant gravely. + +"I shall never forget the behaviour of a Corsican battalion at the +Battle of Vittoria," said the colonel; "I have good reason to remember +it, indeed," he added, rubbing his chest. "All day long they had been +skirmishing in the gardens, behind the hedges, and had killed I don't +know how many of our horses and men. When the retreat was sounded, they +rallied and made off at a great pace. We had hoped to take our revenge +on them in the open plain, but the scoundrels--I beg your pardon, +lieutenant; the brave fellows, I should have said--had formed a square, +and there was no breaking it. In the middle of the square--I fancy I can +see him still--rode an officer on a little black horse. He kept close +beside the standard, smoking his cigar as coolly as if he had been in a +cafe. Every now and then their bugles played a flourish, as if to defy +us. I sent my two leading squadrons at them. Whew! Instead of breaking +the front of the square, my dragoons passed along the sides, wheeled, +and came back in great disorder, and with several riderless horses--and +all the time those cursed bugles went on playing. When the smoke which +had hung over the battalion cleared away, I saw the officer still +puffing at his cigar beside his eagle. I was furious, and led a final +charge myself. Their muskets, foul with continual firing, would not go +off, but the men had drawn up, six deep, with their bayonets pointed +at the noses of our horses; you might have taken them for a wall. I was +shouting, urging on my dragoons, and spurring my horse forward, when the +officer I have mentioned, at length throwing away his cigar, pointed me +out to one of his men, and I heard him say something like _'Al capello +bianco!'_--I wore a white plume. Then I did not hear any more, for a +bullet passed through my chest. That was a splendid battalion, M. della +Rebbia, that first battalion of the Eighteenth--all of them Corsicans, +as I was afterward told!" + +"Yes," said Orso, whose eyes had shone as he listened to the story. +"They covered the retreat, and brought back their eagle. Two thirds of +those brave fellows are sleeping now on the plains of Vittoria!" + +"And, perhaps, you can tell me the name of the officer in command?" + +"It was my father--he was then a major in the Eighteenth, and was +promoted colonel for his conduct on that terrible day." + +"Your father! Upon my word, he was a brave man! I should be glad to see +him again, and I am certain I should recognise him. Is he still alive?" + +"No, colonel," said the young man, turning slightly pale. + +"Was he at Waterloo?" + +"Yes, colonel; but he had not the happiness of dying on the field of +battle. He died in Corsica two years ago. How beautiful the sea is! It +is ten years since I have seen the Mediterranean! Don't you think the +Mediterranean much more beautiful than the ocean, mademoiselle?" + +"I think it too blue, and its waves lack grandeur." + +"You like wild beauty then, mademoiselle! In that case, I am sure you +will be delighted with Corsica." + +"My daughter," said the colonel, "delights in everything that is out of +the common, and for that reason she did not care much for Italy." + +"The only place in Italy that I know," said Orso, "is Pisa, where I was +at school for some time. But I can not think, without admiration, of +the Campo-Santo, the Duomo, and the Leaning Tower--especially of the +Campo-Santo. Do you remember Orcagna's 'Death'? I think I could draw +every line of it--it is so graven on my memory." + +Miss Lydia was afraid the lieutenant was going to deliver an +enthusiastic tirade. + +"It is very pretty," she said, with a yawn. "Excuse me, papa, my head +aches a little; I am going down to my cabin." + +She kissed her father on the forehead, inclined her head majestically +to Orso, and disappeared. Then the two men talked about hunting and +war. They discovered that at Waterloo they had been posted opposite +each other, and had no doubt exchanged many a bullet. This knowledge +strengthened their good understanding. Turning about, they criticised +Napoleon, Wellington, and Blucher, and then they hunted buck, boar, and +mountain sheep in company. At last, when night was far advanced, and +the last bottle of claret had been emptied, the colonel wrung the +lieutenant's hand once more and wished him good-night, expressing his +hope that an acquaintance, which had begun in such ridiculous fashion, +might be continued. They parted, and each went to bed. + + + +CHAPTER III + +It was a lovely night. The moonlight was dancing on the waves, the ship +glided smoothly on before a gentle breeze. Miss Lydia was not sleepy, +and nothing but the presence of an unpoetical person had prevented her +from enjoying those emotions which every human being possessing a touch +of poetry must experience at sea by moonlight. When she felt sure the +young lieutenant must be sound asleep, like the prosaic creature he was, +she got up, took her cloak, woke her maid, and went on deck. Nobody +was to be seen except the sailor at the helm, who was singing a sort of +dirge in the Corsican dialect, to some wild and monotonous tune. In the +silence of the night this strange music had its charm. Unluckily Miss +Lydia did not understand perfectly what the sailor was singing. Amid +a good deal that was commonplace, a passionate line would occasionally +excite her liveliest curiosity. But just at the most important moment +some words of _patois_ would occur, the sense of which utterly escaped +her. Yet she did make out that the subject was connected with a murder. +Curses against the assassin, threats of vengeance, praise of the dead +were all mingled confusedly. She remembered some of the lines. I will +endeavour to translate them here. + +. . . "Neither cannon nor bayonets . . . Brought pallor to his +brow. . . As serene on the battlefield . . . as a summer sky. He was the +falcon--the eagle's friend . . . Honey of the sand to his friends . . . +To his enemies, a tempestuous sea. . . . . . . Prouder than the sun +. . . gentler than the moon . . . He for whom the enemies of France +. . . never waited . . . Murderers in his own land . . . struck him from +behind . . . As Vittolo slew Sampiero Corso . . . Never would they have +dared to look him in The face . . . Set up on the wall Before my bed +. . . my well-earned cross of honour . . . red is its ribbon . . . redder +is my shirt! . . . For my son, my son in a far country . . . keep my cross +and my blood-stained shirt! . . . + +". . . He will see two holes in it . . . For each hole a hole in another +shirt! . . . But will that accomplish the vengeance? . . . I must have +the hand that fired, the eye that aimed . . . the heart that +planned!" . . . + +Suddenly the sailor stopped short. + +"Why don't you go on, my good man?" inquired Miss Nevil. + +The sailor, with a jerk of his head, pointed to a figure appearing +through the main hatchway of the schooner: it was Orso, coming up to +enjoy the moonlight. "Pray finish your song," said Miss Lydia. "It +interests me greatly!" + +The sailor leaned toward her, and said, in a very low tone, "I don't +give the _rimbecco_ to anybody!" + +"The what?" + +The sailor, without replying, began to whistle. + +"I have caught you admiring our Mediterranean, Miss Nevil," said Orso, +coming toward her. "You must allow you never see a moon like this +anywhere else!" + +"I was not looking at it, I was altogether occupied in studying +Corsican. That sailor, who has been singing a most tragic dirge, stopped +short at the most interesting point." + +The sailor bent down, as if to see the compass more clearly, and tugged +sharply at Miss Nevil's fur cloak. It was quite evident his lament could +not be sung before Lieutenant Orso. + +"What were you singing, Paolo France?" said Orso. "Was it a _ballata_ +or a _vocero_? Mademoiselle understands you, and would like to hear the +end." + +"I have forgotten it, Ors' Anton'," said the sailor. + +And instantly he began a hymn to the Virgin, at the top of his voice. + +Miss Lydia listened absent-mindedly to the hymn, and did not press the +singer any further--though she was quite resolved, in her own mind, to +find out the meaning of the riddle later. But her maid, who, being a +Florentine, could not understand the Corsican dialect any better than +her mistress, was as eager as Miss Lydia for information, and, turning +to Orso, before the English lady could warn her by a nudge, she said: +"Captain what does _giving the rimbecco_ mean?" + +"The rimbecco!" said Orso. "Why, it's the most deadly insult that can be +offered to a Corsican. It means reproaching him with not having avenged +his wrong. Who mentioned the rimbecco to you?" + +"Yesterday, at Marseilles," replied Miss Lydia hurriedly, "the captain +of the schooner used the word." + +"And whom was he talking about?" inquired Orso eagerly. + +"Oh, he was telling us some odd story about the time--yes, I think it +was about Vannina d'Ornano." + +"I suppose, mademoiselle, that Vannina's death has not inspired you with +any great love for our national hero, the brave Sampiero?" + +"But do you think his conduct was so very heroic?" + +"The excuse for his crime lies in the savage customs of the period. And +then Sampiero was waging deadly war against the Genoese. What confidence +could his fellow-countrymen have felt in him if he had not punished his +wife, who tried to treat with Genoa?" + +"Vannina," said the sailor, "had started off without her husband's +leave. Sampiero did quite right to wring her neck!" + +"But," said Miss Lydia, "it was to save her husband, it was out of love +for him, that she was going to ask his pardon from the Genoese." + +"To ask his pardon was to degrade him!" exclaimed Orso. + +"And then to kill her himself!" said Miss Lydia. "What a monster he must +have been!" + +"You know she begged as a favour that she might die by his hand. What +about Othello, mademoiselle, do you look on him, too, as a monster?" + +"There is a difference; he was jealous. Sampiero was only vain!" + +"And after all is not jealousy a kind of vanity? It is the vanity of +love; will you not excuse it on account of its motive?" + +Miss Lydia looked at him with an air of great dignity, and turning to +the sailor, inquired when the schooner would reach port. + +"The day after to-morrow," said he, "if the wind holds." + +"I wish Ajaccio were in sight already, for I am sick of this ship." +She rose, took her maid's arm, and walked a few paces on the deck. Orso +stood motionless beside the helm, not knowing whether he had better walk +beside her, or end a conversation which seemed displeasing to her. + +"Blood of the Madonna, what a handsome girl!" said the sailor. "If every +flea in my bed were like her, I shouldn't complain of their biting me!" + +Miss Lydia may possibly have overheard this artless praise of her beauty +and been startled by it; for she went below almost immediately. Shortly +after Orso also retired. As soon as he had left the deck the maid +reappeared, and, having cross-questioned the sailor, carried back the +following information to her mistress. The _ballata_ which had been +broken off on Orso's appearance had been composed on the occasion of +the death of his father, Colonel della Rebbia, who had been murdered two +years previously. The sailor had no doubt at all that Orso was coming +back to Corsica _per fare la vendetta_, such was his expression, and he +affirmed that before long there would be _fresh meat_ to be seen in +the village of Pietranera. This national expression, being interpreted, +meant that Signor Orso proposed to murder two or three individuals +suspected of having assassinated his father--individuals who had, +indeed, been prosecuted on that account, but had come out of the trial +as white as snow, for they were hand and glove with the judges, lawyers, +prefect, and gendarmes. + +"There is no justice in Corsica," added the sailor, "and I put much more +faith in a good gun than in a judge of the Royal Court. If a man has +an enemy he must choose one of the three S's." (A national expression +meaning _schioppetto_, _stiletto_, _strada_--that is, _gun_, _dagger_, +or _flight_.) + +These interesting pieces of information wrought a notable change in Miss +Lydia's manner and feeling with regard to Lieutenant della Rebbia. +From that moment he became a person of importance in the romantic +Englishwoman's eyes. + +His careless air, his frank and good humour, which had at first +impressed her so unfavourably, now seemed to her an additional merit, +as being proofs of the deep dissimulation of a strong nature, which will +not allow any inner feeling to appear upon the surface. Orso seemed to +her a sort of Fieschi, who hid mighty designs under an appearance of +frivolity, and, though it is less noble to kill a few rascals than to +free one's country, still a fine deed of vengeance is a fine thing, and +besides, women are rather glad to find their hero is not a politician. +Then Miss Nevil remarked for the first time that the young lieutenant +had large eyes, white teeth, an elegant figure, that he was +well-educated, and possessed the habits of good society. During the +following day she talked to him frequently, and found his conversation +interesting. He was asked many questions about his own country, and +described it well. Corsica, which he had left when young, to go first +to college, and then to the Ecole militaire, had remained in his +imagination surrounded with poetic associations. When he talked of its +mountains, its forests, and the quaint customs of its inhabitants +he grew eager and animated. As may be imagined, the word _vengeance_ +occurred more than once in the stories he told--for it is impossible +to speak of the Corsicans without either attacking or justifying their +proverbial passion. Orso somewhat surprised Miss Nevil by his general +condemnation of the undying hatreds nursed by his fellow-countrymen. +As regarded the peasants, however, he endeavoured to excuse them, and +claimed that the _vendetta_ is the poor man's duel. "So true is this," +he said, "that no assassination takes place till a formal challenge +has been delivered. 'Be on your guard yourself, I am on mine!' are the +sacramental words exchanged, from time immemorial, between two enemies, +before they begin to lie in wait for each other. There are more +assassinations among us," he added, "than anywhere else. But you will +never discover an ignoble cause for any of these crimes. We have many +murderers, it is true, but not a single thief." + +When he spoke about vengeance and murder Miss Lydia looked at him +closely, but she could not detect the slightest trace of emotion on +his features. As she had made up her mind, however, that he possessed +sufficient strength of mind to be able to hide his thoughts from every +eye (her own, of course, excepted), she continued in her firm belief +that Colonel della Rebbia's shade would not have to wait long for the +atonement it claimed. + +The schooner was already within sight of Corsica. The captain pointed +out the principal features of the coast, and, though all of these +were absolutely unknown to Miss Lydia, she found a certain pleasure +in hearing their names; nothing is more tiresome than an anonymous +landscape. From time to time the colonel's telescope revealed to her +the form of some islander clad in brown cloth, armed with a long gun, +bestriding a small horse, and galloping down steep slopes. In each of +these Miss Lydia believed she beheld either a brigand or a son going +forth to avenge his father's death. But Orso always declared it was some +peaceful denizen of a neighbouring village travelling on business, +and that he carried a gun less from necessity than because it was the +fashion, just as no dandy ever takes a walk without an elegant cane. +Though a gun is a less noble and poetic weapon than a stiletto, Miss +Lydia thought it much more stylish for a man than any cane, and she +remembered that all Lord Byron's heroes died by a bullet, and not by the +classic poniard. + +After three days' sailing, the ship reached Les Sanguinaires (The +Bloody Islands), and the magnificent panorama of the Gulf of Ajaccio was +unrolled before our travellers' eyes. It is compared, with justice, to +the Bay of Naples, and just as the schooner was entering the harbour +a burning _maquis_, which covered the Punta di Girato, brought back +memories of Vesuvius and heightened the resemblance. To make it quite +complete, Naples should be seen after one of Attila's armies had +devastated its suburbs--for round Ajaccio everything looks dead and +deserted. Instead of the handsome buildings observable on every +side from Castellamare to Cape Misena, nothing is to be seen in the +neighbourhood of the Gulf of Ajaccio but gloomy _maquis_ with bare +mountains rising behind them. Not a villa, not a dwelling of any +kind--only here and there, on the heights about the town, a few isolated +white structures stand out against a background of green. These are +mortuary chapels or family tombs. Everything in this landscape is +gravely and sadly beautiful. + +The appearance of the town, at that period especially, deepened the +impression caused by the loneliness of its surroundings. There was +no stir in the streets, where only a few listless idlers--always the +same--were to be seen; no women at all, except an odd peasant come in to +sell her produce; no loud talk, laughter, and singing, as in the Italian +towns. Sometimes, under the shade of a tree on the public promenade, a +dozen armed peasants will play at cards or watch each other play; they +never shout or wrangle; if they get hot over the game, pistol shots ring +out, and this always before the utterance of any threat. The Corsican +is grave and silent by nature. In the evening, a few persons come out to +enjoy the cool air, but the promenaders on the Corso are nearly all of +them foreigners; the islanders stay in front of their own doors; each +one seems on the watch, like a falcon over its nest. + + + +CHAPTER IV + +When Miss Lydia had visited the house in which Napoleon was born, and +had procured, by means more or less moral, a fragment of the wall-paper +belonging to it, she, within two days of her landing in Corsica, began +to feel that profound melancholy which must overcome every foreigner in +a country whose unsociable inhabitants appear to condemn him or her to a +condition of utter isolation. She was already regretting her headstrong +caprice; but to go back at once would have been to risk her reputation +as an intrepid traveller, so she made up her mind to be patient, and +kill time as best she could. With this noble resolution, she brought +out her crayons and colours, sketched views of the gulf, and did +the portrait of a sunburnt peasant, who sold melons, like any +market-gardener on the Continent, but who wore a long white beard, and +looked the fiercest rascal that had ever been seen. As all that was not +enough to amuse her, she determined to turn the head of the descendant +of the corporals, and this was no difficult matter, since, far from +being in a hurry to get back to his village, Orso seemed very happy at +Ajaccio, although he knew nobody there. Furthermore, Miss Lydia had a +lofty purpose in her mind; it was nothing less than to civilize this +mountain bear, and induce him to relinquish the sinister design which +had recalled him to his island. Since she had taken the trouble to study +the young man, she had told herself it would be a pity to let him +rush upon his ruin, and that it would be a glorious thing to convert a +Corsican. + +Our travellers spent the day in the following manner: Every morning the +colonel and Orso went out shooting. Miss Lydia sketched or wrote letters +to her friends, chiefly for the sake of dating them from Ajaccio. +Toward six o'clock the gentlemen came in, laden with game. Then followed +dinner. Miss Lydia sang, the colonel went to sleep, and the young people +sat talking till very late. + +Some formality or other, connected with his passports, had made it +necessary for Colonel Nevil to call on the prefect. This gentleman, +who, like most of his colleagues, found his life very dull, had been +delighted to hear of the arrival of an Englishman who was rich, a man of +the world, and the father of a pretty daughter. He had, therefore, given +him the most friendly reception, and overwhelmed him with offers of +service; further, within a very few days, he came to return his visit. +The colonel, who had just dined, was comfortably stretched out upon his +sofa, and very nearly asleep. His daughter was singing at a broken-down +piano; Orso was turning over the leaves of her music, and gazing at the +fair singer's shoulders and golden hair. The prefect was announced, the +piano stopped, the colonel got up, rubbed his eyes, and introduced the +prefect to his daughter. + +"I do not introduce M. della Rebbia to you," said he, "for no doubt you +know him already." + +"Is this gentleman Colonel della Rebbia's son?" said the prefect, +looking a trifle embarrassed. + +"Yes, monsieur," replied Orso. + +"I had the honour of knowing your father." + +The ordinary commonplaces of conversation were soon exhausted. The +colonel, in spite of himself, yawned pretty frequently. Orso, as a +liberal, did not care to converse with a satellite of the Government. +The burden of the conversation fell on Miss Lydia. The prefect, on his +side, did not let it drop, and it was clear that he found the greatest +pleasure in talking of Paris, and of the great world, to a woman who +was acquainted with all the foremost people in European society. As he +talked, he now and then glanced at Orso, with an expression of singular +curiosity. + +"Was it on the Continent that you made M. della Rebbia's acquaintance?" +he inquired. + +Somewhat embarrassed, Miss Lydia replied that she had made his +acquaintance on the ship which had carried them to Corsica. + +"He is a very gentlemanly young fellow," said the prefect, in an +undertone; "and has he told you," he added, dropping his voice still +lower, "why he has returned to Corsica?" + +Miss Lydia put on her most majestic air and answered: + +"I have not asked him," she said. "You may do so." + +The prefect kept silence, but, an instant later, hearing Orso speak a +few words of English to the colonel, he said: + +"You seem to have travelled a great deal, monsieur. You must have +forgotten Corsica and Corsican habits." + +"It is quite true that I was very young when I went away." + +"You still belong to the army?" + +"I am on half-pay, monsieur." + +"You have been too long in the French army not to have become a thorough +Frenchman, I have no doubt?" + +The last words of the sentence were spoken with marked emphasis. + +The Corsicans are not particularly flattered at being reminded that they +belong to the "Great Nations." They claim to be a people apart, and so +well do they justify their claim that it may very well be granted them. + +Somewhat nettled, Orso replied: "Do you think, M. le Prefet, that +a Corsican must necessarily serve in the French army to become an +honourable man?" + +"No, indeed," said the prefect, "that is not my idea at all; I am only +speaking of certain _customs_ belonging to this country, some of which +are not such as a Government official would like to see." + +He emphasized the word _customs_, and put on as grave an expression +as his features could assume. Soon after he got up and took his leave, +bearing with him Miss Lydia's promise that she would go and call on his +wife at the prefecture. + +When he had departed: "I had to come to Corsica," said Miss Lydia, "to +find out what a prefect is like. This one strikes me as rather amiable." + +"For my part," said Orso, "I can't say as much. He strikes me as a very +queer individual, with his airs of emphasis and mystery." + +The colonel was extremely drowsy. Miss Lydia cast a glance in his +direction, and, lowering her voice: + +"And I," she said, "do not think him so mysterious as you pretend; for I +believe I understood him!" + +"Then you are clear-sighted indeed, Miss Nevil. If you have seen any wit +in what he has just said you must certainly have put it there yourself." + +"It is the Marquis de Mascarille, I think, who says that, M. +della Rebbia. But would you like me to give you a proof of my +clear-sightedness? I am something of a witch, and I can read the +thoughts of people I have seen only twice." + +"Good heavens! you alarm me. If you really can read my thoughts I don't +know whether I should be glad or sorry." + +"M. della Rebbia," went on Miss Lydia, with a blush, "we have only known +each other for a few days. But at sea, and in savage countries (you will +excuse me, I hope)--in savage countries friendships grow more quickly +than they do in society . . . so you must not be astonished if I speak +to you, as a friend, upon private matters, with which, perhaps, a +stranger ought not to interfere." + +"Ah, do not say that word, Miss Nevil. I like the other far better." + +"Well, then, monsieur, I must tell you that without having tried to find +out your secrets, I have learned some of them, and they grieve me. I +have heard, monsieur, of the misfortune which has overtaken your family. +A great deal has been said to me about the vindictive nature of your +fellow-countrymen, and the fashion in which they take their vengeance. +Was it not to that the prefect was alluding?" + +"Miss Lydia! Can you believe it!" and Orso turned deadly pale. + +"No, M. della Rebbia," she said, interrupting him, "I know you to be a +most honourable gentleman. You have told me yourself that it was +only the common people in your country who still practised the +_vendetta_--which you are pleased to describe as a kind of duel." + +"Do you, then, believe me capable of ever becoming a murderer?" + +"Since I have mentioned the subject at all, Monsieur Orso, you must +clearly see that I do not suspect you, and if I have spoken to you at +all," she added, dropping her eyes, "it is because I have realized that +surrounded, it may be, by barbarous prejudices on your return home, you +will be glad to know that there is somebody who esteems you for having +the courage to resist them. Come!" said she, rising to her feet, "don't +let us talk again of such horrid things, they make my head ache, and +besides it's very late. You are not angry with me, are you? Let us say +good-night in the English fashion," and she held out her hand. + +Orso pressed it, looking grave and deeply moved. + +"Mademoiselle," he said, "do you know that there are moments when the +instincts of my country wake up within me. Sometimes, when I think of +my poor father, horrible thoughts assail me. Thanks to you, I am rid of +them forever. Thank you! thank you!" + +He would have continued, but Miss Lydia dropped a teaspoon, and the +noise woke up the colonel. + +"Della Rebbia, we'll start at five o'clock to-morrow morning. Be +punctual!" + +"Yes, colonel." + + + +CHAPTER V + +The next day, a short time before the sportsmen came back, Miss Nevil, +returning with her maid from a walk along the seashore, was just about +to enter the inn, when she noticed a young woman, dressed in black, +riding into the town on a small but strong horse. She was followed by a +sort of peasant, also on horseback, who wore a brown cloth jacket cut at +the elbows. A gourd was slung over his shoulder and a pistol was hanging +at his belt, his hand grasped a gun, the butt of which rested in a +leathern pocket fastened to his saddle-bow--in short, he wore the +complete costume of a brigand in a melodrama, or of the middle-class +Corsican on his travels. Miss Nevil's attention was first attracted by +the woman's remarkable beauty. She seemed about twenty years of age; she +was tall and pale, with dark blue eyes, red lips, and teeth like enamel. +In her expression pride, anxiety, and sadness were all legible. On her +head she wore a black silk veil called a _mezzaro_, which the Genoese +introduced into Corsica, and which is so becoming to women. Long braids +of chestnut hair formed a sort of turban round her head. Her dress was +neat, but simple in the extreme. + +Miss Nevil had plenty of time to observe her, for the lady in the +_mezzaro_ had halted in the street, and was questioning somebody on +a subject which, to judge from the expression of her eyes, must have +interested her exceedingly. Then, as soon as she received an answer, +she touched her mount with her riding-switch, and, breaking into a quick +trot, never halted till she reached the door of the hotel in which Sir +Thomas Nevil and Orso were staying. There, after exchanging a few words +with the host, the girl sprang nimbly from her saddle and seated herself +on a stone bench beside the entrance door, while her groom led the +horses away to the stable. Miss Lydia, in her Paris gown, passed close +beside the stranger, who did not raise her eyes. A quarter of an hour +later she opened her window, and saw the lady in the _mezzaro_ still +sitting in the same place and in the same attitude. Not long afterward +the colonel and Orso returned from hunting. Then the landlord said a few +words to the young lady in mourning, and pointed to della Rebbia with +his finger. She coloured deeply, rose eagerly, went a few paces forward, +and then stopped short, apparently much confused. Orso was quite close +to her, and was looking at her curiously. + +"Are you Orso Antonio della Rebbia?" said she in a tremulous voice. "I +am Colomba." + +"Colomba!" cried Orso. + +And taking her in his arms he kissed her tenderly, somewhat to the +surprise of the colonel and his daughter--but in England people do not +kiss each other in the street. + +"Brother," said Colomba, "you must forgive me for having come without +your permission. But I heard from our friends that you had arrived, and +it is such a great consolation to me to see you." + +Again Orso kissed her. Then, turning to the colonel: + +"This is my sister," said he, "whom I never should have recognised +if she had not told me her name--Colomba--Colonel Sir Thomas +Nevil--colonel, you will kindly excuse me, but I can not have the honour +of dining with you to-day. My sister--" + +"But, my dear fellow, where the devil do you expect to dine? You know +very well there is only one dinner in this infernal tavern, and we have +bespoken it. It will afford my daughter great pleasure if this young +lady will join us." + +Colomba looked at her brother, who did not need much pressing, and they +all passed together into the largest room in the inn, which the colonel +used as his sitting and dining room. Mademoiselle della Rebbia, on being +introduced to Miss Nevil, made her a deep courtesy, but she did +not utter a single word. It was easy to see that she was very much +frightened at finding herself, perhaps for the first time in her life, +in the company of strangers belonging to the great world. Yet there was +nothing provincial in her manners. The novelty of her position excused +her awkwardness. Miss Nevil took a liking to her at once, and, as there +was no room disengaged in the hotel, the whole of which was occupied by +the colonel and his attendants, she offered, either out of condescension +or curiosity, to have a bed prepared in her own room for Mademoiselle +della Rebbia. + +Colomba stammered a few words of thanks, and hastened after Miss Nevil's +maid, to make such changes in her toilet as were rendered necessary by a +journey on horseback in the dust and heat. + +When she re-entered the sitting-room, she paused in front of the +colonel's guns, which the hunters had left in a corner. + +"What fine weapons," said she. "Are they yours, brother?" + +"No, they are the colonel's English guns--and they are as good as they +are handsome." + +"How much I wish you had one like them!" said Colomba. + +"One of those three certainly does belong to della Rebbia," exclaimed +the colonel. "He really shoots almost too well! To-day he fired fourteen +shots, and brought down fourteen head of game." + +A friendly dispute at once ensued, in which Orso was vanquished, to +his sister's great satisfaction, as it was easy to perceive from the +childish expression of delight which illumined her face, so serious a +moment before. + +"Choose, my dear fellow," said the colonel; but Orso refused. + +"Very well, then. Your sister shall choose for you." + +Colomba did not wait for a second invitation. She took up the plainest +of the guns, but it was a first-rate Manton of large calibre. + +"This one," she said, "must carry a ball a long distance." + +Her brother was growing quite confused in his expressions of gratitude, +when dinner appeared, very opportunely, to help him out of his +embarrassment. + +Miss Lydia was delighted to notice that Colomba, who had shown +considerable reluctance to sit down with them, and had yielded only at +a glance from her brother, crossed herself, like a good Catholic, before +she began to eat. + +"Good!" said she to herself, "that is primitive!" and she anticipated +acquiring many interesting facts by observing this youthful +representative of ancient Corsican manners. As for Orso, he was +evidently a trifle uneasy, fearing, doubtless, that his sister might +say or do something which savoured too much of her native village. But +Colomba watched him constantly, and regulated all her own movements by +his. Sometimes she looked at him fixedly, with a strange expression of +sadness, and then, if Orso's eyes met hers, he was the first to turn +them away, as though he would evade some question which his sister was +mentally addressing to him, the sense of which he understood only +too well. Everybody talked French, for the colonel could only express +himself very badly in Italian. Colomba understood French, and +even pronounced the few words she was obliged to exchange with her +entertainers tolerably well. + +After dinner, the colonel, who had noticed the sort of constraint which +existed between the brother and sister, inquired of Orso, with +his customary frankness, whether he did not wish to be alone with +Mademoiselle Colomba, offering, in that case, to go into the next room +with his daughter. But Orso hastened to thank him, and to assure him +they would have plenty of time to talk at Pietranera--this was the name +of the village where he was to take up his abode. + +The colonel then resumed his customary position on the sofa, and Miss +Nevil, after attempting several subjects of conversation, gave up all +hope of inducing the fair Colomba to talk, and begged Orso to read her +a canto out of Dante, her favourite poet. Orso chose the canto of the +Inferno, containing the episode of Francesca da Rimini, and began to +read, as impressively as he was able, the glorious tiercets which so +admirably express the risk run by two young persons who venture to read +a love-story together. As he read on Colomba drew nearer to the table, +and raised her head, which she had kept lowered. Her wide-open eyes, +shone with extraordinary fire, she grew red and pale by turns, and +stirred convulsively in her chair. How admirable is the Italian +organization, which can understand poetry without needing a pedant to +explain its beauties! + +When the canto was finished: + +"How beautiful that is!" she exclaimed. "Who wrote it, brother?" + +Orso was a little disconcerted, and Miss Lydia answered with a smile +that it was written by a Florentine poet, who had been dead for +centuries. + +"You shall read Dante," said Orso, "when you are at Pietranera." + +"Good heavens, how beautiful it is!" said Colomba again, and she +repeated three or four tiercets which she had remembered, speaking at +first in an undertone; then, growing excited, she declaimed them aloud, +with far more expression than her brother had put into his reading. + +Miss Lydia was very much astonished. + +"You seem very fond of poetry," she said. "How I envy you the delight +you will find in reading Dante for the first time!" + +"You see, Miss Nevil," said Orso, "what a power Dante's lines must have, +when they so move a wild young savage who knows nothing but her _Pater_. +But I am mistaken! I recollect now that Colomba belongs to the guild. +Even when she was quite a little child she used to try her hand at +verse-making, and my father used to write me word that she was the best +_voceratrice_ in Pietranera, and for two leagues round about." + +Colomba cast an imploring glance at her brother. Miss Nevil had heard +of the Corsican _improvisatrici_, and was dying to hear one. She begged +Colomba, then, to give her a specimen of her powers. Very much vexed +now at having made any mention of his sister's poetic gifts, Orso +interposed. In vain did he protest that nothing was so insipid as a +Corsican _ballata_, and that to recite the Corsican verses after those +of Dante was like betraying his country. All he did was to stimulate +Miss Nevil's curiosity, and at last he was obliged to say to his sister: + +"Well! well! improvise something--but let it be short!" + +Colomba heaved a sigh, looked fixedly for a moment, first at the +table-cloth, and then at the rafters of the ceiling; at last, covering +her eyes with her hand like those birds that gather courage, and fancy +they are not seen when they no longer see themselves, she sang, or +rather declaimed, in an unsteady voice, the following _serenata_: + + + +"THE MAIDEN AND THE TURTLE-DOVE + +"In the valley, far away among the mountains, the sun only shines for +an hour every day. In the valley there stands a gloomy house, and grass +grows on its threshold. Doors and windows are always shut. No smoke +rises from the roof. But at noon, when the sunshine falls, a window +opens, and the orphan girl sits spinning at her wheel. She spins, and +as she works, she sings--a song of sadness. But no other song comes to +answer hers! One day--a day in spring-time--a turtle-dove settled on a +tree hard by, and heard the maiden's song. 'Maiden,' it said, 'thou +art not the only mourner! A cruel hawk has snatched my mate from me!' +'Turtle-dove, show me that cruel hawk; were it to soar higher than the +clouds I would soon bring it down to earth! But who will restore to me, +unhappy that I am, my brother, now in a far country?' 'Maiden, tell me, +where thy brother is, and my wings shall bear me to him.'" + + + +"A well-bred turtle-dove, indeed!" exclaimed Orso, and the emotion with +which he kissed his sister contrasted strongly with the jesting tone in +which he spoke. + +"Your song is delightful," said Miss Lydia. "You must write it in my +album; I'll translate it into English, and have it set to music." + +The worthy colonel, who had not understood a single word, added his +compliments to his daughter's and added: "Is this dove you speak of the +bird we ate broiled at dinner to-day?" + +Miss Nevil fetched her album, and was not a little surprised to see the +_improvisatrice_ write down her song, with so much care in the matter of +economizing space. + +The lines, instead of being separate, were all run together, as far as +the breadth of the paper would permit, so that they did not agree with +the accepted definition of poetic composition--"short lines of unequal +length, with a margin on each side of them." Mademoiselle Colomba's +somewhat fanciful spelling might also have excited comment. More than +once Miss Nevil was seen to smile, and Orso's fraternal vanity suffered +tortures. + +Bedtime came, and the two young girls retired to their room. There, +while Miss Lydia unclasped her necklace, ear-rings, and bracelets, she +watched her companion draw something out of her gown--something as +long as a stay-busk, but very different in shape. Carefully, almost +stealthily, Colomba slipped this object under her _mezzaro_, which she +laid on the table. Then she knelt down, and said her prayers devoutly. +Two minutes afterward she was in her bed. Miss Lydia, naturally very +inquisitive, and as slow as every Englishwoman is about undressing +herself, moved over to the table, pretended she was looking for a pin, +lifted up the _mezzaro_, and saw a long stiletto--curiously mounted in +silver and mother-of-pearl. The workmanship was remarkably fine. It was +an ancient weapon, and just the sort of one an amateur would have prized +very highly. + +"Is it the custom here," inquired Miss Nevil, with a smile, "for young +ladies to wear such little instruments as these in their bodices?" + +"It is," answered Colomba, with a sigh. "There are so many wicked people +about!" + +"And would you really have the courage to strike with it, like this?" +And Miss Nevil, dagger in hand, made a gesture of stabbing from above, +as actors do on the stage. + +"Yes," said Colomba, in her soft, musical voice, "if I had to do it to +protect myself or my friends. But you must not hold it like that, you +might wound yourself if the person you were going to stab were to draw +back." Then, sitting up in bed, "See," she added, "you must strike like +this--upward! If you do so, the thrust is sure to kill, they say. Happy +are they who never need such weapons." + +She sighed, dropped her head back on the pillow, and closed her eyes. A +more noble, beautiful, virginal head it would be impossible to imagine. +Phidias would have asked no other model for Minerva. + + + +CHAPTER VI + +It is in obedience to the precept of Horace that I have begun by +plunging _in media res_. Now that every one is asleep--the beautiful +Colomba, the colonel, and his daughter--I will seize the opportunity +to acquaint my reader with certain details of which he must not be +ignorant, if he desires to follow the further course of this veracious +history. He is already aware that Colonel della Rebbia, Orso's father, +had been assassinated. Now, in Corsica, people are not murdered, as they +are in France, by the first escaped convict who can devise no better +means of relieving a man of his silver-plate. In Corsica a man is +murdered by his enemies--but the reason he has enemies is often very +difficult to discover. Many families hate each other because it has been +an old-standing habit of theirs to hate each other; but the tradition of +the original cause of their hatred may have completely disappeared. + +The family to which Colonel della Rebbia belonged hated several other +families, but that of the Barricini particularly. Some people asserted +that in the sixteenth century a della Rebbia had seduced a lady of the +Barricini family, and had afterward been poniarded by a relative of the +outraged damsel. Others, indeed, told the story in a different fashion, +declaring that it was a della Rebbia who had been seduced, and a +Barricini who had been poniarded. However that may be, there was, to +use the time-honoured expression, "blood between the two houses." +Nevertheless, and contrary to custom, this murder had not resulted +in others; for the della Rebbia and the Barricini had been equally +persecuted by the Genoese Government, and as the young men had all left +the country, the two families were deprived, during several generations, +of their more energetic representatives. At the close of the last +century, one of the della Rebbias, an officer in the Neapolitan service, +quarrelled, in a gambling hell, with some soldiers, who called him a +Corsican goatherd, and other insulting names. He drew his sword, +but being only one against three, he would have fared very ill if a +stranger, who was playing in the same room, had not exclaimed, "I, too, +am a Corsican," and come to his rescue. This stranger was one of the +Barricini, who, for that matter, was not acquainted with his countryman. +After mutual explanations, they interchanged courtesies and vowed +eternal friendship. For on the Continent, quite contrary to their +practice in their own island, Corsicans quickly become friends. This +fact was clearly exemplified on the present occasion. As long as della +Rebbia and Barricini remained in Italy they were close friends. Once +they were back in Corsica, they saw each other but very seldom, although +they both lived in the same village; and when they died, it was reported +that they had not spoken to each other for five or six years. Their sons +lived in the same fashion--"on ceremony," as they say in the island; +one of them Ghilfuccio, Orso's father, was a soldier; the other Giudice +Barricini, was a lawyer. Having both become heads of families, and being +separated by their professions, they scarcely ever had an opportunity of +seeing or hearing of each other. + +One day, however, about the year 1809, Giudice read in a newspaper at +Bastia that Captain Ghilfuccio had just been decorated, and remarked, +before witnesses, that he was not at all surprised, considering that the +family enjoyed the protection of General -----. This remark was reported +at Vienna to Ghilfuccio, who told one of his countrymen that, when he +got back to Corsica, he would find Giudice a very rich man, because he +made more money out of the suits he lost than out of those he won. It +was never known whether he meant this as an insinuation that the lawyer +cheated his clients, or as a mere allusion to the commonplace truth that +a bad cause often brings a lawyer more profit than a good one. However +that may have been, the lawyer Barricini heard of the epigram, and never +forgot it. In 1812 he applied for the post of mayor of his commune, +and had every hope of being appointed, when General ----- wrote to the +prefect, to recommend one of Ghilfuccio's wife's relations. The prefect +lost no time in carrying out the general's wish, and Barricini felt no +doubt that he owed his failure to the intrigues of Ghilfuccio. In 1814, +after the emperor's fall, the general's protege was denounced as a +Bonapartist, and his place was taken by Barricini. He, in his turn, was +dismissed during the Hundred Days, but when the storm had blown over, +he again took possession, with great pomp, of the mayoral seal and the +municipal registers. + +From this moment his star shone brighter than ever. Colonel della +Rebbia, now living on half-pay at Pietranera, had to defend himself +against covert and repeated attacks due to the pettifogging malignity of +his enemy. At one time he was summoned to pay for the damage his horse +had done to the mayor's fences, at another, the latter, under pretence +of repairing the floor of the church, ordered the removal of a broken +flagstone bearing the della Rebbia arms, which covered the grave of +some member of the family. If the village goats ate the colonel's young +plants, the mayor always protected their owners. The grocer who kept the +post-office at Pietranera, and the old maimed soldier who had been +the village policeman--both of them attached to the della Rebbia +family--were turned adrift, and their places filled by Barricini's +creatures. + +The colonel's wife died, and her last wish was that she might be buried +in the middle of the little wood in which she had been fond of walking. +Forthwith the mayor declared she should be buried in the village +cemetery, because he had no authority to permit burial in any other +spot. The colonel, in a fury, declared that until the permit came, his +wife would be interred in the spot she had chosen. He had her grave dug +there. The mayor, on his side, had another grave dug in the cemetery, +and sent for the police, that the law, so he declared, might be duly +enforced. On the day of the funeral, the two parties came face to face, +and, for a moment, there was reason to fear a struggle might ensue for +the possession of Signora della Rebbia's corpse. Some forty well-armed +peasants, mustered by the dead woman's relatives, forced the priest, +when he issued from the church, to take the road to the wood. On the +other hand, the mayor, at the head of his two sons, his dependents, and +the gendarmes, advanced to oppose their march. When he appeared, and +called on the procession to turn back, he was greeted with howls and +threats. The advantage of numbers was with his opponents, and they +seemed thoroughly determined. At sight of him several guns were loaded, +and one shepherd is even said to have levelled his musket at him, but +the colonel knocked up the barrel, and said, "Let no man fire without +my orders!" The mayor, who, like Panurge, had "a natural fear of blows," +refused to give battle, and retired, with his escort. Then the funeral +procession started, carefully choosing the longest way, so as to pass +in front of the mayor's house. As it was filing by, an idiot, who had +joined its ranks, took it into his head to shout, "Vive l'Empereur!" +Two or three voices answered him, and the Rebbianites, growing hotter, +proposed killing one of the mayor's oxen, which chanced to bar their +way. Fortunately the colonel stopped this act of violence. + +It is hardly necessary to mention that an official statement was at once +drawn up, or that the mayor sent the prefect a report, in his sublimest +style, describing the manner in which all laws, human and divine, had +been trodden under foot--how the majesty of himself, the mayor, and of +the priest had been flouted and insulted, and how Colonel della Rebbia +had put himself at the head of a Bonapartist plot, to change the order +of succession to the throne, and to excite peaceful citizens to take +arms against one another--crimes provided against by Articles 86 and 91 +of the Penal Code. + +The exaggerated tone of this complaint diminished its effect. The +colonel wrote to the prefect and to the public prosecutor. One of his +wife's kinsmen was related to one of the deputies of the island, another +was cousin to the president of the Royal Court. Thanks to this interest, +the plot faded out of sight, Signora della Rebbia was left quiet in the +wood, and the idiot alone was sentenced to a fortnight's imprisonment. + +Lawyer Barricini, dissatisfied with the result of this affair, turned +his batteries in a different direction. He dug out some old claim, +whereby he undertook to contest the colonel's ownership of a certain +water-course which turned a mill-wheel. A lawsuit began and dragged +slowly along. At the end of twelve months, the court was about to give +its decision, and according to all appearances in favour of the colonel, +when Barricini placed in the hands of the public prosecutor a letter, +signed by a certain Agostini, a well-known bandit, threatening him, the +mayor, with fire and sword if he did not relinquish his pretensions. It +is well known that in Corsica the protection of these brigands is +much sought after, and that, to oblige their friends, they frequently +intervene in private quarrels. The mayor was deriving considerable +advantage from this letter, when the business was further complicated by +a fresh incident. Agostini, the bandit, wrote to the public prosecutor, +to complain that his handwriting had been counterfeited, and his +character aspersed, by some one who desired to represent him as a man +who made a traffic of his influence. "If I can discover the forger," he +said at the end of his letter, "I will make a striking example of him." + +It was quite clear that Agostini did not write the threatening letter +to the mayor. The della Rebbia accused the Barricini of it and _vice +versa_. Both parties broke into open threats, and the authorities did +not know where to find the culprit. + +In the midst of all this Colonel Ghilfuccio was murdered. Here are +the facts, as they were elicited at the official inquiry. On the 2d of +August, 18--, toward nightfall, a woman named Maddalena Pietri, who was +carrying corn to Pietranera, heard two shots fired, very close together, +the reports, as it seemed to her, coming from the deep lane leading to +the village, about a hundred and fifty paces from the spot on which she +stood. Almost immediately afterward she saw a man running, crouching +along a footpath among the vines, and making for the village. The man +stopped for a minute, and turned round, but the distance prevented the +woman Pietri from seeing his features, and besides, he had a vine-leaf +in his mouth, which hid almost the whole of his face. He made a signal +with his head to some comrade, whom the witness could not see, and then +disappeared among the vines. + +The woman Pietri dropped her burden, ran up the path, and found Colonel +della Rebbia, bathed in his own blood from two bullet wounds, but still +breathing. Close beside him lay his gun, loaded and cocked, as if he had +been defending himself against a person who had attacked him in front, +just when another had struck him from behind. Although the rattle was +in his throat, he struggled against the grip of death, but he could not +utter a word--this the doctors explained by the nature of the wounds, +which had cut through his lungs: the blood was choking him, it flowed +slowly, like red froth. In vain did the woman lift him up, and ask him +several questions. She saw plainly enough that he desired to speak, but +he could not make himself understood. Noticing that he was trying to get +his hand to his pocket, she quickly drew out of it a little note-book, +which she opened and gave to him. + +The wounded man took the pencil out of the note-book and tried to +write. In fact, the witness saw him form several letters, but with great +difficulty. As she could not read, however, she was unable to understand +their meaning. Exhausted by the effort, the colonel left the note-book +in the woman's hand, which he squeezed tightly, looking at her +strangely, as if he wanted to say (these are the witness's own words): +"It is important--it is my murderer's name!" + +Maddalena Pietri was going up to the village, when she met Barricini, +the mayor, with his son Vincentello. It was then almost dark. She told +them what she had seen. The mayor took the note-book, hurried up to his +house, put on his sash, and fetched his secretary and the gendarmes. +Left alone with young Vincentello, Maddalena Pietri suggested that he +should go to the colonel's assistance, in case he was still alive, but +Vincentello replied that if he were to go near a man who had been the +bitter enemy of his family, he would certainly be accused of having +killed him. A very short time afterward the mayor arrived, found the +colonel dead, had the corpse carried away, and drew up his report. + +In spite of the agitation so natural on such an occasion, Monsieur +Barricini had hastened to place the colonel's note-book under seal, and +to make all the inquiries in his power, but none of them resulted in any +discovery of importance. + +When the examining magistrate arrived the note-book was opened, and on +a blood-stained page were seen letters written in a trembling hand, but +still quite legible; the sheet bore the word _Agosti_--and the judge +did not doubt that the colonel had intended to point out Agostini as his +murderer. Nevertheless, Colomba della Rebbia, who had been summoned by +the magistrate, asked leave to examine the note-book. After turning the +leaves for a few moments, she stretched out her hand toward the mayor +and cried, "There stands the murderer!" Then with a precision and a +clearness which were astonishing, considering the passion of sorrow +that shook her, she related that, a few days previously, her father had +received a letter from his son, which he had burned, but that before +doing so he had written Orso's address (he had just changed his +garrison) in the note-book with his pencil. Now, his address was no +longer in the note-book, and Colomba concluded that the mayor had torn +out the leaf on which it was written, which probably was that on which +her father had traced the murderer's name, and for that name the mayor, +according to Colomba, had substituted Agostini's. The magistrate, in +fact, noticed that one sheet was missing from the quire on which the +name was written, but he remarked also that leaves were likewise missing +from other quires in the same note-book, and certain witnesses testified +that the colonel had a habit of tearing out pages when he wanted to +light a cigar--therefore nothing was more probable than that, by an +oversight, he had burned the address he had copied. Further, it was +shown that the mayor could not have read the note-book on receiving it +from Maddalena Pietri, on account of the darkness, and it was proved +that he had not stopped an instant before he went into his house, that +the sergeant of the gendarmes had gone there with him, and had seen him +light a lamp and put the note-book into an envelope which he had sealed +before his eyes. + +When this officer had concluded his deposition, Colomba, +half-distracted, cast herself at his feet, and besought him, by all he +held most sacred, to say whether he had not left the mayor alone for a +single moment. After a certain amount of hesitation, the man, who was +evidently affected by the young girl's excitement, admitted that he had +gone into the next room to fetch a sheet of foolscap, but that he had +not been away a minute, and that the mayor had talked to him all the +time he was groping for the paper in a drawer. Moreover, he deposed that +when he came back the blood-stained note-book was still on the table, in +the very place where the mayor had thrown it when he first came in. + +Monsieur Barricini gave his evidence with the utmost coolness. He made +allowances, he said, for Mademoiselle della Rebbia's excitement, and was +ready to condescend to justify himself. He proved that he had spent his +whole evening in the village, that his son Vincentello had been with him +in front of the house at the moment when the crime was committed, and +that his son Orlanduccio, who had had an attack of fever that very day, +had never left his bed. He produced every gun in his house, and not one +of them had been recently discharged. He added, that, as regarded the +note-book, he had at once realized its importance; that he had sealed it +up, and placed it in the hands of his deputy, foreseeing that he himself +might be suspected, on account of his quarrel with the colonel. Finally, +he reminded the court that Agostini had threatened to kill the man who +had written a letter in his name, and he insinuated that this ruffian +had probably suspected the colonel, and murdered him. Such a vengeance, +for a similar reason, is by no means unprecedented in the history of +brigandage. + +Five days after Colonel della Rebbia's death, Agostini was surprised by +a detachment of riflemen, and killed, fighting desperately to the last. +On his person was found a letter from Colomba, beseeching him to declare +whether he was guilty of the murder imputed to him, or not. As the +bandit had sent no answer, it was pretty generally concluded that he had +not the courage to tell a daughter he had murdered her father. Yet those +who claimed to know Agostini's nature thoroughly, whispered that if +he had killed the colonel, he would have boasted of the deed. Another +bandit, known by the name of Brandolaccio, sent Colomba a declaration +in which he bore witness "on his honour" to his comrade's innocence--but +the only proof he put forward was that Agostini had never told him that +he suspected the colonel. + +The upshot was that the Barricini suffered no inconvenience, the +examining magistrate was loud in his praise of the mayor, and the mayor, +on his side, crowned his handsome behaviour by relinquishing all his +claims over the stream, concerning which he had brought the lawsuit +against Colonel della Rebbia. + +According to the custom of her country, Colomba improvised a _ballata_ +in presence of her father's corpse, and before his assembled friends. In +it she poured out all her hatred against the Barricini, formally charged +them with the murder, and threatened them with her brother's vengeance. +It was this same _ballata_, which had grown very popular, that the +sailor had sung before Miss Lydia. When Orso, who was in the north of +France, heard of his father's death, he applied for leave, but failed to +obtain it. A letter from his sister led him to believe at first in the +guilt of the Barricini, but he soon received copies of all the documents +connected with the inquiry and a private letter from the judge, which +almost convinced him that the bandit Agostini was the only culprit. +Every three months Colomba had written to him, reiterating her +suspicions, which she called her "proofs." In spite of himself, these +accusations made his Corsican blood boil, and sometimes he was very near +sharing his sister's prejudices. Nevertheless, every time he wrote to +her he repeated his conviction that her allegations possessed no solid +foundation, and were quite unworthy of belief. He even forbade her, but +always vainly, to mention them to him again. + +Thus two years went by. At the end of that time Orso was placed on +half-pay, and then it occurred to him to go back to his own country--not +at all for the purpose of taking vengeance on people whom he believed +innocent, but to arrange a marriage for his sister, and the sale of his +own small property--if its value should prove sufficient to enable him +to live on the Continent. + + + +CHAPTER VII + +Whether it was that the arrival of his sister had reminded Orso forcibly +of his paternal home, or that Colomba's unconventional dress and manners +made him feel shy before his civilized friends, he announced, the +very next day, his determination to leave Ajaccio, and to return to +Pietranera. But he made the colonel promise that when he went to Bastia +he would come and stay in his modest manor-house, and undertook, in +return, to provide him with plenty of buck, pheasant, boar, and other +game. + +On the day before that of his departure Orso proposed that, instead of +going out shooting, they should all take a walk along the shores of +the gulf. With Miss Lydia on his arm he was able to talk in perfect +freedom--for Colomba had stayed in the town to do her shopping, and +the colonel was perpetually leaving the young people to fire shots at +sea-gulls and gannets, greatly to the astonishment of the passers-by, +who could not conceive why any man should waste his powder on such +paltry game. + +They were walking along the path leading to the Greek Chapel, which +commands the finest view to be had of the bay, but they paid no +attention to it. + +"Miss Lydia," said Orso, after a silence which had lasted long enough to +become embarrassing, "tell me frankly, what do you think of my sister?" + +"I like her very much," answered Miss Nevil. "Better than you," she +added, with a smile; "for she is a true Corsican, and you are rather too +civilized a savage!" + +"Too civilized! Well, in spite of myself, I feel that I am growing a +savage again, since I have set my foot on the island! A thousand horrid +thoughts disturb and torment me, and I wanted to talk with you a little +before I plunge into my desert!" + +"You must be brave, monsieur! Look at your sister's resignation; she +sets you an example!" + +"Ah! do not be deceived! Do not believe in her resignation. She has +not said a word to me as yet, but every look of hers tells me what she +expects of me." + +"What does she expect of you, then?" + +"Oh, nothing! Except that I should try whether your father's gun will +kill a man as surely as it kills a partridge." + +"What an idea! You can actually believe that, when you have just +acknowledged that she has said nothing to you yet? It really is too +dreadful of you!" + +"If her thoughts were not fixed on vengeance, she would have spoken +to me at once about our father; she has never done it. She would have +mentioned the names of those she considers--wrongly, I know--to be his +murderers. But no; not a word! That is because we Corsicans, you +see, are a cunning race. My sister realizes that she does not hold me +completely in her power, and she does not choose to startle me while I +may still escape her. Once she has led me to the edge of the precipice, +and once I turn giddy there, she will thrust me into the abyss." + +Then Orso gave Miss Nevil some details of his father's death, and +recounted the principal proofs which had culminated in his belief that +Agostini was the assassin. + +"Nothing," he added, "has been able to convince Colomba. I saw that by +her last letter. She has sworn the Barricini shall die, and--you see, +Miss Nevil, what confidence I have in you!--they would not be alive now, +perhaps, if one of the prejudices for which her uncivilized education +must be the excuse had not convinced her that the execution of this +vengeance belongs to me, as head of her family, and that my honour +depends upon it!" + +"Really and truly, Monsieur della Rebbia!" said Miss Nevil, "you slander +your sister!" + +"No. As you have said it yourself, she is a Corsican; she thinks as they +all think. Do you know why I was so sad yesterday?" + +"No. But for some time past you have been subject to these fits +of sadness. You were much pleasanter in the earlier days of our +acquaintance." + +"Yesterday, on the contrary, I was more cheery and happy than I +generally am. I had seen how kind, how indulgent, you were to my sister. +The colonel and I were coming home in a boat. Do you know what one of +the boatmen said to me in his infernal _patois_? 'You've killed a deal +of game, Ors' Anton', but you'll find Orlanduccio Barricini a better +shot than you!'" + +"Well, what was there so very dreadful in that remark? Are you so very +much set upon being considered a skilful sportsman?" + +"But don't you see the ruffian was telling me I shouldn't have courage +to kill Orlanduccio!" + +"Do you know, M. della Rebbia, you frighten me! The air of this island +of yours seems not only to give people fevers, but to drive them mad. +Luckily we shall be leaving it soon!" + +"Not without coming to Pietranera--you have promised my sister that." + +"And if we were to fail in that promise, we should bring down some +terrible vengeance on our heads, no doubt!" + +"Do you remember that story your father was telling us, the other day, +about the Indians who threatened the company's agents that, if they +would not grant their prayer, they would starve themselves to death?" + +"That means that you would starve yourself to death! I doubt it very +much! You would go hungry for one day and then Mademoiselle Colomba +would bring you such a tempting _bruccio_[*] that you would quite +relinquish your plan." + +[*] A sort of baked cream cheese, a national dish in Corsica. + +"Your jests are cruel, Miss Nevil. You might spare me. Listen, I am +alone here; I have no one but you to prevent me from going mad, as you +call it. You have been my guardian angel, and now----!" + +"Now," said Miss Lydia gravely, "to steady this reason of yours, which +is so easily shaken, you have the honour of a soldier and a man, and," +she added, turning away to pluck a flower, "if that will be any help to +you, you have the memory of your guardian angel, too!" + +"Ah, Miss Nevil, if I could only think you really take some interest!" + +"Listen, M. della Rebbia," said Miss Nevil, with some emotion. "As you +are a child, I will treat you as I would treat a child. When I was a +little girl my mother gave me a beautiful necklace, which I had longed +for greatly; but she said to me, 'Every time you put on this necklace, +remember you do not know French yet.' The necklace lost some of its +value in my eyes, it was a source of constant self-reproach. But I +wore it, and in the end I knew French. Do you see this ring? It is an +Egyptian scarabaeus, found, if you please, in a pyramid. That strange +figure, which you may perhaps take for a bottle, stands for '_human +life_.' There are certain people in my country to whom this hieroglyphic +should appear exceedingly appropriate. This, which comes after it, is a +shield upon an arm, holding a lance; that means '_struggle_, _battle_.' +Thus the two characters, together, form this motto, which strikes me +as a fine one, '_Life is a battle_.' Pray do not fancy I can translate +hieroglyphics at sight! It was a man learned in such matters who +explained these to me. Here, I will give you my scarabaeus. Whenever you +feel some wicked Corsican thought stir in you, look at my talisman, and +tell yourself you must win the battle our evil passions wage against us. +Why, really, I don't preach at all badly!" + +"I shall think of you, Miss Nevil, and I shall say to myself----" + +"Say to yourself you have a friend who would be in despair at the idea +of your being hanged--and besides it would be too distressing for your +ancestors the corporals!" + +With these words she dropped Orso's arm, laughing and running to her +father. + +"Papa," she said, "do leave those poor birds alone, and come and make up +poetry with us, in Napoleon's grotto!" + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +There is always a certain solemnity about a departure, even when the +separation is only to be a short one. Orso and his sister were to start +very early in the morning, and he had taken his leave of Miss Lydia the +night before--for he had no hope that she would disturb her indolent +habits on his account. Their farewells had been cold and grave. Since +that conversation on the sea-shore, Miss Lydia had been afraid she had +perhaps shown too strong an interest in Orso, and on the other hand, her +jests, and more especially her careless tone, lay heavy on Orso's heart. +At one moment he had thought the young Englishwoman's manner betrayed +a budding feeling of affection, but now, put out of countenance by her +jests, he told himself she only looked on him as a mere acquaintance, +who would be soon forgotten. Great, therefore, was his surprise, next +morning, when, as he sat at coffee with the colonel, he saw Miss Lydia +come into the room, followed by his sister. She had risen at five +o'clock, and for an Englishwoman, and especially for Miss Nevil, the +effort was so great that it could not but give him some cause for +vanity. + +"I am so sorry you should have disturbed yourself so early," said Orso. +"No doubt my sister woke you up in spite of my injunctions, and you must +hate us heartily! Perhaps you wish I was hanged already!" + +"No," said Miss Lydia, very low and in Italian, evidently so that +her father might not hear her, "but you were somewhat sulky with me +yesterday, because of my innocent jokes, and I would not have you carry +away an unpleasant recollection of your humble servant. What terrible +people you are, you Corsicans! Well, good-bye! We shall meet soon, I +hope." + +And she held out her hand. + +A sigh was the only answer Orso could find. Colomba came to his side, +led him into a window, and spoke to him for a moment in an undertone, +showing him something she held under her _mezzaro_. + +"Mademoiselle," said Orso to Miss Nevil, "my sister is anxious to give +you a very odd present, but we Corsicans have not much to offer--except +our affection--which time never wipes out. My sister tells me you have +looked with some curiosity at this dagger. It is an ancient possession +in our family. It probably hung, once upon a time, at the belt of one of +those corporals, to whom I owe the honour of your acquaintance. Colomba +thinks it so precious that she has asked my leave to give it to you, and +I hardly know if I ought to grant it, for I am afraid you'll laugh at +us!" + +"The dagger is beautiful," said Miss Lydia. "But it is a family weapon, +I can not accept it!" + +"It's not my father's dagger," exclaimed Colomba eagerly; "it was given +to one of mother's ancestors by King Theodore. If the signorina will +accept it, she will give us great pleasure." + +"Come, Miss Lydia," said Orso, "don't scorn a king's dagger!" + +To a collector, relics of King Theodore are infinitely more precious +than those of the most powerful of monarchs. The temptation was a +strong one, and already Miss Lydia could see the effect the weapon would +produce laid out on a lacquered table in her room at St. James's Place. + +"But," said she, taking the dagger with the hesitating air of one +who longs to accept, and casting one of her most delightful smiles on +Colomba, "dear Signorina Colomba . . . I can not . . . I should not dare +to let you depart thus, unarmed." + +"My brother is with me," said Colomba proudly, "and we have the good gun +your father has given us. Orso, have you put a bullet in it?" + +Miss Nevil kept the dagger, and to avert the danger consequent on +_giving_ instruments that cut or pierce to a friend, Colomba insisted on +receiving a soldo in payment. + +A start had to be made at last. Yet once again Orso pressed Miss Nevil's +hand, Colomba kissed her, and then held up her rosy lips to the colonel, +who was enchanted with this Corsican politeness. From the window of +the drawing-room Miss Lydia watched the brother and sister mount their +horses. Colomba's eyes shone with a malignant joy which she had never +remarked in them before. The sight of this tall strong creature, with +her fanatical ideas of savage honour, pride written on her forehead, +and curled in a sardonic smile upon her lips, carrying off the young +man with his weapons, as though on some death-dealing errand, recalled +Orso's fears to her, and she fancied she beheld his evil genius dragging +him to his ruin. Orso, who was already in the saddle, raised his head +and caught sight of her. Either because he had guessed her thought, or +desired to send her a last farewell, he took the Egyptian ring, which he +had hung upon a ribbon, and carried it to his lips. Blushing, Miss Lydia +stepped back from the window, then returning to it almost at once, she +saw the two Corsicans cantering their little ponies rapidly toward the +mountains. Half an hour later the colonel showed them to her, through +his glasses, riding along the end of the bay, and she noticed that +Orso constantly turned his head toward the town. At last he disappeared +behind the marshes, the site of which is now filled by a flourishing +nursery garden. + +Miss Lydia glanced at herself in the glass, and thought she looked pale. + +"What must that young man think of me," said she, "and what did I think +of him? And why did I think about him? . . . A travelling acquaintance! +. . . What have I come to Corsica for? . . . Oh! I don't care for him! +. . . No! no! and besides the thing is impossible . . . And Colomba . . . +Fancy me sister-in-law to a _voceratrice_, who wears a big dagger!" + +And she noticed she was still holding King Theodore's dagger in her +hand. She tossed it on to her toilette table. "Colomba, in London, +dancing at Almacks! . . . Good heavens! what a lion[*] that would be, to +show off! . . . Perhaps she'd make a great sensation! . . . He loves me, +I'm certain of it! He is the hero of a novel, and I have interrupted his +adventurous career. . . . But did he really long to avenge his father +in true Corsican fashion? . . . He was something between a Conrad and a +dandy . . . I've turned him into nothing but a dandy! . . . And a dandy +with a Corsican tailor! . . ." + + [*] At this period this name was used in England for people + who were the fashion because they had something + extraordinary about them. + +She threw herself on her bed, and tried to sleep--but that proved an +impossibility, and I will not undertake to continue her soliloquy, +during which she declared, more than a hundred times over, that Signor +della Rebbia had not been, was not, and never should be, anything to +her. + + + +CHAPTER IX + +Meanwhile Orso was riding along beside his sister. At first the speed at +which their horses moved prevented all conversation, but when the hills +grew so steep that they were obliged to go at a foot's pace, they +began to exchange a few words about the friends from whom they had just +parted. Colomba spoke with admiration of Miss Nevil's beauty, of her +golden hair, and charming ways. Then she asked whether the colonel +was really as rich as he appeared, and whether Miss Lydia was his only +child. + +"She would be a good match," said she. "Her father seems to have a great +liking for you----" + +And as Orso made no response, she added: "Our family was rich, in days +gone by. It is still one of the most respected in the island. All these +_signori_ about us are bastards. The only noble blood left is in the +families of the corporals, and as you know, Orso, your ancestors were +the chief corporals in the island. You know our family came from beyond +the hills, and it was the civil wars that forced us over to this side. +If I were you, Orso, I shouldn't hesitate--I should ask Colonel Nevil +for his daughter's hand." Orso shrugged his shoulders. "With her +fortune, you might buy the Falsetta woods, and the vineyards below ours. +I would build a fine stone house, and add a story to the old tower in +which Sambucuccio killed so many Moors in the days of Count Henry, _il +bel Missere_." + +"Colomba, you're talking nonsense," said Orso, cantering forward. + +"You are a man, Ors' Anton', and of course you know what you ought to +do better than any woman. But I should very much like to know what +objection that Englishman could have to the marriage. Are there any +corporals in England?" + +After a somewhat lengthy ride, spent in talking in this fashion, the +brother and sister reached a little village, not far from Bocognano, +where they halted to dine and sleep at a friend's house. They were +welcomed with a hospitality which must be experienced before it can be +appreciated. The next morning, their host, who had stood godfather to a +child to whom Madame della Rebbia had been godmother, accompanied them a +league beyond his house. + +"Do you see those woods and thickets?" said he to Orso, just as they +were parting. "A man who had met with a misfortune might live there +peacefully for ten years, and no gendarme or soldier would ever come to +look for him. The woods run into the Vizzavona forest, and anybody who +had friends at Bocognano or in the neighbourhood would want for nothing. +That's a good gun you have there. It must carry a long way. Blood of the +Madonna! What calibre! You might kill better game than boars with it!" + +Orso answered, coldly, that his gun was of English make, and carried +"the lead" a long distance. The friends embraced, and took their +different ways. + +Our travellers were drawing quite close to Pietranera, when, at the +entrance of a little gorge, through which they had to pass, they beheld +seven or eight men, armed with guns, some sitting on stones, others +lying on the grass, others standing up, and seemingly on the lookout. +Their horses were grazing a little way off. Colomba looked at them for +a moment, through a spy-glass which she took out of one of the large +leathern pockets all Corsicans wear when on a journey. + +"Those are our men!" she cried, with a well-pleased air. "Pieruccio had +done his errand well!" + +"What men?" inquired Orso. + +"Our herdsmen," she replied. "I sent Pieruccio off yesterday evening +to call the good fellows together, so that they may attend you home. It +would not do for you to enter Pietranera without an escort, and besides, +you must know the Barricini are capable of anything!" + +"Colomba," said Orso, and his tone was severe, "I have asked you, +over and over again, not to mention the Barricini and your groundless +suspicions to me. I shall certainly not make myself ridiculous by riding +home with all these loafers behind me, and I am very angry with you for +having sent for them without telling me." + +"Brother, you have forgotten the ways of your own country. It is my +business to protect you, when your own imprudence exposes you to danger. +It was my duty to do what I have done." + +Just at that moment the herdsmen, who had caught sight of them, hastened +to their horses, and galloped down the hill to meet them. + +"Evvviva Ors' Anton'!" shouted a brawny, white-bearded old fellow, +wrapped, despite the heat, in a hooded cloak of Corsican cloth, thicker +than the skins of his own goats. "The image of his father, only taller +and stronger! What a splendid gun! There'll be talk about that gun, Ors' +Anton'!" + +"Evvviva Ors' Anton'!" chorused the herdsmen. "We were sure you'd come +back, at last!" + +"Ah! Ors' Anton'!" cried a tall fellow, with a skin tanned brick red. +"How happy your father would be, if he were here to welcome you! The +dear, good man! You would have seen him now, if he would have listened +to me--if he would have let me settle Guidice's business! . . . But he +wouldn't listen to me, poor fellow! He knows I was right, now!" + +"Well, well!" said the old man. "Guidice will lose nothing by waiting." + +"Evvviva Ors' Anton'!" And the reports of a dozen guns capped the +plaudit. + +Very much put out, Orso sat in the midst of the group of mounted men, +all talking at once, and crowding round to shake hands with him. For +some time he could not make himself heard. At last, with the air he put +on when he used to reprimand the men of his company, or send one of them +to the guard-room, he said: + +"I thank you, friends, for the affection you show for me, and for that +which you felt for my father! But I do not want advice from any of you, +and you must not offer it. I know my own duty." + +"He's right! He's right!" cried the herdsmen. "You know you may reckon +on us!" + +"Yes, I do reckon on you. But at this moment I need no help, and no +personal danger threatens me. Now face round at once, and be off with +you to your goats. I know my way to Pietranera, and I want no guides." + +"Fear nothing, Ors' Anton'," said the old man. "They would never dare +to show their noses to-day. The mouse runs back to its hole when the +tom-cat comes out!" + +"Tom-cat yourself, old gray-beard!" said Orso. "What's your name?" + +"What! don't you remember me, Ors' Anton'? I who have so often taken +you up behind me on that biting mule of mine! You don't remember Polo +Griffo? I'm an honest fellow, though, and with the della Rebbia, body +and soul. Say but the word, and when that big gun of yours speaks, this +old musket of mine, as old as its master, shall not be dumb. Be sure of +that, Ors' Anton'!" + +"Well, well! But be off with you now, in the devil's name, and let us go +on our way!" + +At last the herdsmen departed, trotting rapidly off toward the village, +but they stopped every here and there, at all the highest spots on the +road, as though they were looking out for some hidden ambuscade, always +keeping near enough to Orso and his sister to be able to come to their +assistance if necessary. And old Polo Griffo said to his comrades: + +"I understand him! I understand him! He'll not say what he means to do, +but he'll do it! He's the born image of his father. Ah! you may say you +have no spite against any one, my boy! But you've made your vow to Saint +Nega.[*] Bravo! I wouldn't give a fig for the mayor's hide--there won't +be the makings of a wineskin in it before the month is out!" + + [*] This saint is not mentioned in the calendar. To make a + vow to Saint Nega means to deny everything deliberately. + +Preceded by this troop of skirmishers, the last descendant of the della +Rebbia entered the village, and proceeded to the old mansion of +his forefathers, the corporals. The Rebbianites, who had long been +leaderless, had gathered to welcome him, and those dwellers in the +village who observed a neutral line of conduct all came to their +doorsteps to see him pass by. The adherents of the Barricini remained +inside their houses, and peeped out of the slits in their shutters. + +The village of Pietranera is very irregularly built, like most Corsican +villages--for indeed, to see a street, the traveller must betake +himself to Cargese, which was built by Monsieur de Marboeuf. The houses, +scattered irregularly about, without the least attempt at orderly +arrangement, cover the top of a small plateau, or rather of a ridge of +the mountain. Toward the centre of the village stands a great evergreen +oak, and close beside it may be seen a granite trough, into which +the water of a neighbouring spring is conveyed by a wooden pipe. This +monument of public utility was constructed at the common expense of the +della Rebbia and Barricini families. But the man who imagined this to +be a sign of former friendship between the two families would be sorely +mistaken. On the contrary, it is the outcome of their mutual jealousy. +Once upon a time, Colonel della Rebbia sent a small sum of money to +the Municipal Council of his commune to help to provide a fountain. +The lawyer Barricini hastened to forward a similar gift, and to this +generous strife Pietranera owes its water supply. Round about the +evergreen oak and the fountain there is a clear space, known as "the +Square," on which the local idlers gather every night. Sometimes they +play at cards, and once a year, in Carnival-time, they dance. At the two +ends of the square stands two edifices, of greater height than breadth, +built of a mixture of granite and schist. These are the _Towers_ of +the two opposing families, the Barricini and the della Rebbia. Their +architecture is exactly alike, their height is similar, and it is quite +evident that the rivalry of the two families has never been absolutely +decided by any stroke of fortune in favor of either. + +It may perhaps be well to explain what should be understood by this +word, "Tower." It is a square building, some forty feet in height, which +in any other country would be simply described as a pigeon-house. A +narrow entrance-door, eight feet above the level of the ground, is +reached by a very steep flight of steps. Above the door is a window, +in front of which runs a sort of balcony, the floor of which is pierced +with openings, like a machicolation, through which the inhabitants may +destroy an unwelcome visitor without any danger to themselves. Between +the window and the door are two escutcheons, roughly carved. One of +these bears what was originally a Genoese cross, now so battered that +nobody but an antiquary could recognise it. On the other are chiselled +the arms of the family to whom the Tower belongs. If the reader will +complete this scheme of decoration by imagining several bullet marks on +the escutcheons and on the window frames, he will have a fair idea of +a Corsican mansion, dating from the middle ages. I had forgotten to add +that the dwelling-house adjoins the tower, and is frequently connected +with it by some interior passage. + +The della Rebbia house and tower stand on the northern side of the +square at Pietranera. The Barricini house and tower are on the southern +side. Since the colonel's wife had been buried, no member of either +family had ever been seen on any side of the square, save that assigned +by tacit agreement to its own party. Orso was about to ride past the +mayor's house when his sister checked him, and suggested his turning +down a lane that would take them to their own dwelling without crossing +the square at all. + +"Why should we go out of our way?" said Orso. "Doesn't the square belong +to everybody?" and he rode on. + +"Brave heart!" murmured Colomba. ". . . My father! you will be avenged!" + +When they reached the square, Colomba put herself between her brother +and the Barricini mansion, and her eyes never left her enemy's windows. +She noticed that they had been lately barricaded and provided with +_archere_. _Archere_ is the name given to narrow openings like +loopholes, made between the big logs of wood used to close up the +lower parts of the windows. When an onslaught is expected, this sort of +barricade is used, and from behind the logs the attacked party can fire +at its assailants with ease and safety. + +"The cowards!" said Colomba. "Look, brother, they have begun to protect +themselves! They have put up barricades! But some day or other they'll +have to come out." + +Orso's presence on the southern side of the square made a great +sensation at Pietranera, and was taken to be a proof of boldness +savouring of temerity. It was subject of endless comment on the part of +the neutrals, when they gathered around the evergreen oak, that night. + +"It is a good thing," they said, "that Barricini's sons are not back +yet, for they are not so patient as the lawyer, and very likely they +would not have let their enemy set his foot on their ground without +making him pay for his bravado." + +"Remember what I am telling you, neighbour," said an old man, the +village oracle. "I watched Colomba's face to-day. She had some idea in +her head. I smell powder in the air. Before long, butcher's meat will be +cheap in Pietranera!" + + + +CHAPTER X + +Orso had been parted from his father at so early an age that he had +scarcely had time to know him. He had left Pietranera to pursue his +studies at Pisa when he was only fifteen. Thence he had passed into the +military school, and Ghilfuccio, meanwhile, was bearing the Imperial +Eagles all over Europe. On the mainland, Orso only saw his father at +rare intervals, and it was not until 1815 that he found himself in +the regiment he commanded. But the colonel, who was an inflexible +disciplinarian, treated his son just like any other sub-lieutenant--in +other words, with great severity. Orso's memories of him were of two +kinds: He recollected him, at Pietranera, as the father who would trust +him with his sword, and would let him fire off his gun when he came +in from a shooting expedition, or who made him sit down, for the +first time, tiny urchin as he was, at the family dinner-table. Then he +remembered the Colonel della Rebbia who would put him under arrest for +some blunder, and who never called him anything but Lieutenant della +Rebbia. + +"Lieutenant della Rebbia, you are not in your right place on parade. You +will be confined to barracks three days." + +"Your skirmishers are five yards too far from your main body--five days +in barracks." + +"It is five minutes past noon, and you are still in your forage-cap--a +week in barracks." + +Only once, at Quatre-Bras, he had said to him, "Well done, Orso! But be +cautious!" + +But, after all, these later memories were not connected in his mind with +Pietranera. The sight of the places so familiar to him in his childish +days, of the furniture he had seen used by his mother, to whom he had +been fondly attached, filled his soul with a host of tender and painful +emotions. Then the gloomy future that lay before him, the vague anxiety +he felt about his sister, and, above all other things, the thought that +Miss Nevil was coming to his house, which now struck him as being so +small, so poor, so unsuited to a person accustomed to luxury--the idea +that she might possibly despise it--all these feelings made his brain a +chaos, and filled him with a sense of deep discouragement. + +At supper he sat in the great oaken chair, blackened with age, in which +his father had always presided at the head of the family table, and he +smiled when he saw that Colomba hesitated to sit down with him. But he +was grateful to her for her silence during the meal, and for her speedy +retirement afterward. For he felt he was too deeply moved to be able to +resist the attack she was no doubt preparing to make upon him. Colomba, +however, was dealing warily with him, and meant to give him time to +collect himself. He sat for a long time motionless, with his head on +his hand, thinking over the scenes of the last fortnight of his life. He +saw, with alarm, how every one seemed to be watching what would be +his behaviour to the Barricini. Already he began to perceive that the +opinion of Pietranera was beginning to be the opinion of all the world +to him. He would have to avenge himself, or be taken for a coward! But +on whom was he to take vengeance? He could not believe the Barricini to +be guilty of murder. They were his family enemies, certainly, but only +the vulgar prejudice of his fellow-countrymen could accuse them of being +murderers. Sometimes he would look at Miss Nevil's talisman, and whisper +the motto "Life is a battle!" over to himself. At last, in a resolute +voice, he said, "I will win it!" Strong in that thought, he rose to his +feet, took up the lamp, and was just going up to his room, when he heard +a knock at the door of the house. It was a very unusual hour for any +visitor to appear. Colomba instantly made her appearance, followed by +the woman who acted as their servant. + +"It's nothing!" she said, hurrying to the door. + +Yet before she opened it she inquired who knocked. A gentle voice +answered, "It is I." + +Instantly the wooden bar across the door was withdrawn, and Colomba +reappeared in the dining-room, followed by a little ragged, bare-footed +girl of about ten years old, her head bound with a shabby kerchief, +from which escaped long locks of hair, as black as the raven's wing. The +child was thin and pale, her skin was sunburnt, but her eyes shone with +intelligence. When she saw Orso she stopped shyly, and courtesied +to him, peasant fashion--then she said something in an undertone to +Colomba, and gave her a freshly killed pheasant. + +"Thanks, Chili," said Colomba. "Thank your uncle for me. Is he well?" + +"Very well, signorina, at your service. I couldn't come sooner because +he was late. I waited for him in the _maquis_ for three hours." + +"And you've had no supper?" + +"Why no, signorina! I've not had time." + +"You shall have some supper here. Has your uncle any bread left?" + +"Very little, signorina. But what he is most short of is powder. Now the +chestnuts are in, the only other thing he wants is powder." + +"I will give you a loaf for him, and some powder, too. Tell him to use +it sparingly--it is very dear." + +"Colomba," said Orso in French, "on whom are you bestowing your +charity?" + +"On a poor bandit belonging to this village," replied Colomba in the +same language. "This little girl is his niece." + +"It strikes me you might place your gifts better. Why should you send +powder to a ruffian who will use it to commit crimes? But for the +deplorable weakness every one here seems to have for the bandits, they +would have disappeared out of Corsica long ago." + +"The worst men in our country are not those who are 'in the country.'" + +"Give them bread, if it so please you. But I will not have you supply +them with ammunition." + +"Brother," said Colomba, in a serious voice, "you are master here, and +everything in this house belongs to you. But I warn you that I will +give this little girl my _mezzaro_, so that she may sell it; rather than +refuse powder to a bandit. Refuse to give him powder! I might just as +well make him over to the gendarmes! What has he to protect him against +them, except his cartridges?" + +All this while the little girl was ravenously devouring a bit of bread, +and carefully watching Colomba and her brother, turn about, trying to +read the meaning of what they were saying in their eyes. + +"And what has this bandit of yours done? What crime has driven him into +the _maquis_?" + +"Brandolaccio has not committed any crime," exclaimed Colomba. "He +killed Giovan' Oppizo, who murdered his father while he was away serving +in the army!" + +Orso turned away his head, took up the lamp, and, without a word, +departed to his bedroom. Then Colomba gave the child food and gunpowder, +and went with her as far as the house-door, saying over and over again: + +"Mind your uncle takes good care of Orso!" + + + +CHAPTER XI + +It was long before Orso fell asleep, and as a consequence he woke +late--late for a Corsican, at all events. When he left his bed, the +first object that struck his gaze was the house of his enemies, and the +_archere_ with which they had furnished it. He went downstairs and asked +for his sister. + +"She is in the kitchen, melting bullets," answered Saveria, the +woman-servant. + +So he could not take a step without being pursued by the image of war. + +He found Colomba sitting on a stool, surrounded by freshly cast bullets, +and cutting up strips of lead. + +"What the devil are you doing?" inquired her brother. + +"You had no bullets for the colonel's gun," she answered, in her soft +voice. "I found I had a mould for that calibre, and you shall have +four-and-twenty cartridges to-day, brother." + +"I don't need them, thank God!" + +"You mustn't be taken at a disadvantage, Ors' Anton'. You have forgotten +your country, and the people who are about you." + +"If I had forgotten, you would soon have reminded me. Tell me, did not a +big trunk arrive here some days ago?" + +"Yes, brother. Shall I take it up to your room?" + +"You take it up! Why, you'd never be strong enough even to lift it! . . . +Is there no man about who can do it?" + +"I'm not so weak as you think!" said Colomba, turning up her sleeves, +and displaying a pair of round white arms, perfect in shape, but looking +more than ordinarily strong. "Here, Saveria," said she to the servant; +"come and help me!" + +She was already lifting the trunk alone, when Orso came hastily to her +assistance. + +"There is something for you in this trunk, my dear Colomba," said he. +"You must excuse the modesty of my gifts. A lieutenant on half-pay +hasn't a very well-lined purse!" + +As he spoke, he opened the trunk, and took out of it a few gowns, a +shawl, and some other things likely to be useful to a young girl. + +"What beautiful things!" cried Colomba. "I'll put them away at once, for +fear they should be spoiled. I'll keep them for my wedding," she added, +with a sad smile, "for I am in mourning now!" + +And she kissed her brother's hand. + +"It looks affected, my dear sister, to wear your mourning for so long." + +"I have sworn an oath," said Colomba resolutely, "I'll not take off my +mourning. . . ." And her eyes were riveted on the Barricini mansion. + +"Until your wedding day?" said Orso, trying to avoid the end of her +sentence. + +"I shall never marry any man," said Colomba, "unless he has done three +things . . ." And her eyes still rested gloomily on the house of the +enemy. + +"You are so pretty, Colomba, that I wonder you are not married already! +Come, you must tell me about your suitors. And besides, I'm sure to hear +their serenades. They must be good ones to please a great _voceratrice_ +like you." + +"Who would seek the hand of a poor orphan girl? . . . And then, the man +for whom I would change my mourning-dress will have to make the women +over there put on mourning!" + +"This is becoming a perfect mania," said Orso to himself. But to avoid +discussion he said nothing at all. + +"Brother," said Colomba caressingly, "I have something to give you, too. +The clothes you are wearing are much too grand for this country. Your +fine cloth frock-coat would be in tatters in two days, if you wore it in +the _maquis_. You must keep it for the time when Miss Nevil comes." + +Then, opening a cupboard, she took out a complete hunting dress. + +"I've made you a velvet jacket, and here's a cap, such as our smart +young men wear. I embroidered it for you, ever so long ago. Will you try +them on?" And she made him put on a loose green velvet jacket, with a +huge pocket at the back. On his head she set a pointed black velvet cap, +embroidered with jet and silk of the same colour, and finished with a +sort of tassel. + +"Here is our father's _carchera_"[*] she said. "His stiletto is in the +pocket of the jacket. I'll fetch you his pistol." + + [*] Carchera, a belt for cartridges. A pistol is worn + fastened to the left side of it. + +"I look like a brigand at the Ambigu-Comique," said Orso, as he looked +at himself in the little glass Saveria was holding up for him. + +"Indeed, you look first-rate, dressed like that, Ors' Anton'," said the +old servant, "and the smartest _pinsuto_[*] in Bocognano or Bastelica is +not braver." + + [*] Pinsuto, the name given to men who wear the pointed cap, + _barreta pinsuta_. + +Orso wore his new clothes at breakfast, and during that meal he told his +sister that his trunk contained a certain number of books, that he was +going to send to France and Italy for others, and intended she should +study a great deal. + +"For it really is disgraceful, Colomba," he added, "that a grown-up +girl like you should still be ignorant of things that children on the +mainland know as soon as they are weaned." + +"You are right, brother," said Colomba. "I know my own shortcomings +quite well, and I shall be too glad to learn--especially if you are kind +enough to teach me." + +Some days went by, and Colomba never mentioned the name of Barricini. +She lavished care and attention on her brother, and often talked to him +about Miss Nevil. Orso made her read French and Italian books, and was +constantly being surprised either by the correctness and good sense of +her comments, or by her utter ignorance on the most ordinary subjects. + +One morning, after breakfast, Colomba left the room for a moment, and +instead of returning as usual, with a book and some sheets of paper, +reappeared with her _mezzaro_ on her head. The expression of her +countenance was even more serious than it generally was. + +"Brother," she said, "I want you to come out with me." + +"Where do you want me to go with you?" said Orso, holding out his arm. + +"I don't want your arm, brother, but take your gun and your +cartridge-pouch. A man should never go abroad without his arms." + +"So be it. I must follow the fashion. Where are we going?" + +Colomba, without answering, drew her _mezzaro_ closer about her head, +called the watch-dog, and went out followed by her brother. Striding +swiftly out of the village, she turned into a sunken road that wound +among the vineyards, sending on the dog, to whom she made some gesture, +which he seemed to understand, in front of her. He instantly began to +run zigzag fashion, through the vines, first on one side and then on +the other, always keeping within about fifty paces of his mistress, and +occasionally stopping in the middle of the road and wagging his tail. +He seemed to perform his duties as a scout in the most perfect fashion +imaginable. + +"If Muschetto begins to bark, brother," said Colomba, "cock your gun, +and stand still." + +Half a mile beyond the village, after making many detours, Colomba +stopped short, just where there was a bend in the road. On that spot +there rose a little pyramid of branches, some of them green, some +withered, heaped about three feet high. Above them rose the top of +a wooden cross, painted black. In several of the Corsican cantons, +especially those among the mountains, a very ancient custom, connected, +it may be with some pagan superstition, constrains every passer-by to +cast either a stone or a branch on the spot whereon a man has died a +violent death. For years and years--as long as the memory of his tragic +fate endures--this strange offering goes on accumulating from day to +day. + +This is called the dead man's _pile_--his "_mucchio_." + +Colomba stopped before the heap of foliage, broke off an arbutus branch, +and cast it on the pile. + +"Orso," she said, "this is where your father died. Let us pray for his +soul!" + +And she knelt down. Orso instantly followed her example. At that moment +the village church-bell tolled slowly for a man who had died during the +preceding night. Orso burst into tears. + +After a few minutes Colomba rose. Her eyes were dry, but her face was +eager. She hastily crossed herself with her thumb, after the fashion +generally adopted by her companions, to seal any solemn oath, then, +hurrying her brother with her, she took her way back to the village. +They re-entered their house in silence. Orso went up to his room. A +moment afterward Colomba followed him, carrying a small casket which she +set upon the table. Opening it, she drew out a shirt, covered with great +stains of blood. + +"Here is your father's shirt, Orso!" + +And she threw it across his knees. "Here is the lead that killed him!" +And she laid two blackened bullets on the shirt. + +"Orso! Brother!" she cried, throwing herself into his arms and clasping +him desperately to her. "Orso, you will avenge him!" + +In a sort of frenzy she kissed him, then kissed the shirt and the +bullets, and went out of the room, leaving her brother sitting on +his chair, as if he had been turned to stone. For some time Orso sat +motionless, not daring to put the terrible relics away. At last, with +an effort, he laid them back in their box, rushed to the opposite end +of his room, and threw himself on his bed, with his face turned to the +wall, and his head buried in his pillow, as though he were trying +to shut out the sight of some ghost. His sister's last words rang +unceasingly in his ears, like the words of an oracle, fatal, inevitable, +calling out to him for blood, and for innocent blood! I shall not +attempt to depict the unhappy young man's sensations, which were as +confused as those that overwhelm a madman's brain. For a long time he +lay in the same position, without daring to turn his head. At last he +got up, closed the lid of the casket, and rushed headlong out of the +house, into the open country, moving aimlessly forward, whither he knew +not. + +By degrees, the fresh air did him good. He grew calmer, and began +to consider his position, and his means of escape from it, with some +composure. He did not, as my readers already know, suspect the Barricini +of the murder, but he did accuse them of having forged Agostini's +letter, and this letter, he believed, at any rate, had brought about +his father's death. He felt it was impossible to prosecute them for the +forgery. Now and then, when the prejudices or the instincts of his +race assailed him, and suggested an easy vengeance--a shot fired at the +corner of some path--the thought of his brother-officers, of Parisian +drawing-rooms, and above all, of Miss Nevil, made him shrink from them +in horror. Then his mind dwelt on his sister's reproaches, and all +the Corsican within him justified her appeal, and even intensified its +bitterness. One hope alone remained to him, in this battle between his +conscience and his prejudices--the hope that, on some pretext or other, +he might pick a quarrel with one of the lawyer's sons, and fight a duel +with him. The idea of killing the young man, either by a bullet or a +sword-thrust reconciled his French and Corsican ideas. This expedient +adopted, he began to meditate means for its execution, and was feeling +relieved already of a heavy burden, when other and gentler thoughts +contributed still further to calm his feverish agitation. Cicero, in his +despair at the death of his daughter Tullia, forgot his sorrow when +he mused over all the fine things he might say about it. Mr. Shandy +consoled himself by discourses of the same nature for the loss of his +son. Orso cooled his blood by thinking that he would depict his state of +mind to Miss Nevil, and that such a picture could not fail to interest +that fair lady deeply. + +He was drawing near the village, from which he had unconsciously +travelled a considerable distance, when he heard the voice of a little +girl, who probably believed herself to be quite alone, singing in a +path that ran along the edge of the _maquis_. It was one of those slow, +monotonous airs consecrated to funeral dirges, and the child was singing +the words: + + "And when my son shall see again the dwelling of his father, + Give him that murdered father's cross; show him my shirt blood- + spattered." + +"What's that you're singing, child?" said Orso, in an angry voice, as he +suddenly appeared before her. + +"Is that you, Ors' Anton'?" exclaimed the child, rather startled. "It is +Signorina Colomba's song." + +"I forbid you to sing it!" said Orso, in a threatening voice. + +The child kept turning her head this way and that, as though looking +about for a way of escape, and she would certainly have run off had she +not been held back by the necessity of taking care of a large bundle +which lay on the grass, at her feet. + +Orso felt ashamed of his own vehemence. "What are you carrying there, +little one?" said he, with all the gentleness he could muster. And as +Chilina hesitated, he lifted up the linen that was wrapped round the +bundle, and saw it contained a loaf of bread and other food. + +"To whom are you bringing the loaf, my dear?" he asked again. + +"You know quite well, Ors' Anton': to my uncle." + +"And isn't your uncle a bandit?" + +"At your service, Ors' Anton'." + +"If you met the gendarmes, they would ask you where you were +going. . . ." + +"I should tell them," the child replied, at once, "that I was taking +food to the men from Lucca who were cutting down the _maquis_." + +"And if you came across some hungry hunter who insisted on dining at +your expense, and took your provisions away from you?" + +"Nobody would dare! I would say they are for my uncle!" + +"Well! he's not the sort of man to let himself be cheated of his dinner! +. . . Is your uncle very fond of you?" + +"Oh, yes, Ors' Anton'. Ever since my father died, he has taken care of +my whole family--my mother and my little sister, and me. Before +mother was ill, he used to recommend her to rich people, who gave her +employment. The mayor gives me a frock every year, and the priest has +taught me my catechism, and how to read, ever since my uncle spoke to +them about us. But your sister is kindest of all to us!" + +Just at this moment a dog ran out on the pathway. The little girl put +two of her fingers into her mouth and gave a shrill whistle, the dog +came to her at once, fawned upon her, and then plunged swiftly into the +thicket. Soon two men, ill-dressed, but very well armed, rose up out +of a clump of young wood a few paces from where Orso stood. It was as +though they had crawled up like snakes through the tangle of cytisus and +myrtle that covered the ground. + +"Oh, Ors' Anton', you're welcome!" said the elder of the two men. "Why, +don't you remember me?" + +"No!" said Orso, looking hard at him. + +"Queer how a beard and a peaked cap alter a man! Come, monsieur, look +at me well! Have you forgotten your old Waterloo men? Don't you remember +Brando Savelli, who bit open more than one cartridge alongside of you on +that unlucky day?" + +"What! Is it you?" said Orso. "And you deserted in 1816!" + +"Even so, sir. Faith! soldiering grows tiresome, and besides, I had a +job to settle over in this country. Aha, Chili! You're a good girl! Give +us our dinner at once, we're hungry. You've no notion what an appetite +one gets in the _maquis_. Who sent us this--was it Signorina Colomba or +the mayor?" + +"No, uncle, it was the miller's wife. She gave me this for you, and a +blanket for my mother." + +"What does she want of me?" + +"She says the Lucchesi she hired to clear the _maquis_ are asking her +five-and-thirty sous, and chestnuts as well--because of the fever in the +lower parts of Pietranera." + +"The lazy scamps! . . . I'll see to them! . . . Will you share our +dinner, monsieur, without any ceremony? We've eaten worse meals +together, in the days of that poor compatriot of ours, whom they have +discharged from the army." + +"No, I thank you heartily. They have discharged me, too!" + +"Yes, so I heard. But I'll wager you weren't sorry for it. You have your +own account to settle too. . . . Come along, cure," said the bandit to +his comrade. "Let's dine! Signor Orso, let me introduce the cure. I'm +not quite sure he is a cure. But he knows as much as any priest, at all +events!" + +"A poor student of theology, monsieur," quoth the second bandit, "who +has been prevented from following his vocation. Who knows, Brandolaccio, +I might have been Pope!" + +"What was it that deprived the Church of your learning?" inquired Orso. + +"A mere nothing--a bill that had to be settled, as my friend +Brandolaccio puts it. One of my sisters had been making a fool of +herself, while I was devouring book-lore at Pisa University. I had to +come home, to get her married. But her future husband was in too great +a hurry; he died of fever three days before I arrived. Then I called, as +you would have done in my place, on the dead man's brother. I was told +he was married. What was I to do?" + +"It really was puzzling! What did you do?" + +"It was one of those cases in which one has to resort to the gunflint." + +"In other words?" + +"I put a bullet in his head," said the bandit coolly. + +Orso made a horrified gesture. Nevertheless, curiosity, and, it may be, +his desire to put off the moment when he must return home, induced him +to remain where he was, and continue his conversation with the two men, +each of whom had at least one murder on his conscience. + +While his comrade was talking, Brandolaccio was laying bread and meat +in front of him. He helped himself--then he gave some food to this +dog, whom he introduced to Orso under the name of Brusco, as an animal +possessing a wonderful instinct for recognising a soldier, whatever +might be the disguise he had assumed. Lastly, he cut off a hunch of +bread and a slice of raw ham, and gave them to his niece. "Oh, the +merry life a bandit lives!" cried the student of theology, after he +had swallowed a few mouthfuls. "You'll try it some day, perhaps, Signor +della Rebbia, and you'll find out how delightful it is to acknowledge no +master save one's own fancy!" + +Hitherto the bandit had talked Italian. He now proceeded in French. + +"Corsica is not a very amusing country for a young man to live in--but +for a bandit, there's the difference! The women are all wild about us. +I, as you see me now, have three mistresses in three different villages. +I am at home in every one of them, and one of the ladies is married to a +gendarme!" + +"You know many languages, monsieur!" said Orso gravely. + +"If I talk French, 'tis because, look you, _maxima debetur pueris +reverentia_! We have made up our minds, Brandolaccio and I, that the +little girl shall turn out well, and go straight." + +"When she is turned fifteen," remarked Chilina's uncle, "I'll find a +good husband for her. I have one in my eye already." + +"Shall you make the proposal yourself?" said Orso. + +"Of course! Do you suppose that any well-to-do man in this +neighbourhood, to whom I said, 'I should be glad to see a marriage +between your son and Michilina Savelli,' would require any pressing?" + +"I wouldn't advise him to!" quoth the other bandit. "Friend Brandolaccio +has rather a heavy hand!" + +"If I were a rogue," continued Brandolaccio, "a blackguard, a forger, I +should only have to hold my wallet open, and the five-franc pieces would +rain into it." + +"Then is there something inside your wallet that attracts them?" said +Orso. + +"Nothing. But if I were to write to a rich man, as some people have +written, 'I want a hundred francs,' he would lose no time about sending +them to me. But I'm a man of honour, monsieur." + +"Do you know, Signor della Rebbia," said the bandit whom his comrade +called the cure, "do you know that in this country, with all its +simple habits, there are some wretches who make use of the esteem our +passports" (and he touched his gun) "insure us, to draw forged bills in +our handwriting?" + +"I know it," said Orso, in a gruff tone; "but what bills?" + +"Six months ago," said the bandit, "I was taking my walks abroad near +Orezza, when a sort of lunatic came up to me, pulling off his cap to me +even in the distance, and said: 'Oh, M. le Cure' (they always call me +that), 'please excuse me--give me time. I have only been able to get +fifty-five francs together! Honour bright, that's all I've been able to +scrape up.' I, in my astonishment, said, 'Fifty-five francs! What do +you mean, you rascal!' 'I mean sixty-five,' he replied; 'but as for the +hundred francs you asked me to give you, it's not possible.' 'What! you +villain! I ask you for a hundred francs? I don't know who you are.' Then +he showed me a letter, or rather a dirty rag of paper, whereby he was +summoned to deposit a hundred francs on a certain spot, on pain +of having his house burned and his cows killed by Giocanto +Castriconi--that's my name. And they had been vile enough to forge +my signature! What annoyed me most was that the letter was written in +_patois_, and was full of mistakes in spelling--I who won every prize at +the university! I began by giving my rascal a cuff that made him twist +round and round. 'Aha! You take me for a thief, blackguard that you +are!' I said, and I gave him a hearty kick, you know where. Then feeling +rather better, I went on, 'When are you to take the money to the spot +mentioned in the letter?' 'This very day.' 'Very good, then take it +there!' It was at the foot of a pine-tree, and the place had been +exactly described. He brought the money, buried it at the foot of the +tree, and came and joined me. I had hidden myself close by. There I +stayed, with my man, for six mortal hours, M. della Rebbia. I'd have +staid three days, if it had been necessary. At the end of six hours a +_Bastiaccio_, a vile money-lender, made his appearance. As he bent down +to take up the money, I fired, and I had aimed so well that, as he fell, +his head dropped upon the coins he was unearthing. 'Now, rascal,' said +I to the peasant, 'take your money, and never dare to suspect Giocanto +Castriconi of a mean trick again!' + +"The poor devil, all of a tremble, picked up his sixty-five francs +without taking the trouble to wipe them. He thanked me, I gave him a +good parting kick, and he may be running away still, for all I know." + +"Ah, cure!" said Brandolaccio, "I envy you that shot! How you must have +laughed!" + +"I had hit the money-lender in the temple," the bandit went on, "and +that reminded me of Virgil's lines: + + . . . "'Liquefacto tempora plumbo + Diffidit, ac multa porrectum, extendit arena.' + +"_Liquefacto!_ Do you think, Signor Orso, that the rapidity with which +a bullet flies through the air will melt it? You who have studied +projectiles, tell me whether you think that idea is truth or fiction?" + +Orso infinitely preferred discussing this question of physics to arguing +with the licentiate as to the morality of his action. Brandolaccio, who +did not find their scientific disquisition entertaining, interrupted it +with the remark that the sun was just going to set. + +"As you would not dine with us, Ors' Anton'," he said, "I advise you +not to keep Mademoiselle Colomba waiting any longer. And then it is not +always wise to be out on the roads after sunset. Why do you come out +without a gun? There are bad folk about here--beware of them! You have +nothing to fear to-day. The Barricini are bringing the prefect home with +them. They have gone to meet him on the road, and he is to stop a day +at Pietranera, before he goes on to Corte, to lay what they call a +corner-stone--such stupid nonsense! He will sleep to-night with the +Barricini; but to-morrow they'll be disengaged. There is Vincentello, +who is a good-for-nothing fellow, and Orlanduccio, who is not much +better. . . . Try to come on them separately, one to-day, the other +to-morrow. . . . But be on the lookout, that's all I have to say to +you!" + +"Thanks for the warning," said Orso. "But there is no quarrel between +us. Until they come to look for me, I shall have nothing to say to +them." + +The bandit stuck his tongue in his cheek, and smacked it ironically, but +he made no reply. Orso got up to go away. + +"By the way," said Brandolaccio, "I haven't thanked you for your powder. +It came just when I needed it. Now I have everything I want . . . at +least I do still want shoes . . . but I'll make myself a pair out of the +skin of a moufflon one of these days." + +Orso slipped two five-franc pieces into the bandit's hand. + +"It was Colomba who sent you the powder. This is to buy the shoes." + +"Nonsense, Lieutenant!" cried Brandolaccio, handing him back the two +coins. "D'ye take me for a beggar? I accept bread and powder, but I +won't have anything else!" + +"We are both old soldiers, so I thought we might have given each other a +lift. Well, good-bye to you!" + +But before he moved away he had slipped the money into he bandit's +wallet, unperceived by him. + +"Good-bye, Ors' Anton'," quoth the theologian. "We shall meet again in +the _maquis_, some day, perhaps, and then we'll continue our study of +Virgil." + +Quite a quarter of an hour after Orso had parted company with these +worthies, he heard a man running after him, as fast as he could go. It +was Brandolaccio. + +"This is too bad, lieutenant!" he shouted breathlessly, "really it is +too bad! I wouldn't overlook the trick, if any other man had played +it on me. Here are your ten francs. All my respects to Mademoiselle +Colomba. You have made me run myself quite out of breath. Good-night!" + + + +CHAPTER XII + +Orso found Colomba in a state of considerable anxiety because of his +prolonged absence. But as soon as she saw him she recovered her usual +serene, though sad, expression. During the evening meal the conversation +turned on trivial subjects, and Orso, emboldened by his sister's +apparent calm, related his encounter with the bandits, and even ventured +on a joke or two concerning the moral and religious education that was +being imparted to little Chilina, thanks to the care of her uncle and of +his worthy colleague Signor Castriconi. + +"Brandolaccio is an upright man," said Colomba; "but as to Castriconi, I +have heard he is quite unprincipled." + +"I think," said Orso, "that he is as good as Brandolaccio, and +Brandolaccio is as good as he. Both of them are at open war with +society. Their first crime leads them on to fresh ones, every day, and +yet they are very likely not half so guilty as many people who don't +live in the _maquis_." + +A flash of joy shone in his sister's eyes. "Yes," he continued, "these +wretches have a code of honour of their own. It is a cruel prejudice, +not a mean instinct of greed, that has forced them into the life they +are leading." + +There was a silence. + +"Brother," said Colomba, as she poured out his coffee, "perhaps you have +heard that Carlo-Battista Pietri died last night. Yes, he died of the +marsh-fever." + +"Who is Pietri?" + +"A man belonging to this village, the husband of Maddalena, who took the +pocket-book out of our father's hand as he was dying. His widow has been +here to ask me to join the watchers, and sing something. You ought to +come, too. They are our neighbours, and in a small place like this we +can not do otherwise than pay them this civility." + +"Confound these wakes, Colomba! I don't at all like my sister to perform +in public in this way." + +"Orso," replied Colomba, "every country pays honour to its dead after +its own fashion. The _ballata_ has come down to us from our forefathers, +and we must respect it as an ancient custom. Maddalena does not possess +the 'gift,' and old Fiordispina, the best _voceratrice_ in the country, +is ill. They must have somebody for the _ballata_." + +"Do you believe Carlo-Battista won't find his way safely into the next +world unless somebody sings bad poetry over his bier? Go if you choose, +Colomba--I'll go with you, if you think I ought. But don't improvise! It +really is not fitting at your age, and--sister, I beg you not to do it!" + +"Brother, I have promised. It is the custom here, as you know, and, I +tell you again, there is nobody but me to improvise." + +"An idiotic custom it is!" + +"It costs me a great deal to sing in this way. It brings back all our +own sorrows to me. I shall be ill after it, to-morrow. But I must do it. +Give me leave to do it. Brother, remember that when we were at Ajaccio, +you told me to improvise to amuse that young English lady who makes a +mock of our old customs. So why should I not do it to-day for these poor +people, who will be grateful to me, and whom it will help to bear their +grief?" + +"Well, well, as you will. I'll go bail you've composed your _ballata_ +already, and don't want to waste it." + +"No, brother, I couldn't compose it beforehand. I stand before the dead +person, and I think about those he has left behind him. The tears spring +into my eyes, and then I sing whatever comes into my head." + +All this was said so simply that it was quite impossible to suspect +Signorina Colomba of the smallest poetic vanity. Orso let himself be +persuaded, and went with his sister to Pietri's house. The dead man lay +on a table in the largest room, with his face uncovered. All the doors +and windows stood open, and several tapers were burning round the table. +At the head stood the widow, and behind her a great many women, who +filled all one side of the room. On the other side were the men, in +rows, bareheaded, with their eyes fixed on the corpse, all in the +deepest silence. Each new arrival went up to the table, kissed the dead +face, bowed his or her head to the widow and her son, and joined the +circle, without uttering a word. Nevertheless, from time to time one +of the persons present would break the solemn silence with a few words, +addressed to the dead man. + +"Why has thou left thy good wife?" said one old crone. "Did she not take +good care of thee? What didst thou lack? Why not have waited another +month? Thy daughter-in-law would have borne thee a grandson!" A tall +young fellow, Pietri's son, pressed his father's cold hand and cried: +"Oh! why hast thou not died of the _mala morte_?[*] Then we could have +avenged thee!" + +[*] _La mala morte_, a violent death. + +These were the first words to fall on Orso's ear as he entered the room. +At the sight of him the circle parted, and a low murmur of curiosity +betrayed the expectation roused in the gathering by the _voceratrice's_ +presence. Colomba embraced the widow, took one of her hands, and stood +for some moments wrapped in meditation, with her eyelids dropped. Then +she threw back her _mezzaro_, gazed fixedly at the corpse, and bending +over it, her face almost as waxen as that of the dead man, she began +thus: + +"Carlo-Battista! May Christ receive thy soul! . . . To live is to +suffer! Thou goest to a place . . . where there is neither sun nor cold. +. . . No longer dost thou need thy pruning-hook . . . nor thy heavy +pick. . . . There is no more work for thee! . . . Henceforward all thy +days are Sundays! . . . Carlo-Battista! May Christ receive thy soul! +. . . Thy son rules in thy house. . . . I have seen the oak fall, . . . +dried up by the _libeccio_. . . . I thought it was dead indeed, . . . +but when I passed it again, its root . . . had thrown up a sapling. +. . . The sapling grew into an oak . . . of mighty shade. . . . Under its +great branches, Maddele, rest thee well! . . . And think of the oak that +is no more!" + +Here Maddalena began to sob aloud, and two or three men who, on +occasion, would have shot at a Christian as coolly as at a partridge, +brushed big tears off their sunburnt faces. + +For some minutes Colomba continued in this strain, addressing herself +sometimes to the corpse, sometimes to the family, and sometimes, by a +personification frequently employed in the _ballata_, making the dead +man himself speak words of consolation or counsel to his kinsfolk. As +she proceeded, her face assumed a sublime expression, a delicate pink +tinge crept over her features, heightening the brilliancy of her white +teeth and the lustre of her flashing eyes. She was like a Pythoness on +her tripod. Save for a sigh here and there, or a strangled sob, not the +slightest noise rose from the assembly that crowded about her. Orso, +though less easily affected than most people by this wild kind of +poetry, was soon overcome by the general emotion. Hidden in a dark +corner of the room, he wept as heartily as Pietri's own son. + +Suddenly a slight stir was perceptible among the audience. The circle +opened, and several strangers entered. The respect shown them, and the +eagerness with which room was made for them, proved them to be people +of importance, whose advent was a great honour to the household. +Nevertheless, out of respect for the _ballata_, nobody said a word to +them. The man who had entered first seemed about forty years of age. +From his black coat, his red rosette, his confident air, and look of +authority, he was at once guessed to be the prefect. Behind him came +a bent old man with a bilious-looking complexion, whose furtive and +anxious glance was only partially concealed by his green spectacles. He +wore a black coat, too large for him, and which, though still quite new, +had evidently been made several years previously. He always kept close +beside the prefect and looked as though he would fain hide himself +under his shadow. Last of all, behind him, came two tall young men, +with sunburnt faces, their cheeks hidden by heavy whiskers, proud and +arrogant-looking, and showing symptoms of an impertinent curiosity. +Orso had had time to forget the faces of his village neighbours; but +the sight of the old man in green spectacles instantly called up old +memories in his mind. His presence in attendance on the prefect sufficed +to insure his recognition. This was Barricini, the lawyer, mayor of +Pietranera, who had come, with his two sons, to show the prefect what a +_ballata_ was. It would be difficult exactly to describe what happened +within Orso's soul at that moment, but the presence of his father's foe +filled him with a sort of horror, and more than ever he felt inclined to +yield to the suspicions with which he had been battling for so long. + +As to Colomba, when she saw the man against whom she had sworn a deadly +hatred, her mobile countenance assumed a most threatening aspect. She +turned pale, her voice grew hoarse, the line she had begun to declaim +died on her lips. But soon, taking up her _ballata_ afresh, she +proceeded with still greater vehemence. + +"When the hawk bemoans himself . . . beside his harried nest, . . . the +starlings flutter round him . . . insulting his distress." + +A smothered laugh was heard. The two young men who had just come in +doubtless considered the metaphor too bold. + +"The falcon will rouse himself. . . . He will spread his wings. . . . He +will wash his beak in blood! . . . Now, to thee, Carlo-Battista, let +thy friends . . . bid an eternal farewell! . . . Long enough have their +tears flowed! . . . Only the poor orphan girl will not weep for thee! +. . . Wherefore should she moan? . . . Thou has fallen asleep, full of +years, . . in the midst of thine own kin . . . ready to appear . . . +in the presence of the Almighty. . . . The orphan weeps for her father +. . . overtaken by vile murderers, . . struck from behind. . . . For her +father, whose blood lies red . . . beneath the heaped-up green leaves. +. . . But she has gathered up this blood, . . this innocent and noble +blood! . . . She has poured it out over Pietranera . . . that it may +become a deadly poison. . . . And the mark shall be on Pietranera +. . . until the blood of the guilty . . . shall have wiped out the blood +of the innocent man!" + +As Colomba pronounced the last words, she dropped into a chair, drew her +_mezzaro_ over her face, and was heard sobbing beneath it. The weeping +women crowded round the _improvisatrice_; several of the men were +casting savage glances at the mayor and his sons; some of the elders +began to protest against the scandal to which their presence had given +rise. The dead man's son pushed his way through the throng, and was +about to beg the mayor to clear out with all possible speed. But this +functionary had not waited for the suggestion. He was on his way to the +door, and his two sons were already in the street. The prefect said a +few words of condolence to young Pietri, and followed them out, almost +immediately. Orso went to his sister's side, took her arm, and drew her +out of the room. + +"Go with them," said young Pietri to some of his friends. "Take care no +harm comes to them!" + +Hastily two or three young men slipped their stilettos up the left +sleeves of their jackets and escorted Orso and his sister to their own +door. + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +Panting, exhausted, Colomba was utterly incapable of uttering a single +word. Her head rested on her brother's shoulder, and she clasped one +of his hands tightly between her own. Orso, though secretly somewhat +annoyed by her peroration, was too much alarmed to reprove her, even +in the mildest fashion. He was silently waiting till the nervous attack +from which she seemed to be suffering should have passed, when there +was a knock at the door, and Saveria, very much flustered, announced the +prefect. At the words, Colomba rose, as though ashamed of her weakness, +and stood leaning on a chair, which shook visibly beneath her hand. + +The prefect began with some commonplace apology for the unseasonable +hour of his visit, condoled with Mademoiselle Colomba, touched on the +danger connected with strong emotions, blamed the custom of composing +funeral dirges, which the very talent of the _voceratrice_ rendered +the more harrowing to her auditors, skilfully slipped in a mild reproof +concerning the tendency of the improvisation just concluded, and then, +changing his tone-- + +"M. della Rebbia," he said, "I have many messages for you from your +English friends. Miss Nevil sends her affectionate regards to your +sister. I have a letter for you from her." + +"A letter from Miss Nevil!" cried Orso. + +"Unluckily I have not got it with me. But you shall have it within five +minutes. Her father has not been well. For a little while we were afraid +he had caught one of our terrible fevers. Luckily he is all right again, +as you will observe for yourself, for I fancy you will see him very +soon." + +"Miss Nevil must have been very much alarmed!" + +"Fortunately she did not become aware of the danger till it was quite +gone by. M. della Rebbia, Miss Nevil has talked to me a great deal about +you and about your sister." + +Orso bowed. + +"She has a great affection for you both. Under her charming appearance, +and her apparent frivolity, a fund of good sense lies hidden." + +"She is a very fascinating person," said Orso. + +"I have come here, monsieur, almost at her prayer. Nobody is better +acquainted than I with a fatal story which I would fain not have to +recall to you. As M. Barricini is still the mayor of Pietranera, and +as I am prefect of the department, I need hardly tell you what weight +I attach to certain suspicions which, if I am rightly informed, some +incautious individuals have communicated to you, and which you, I know, +have spurned with the indignation your position and your character would +have led me to expect." + +"Colomba," said Orso, moving uneasily to his chair. "You are very tired. +You had better go to bed." + +Colomba shook her head. She had recovered all her usual composure, and +her burning eyes were fixed on the prefect. + +"M. Barricini," the prefect continued, "is exceedingly anxious to put an +end to the sort of enmity . . . or rather, the condition of uncertainty, +existing between yourself and him. . . . On my part, I should be +delighted to see you both in those relations of friendly intercourse +appropriate to people who certainly ought to esteem each other." + +"Monsieur," replied Orso in a shaking voice, "I have never charged +Barricini with my father's murder. But he committed an act which must +always prevent me from having anything to do with him. He forged a +threatening letter, in the name of a certain bandit, or at least he +hinted in an underhand sort of way that it was forged by my father. That +letter, monsieur, was probably the indirect cause of my father's death." + +The prefect sat thinking for a moment. + +"That your father should have believed that, when his own hasty nature +led him into a lawsuit with Signor Barricini, is excusable. But such +blindness on your part really can not be admitted. Pray consider that +Barricini could have served no interest of his own by forging the +letter. I will not talk to you about his character, for you are not +acquainted with it, and are prejudiced against it; but you can not +suppose that a man conversant with the law----" + +"But, monsieur," said Orso, rising to his feet, "be good enough to +recollect that when you tell me the letter was not Barricini's work, you +ascribe it to my father. And my father's honour, monsieur, is mine!" + +"No man on earth, sir, is more convinced of Colonel della Rebbia's +honour than myself! But the writer of the letter is now known." + +"Who wrote it?" exclaimed Colomba, making a step toward the prefect. + +"A villain, guilty of several crimes--such crimes as you Corsicans never +pardon--a thief, one Tomaso Bianchi, at present confined in the prison +at Bastia, has acknowledged that he wrote the fatal letter." + +"I know nothing of the man," said Orso. "What can have been his object?" + +"He belongs to this neighbourhood," said Colomba. "He is brother to a +man who was our miller--a scamp and a liar, unworthy of belief." + +"You will soon see what his interest in the matter was," continued the +prefect. "The miller of whom your sister speaks--I think his name was +Teodoro--was the tenant of a mill belonging to the colonel, standing on +the very stream the ownership of which M. Barricini was disputing with +your father. The colonel, always a generous man, made very little profit +out of the mill. Now Tomaso thought that if Barricini got possession of +the stream there would be a heavy rent to pay, for it is well known +that Barricini is rather fond of money. In short, to oblige his brother, +Tomaso forged the letter from the bandit--and there's the whole story. +You know that in Corsica the strength of the family tie is so great that +it does sometimes lead to crime. Please read over this letter to me from +the attorney-general. It confirms what I have just told you." + +Orso looked through the letter, which gave a detailed relation of +Tomaso's confession, and Colomba read it over his shoulder. + +When she had come to the end of it she exclaimed: + +"Orlanduccio Barricini went down to Bastia a month ago, when it became +known that my brother was coming home. He must have seen Tomaso, and +bought this lie of him!" + +"Signorina," said the prefect, out of patience, "you explain everything +by odious imputations! Is that the way to find out the truth? You, sir, +can judge more coolly. Tell me what you think of the business now? Do +you believe, like this young lady, that a man who has only a slight +sentence to fear would deliberately charge himself with forgery, just to +oblige a person he doesn't know?" + +Orso read the attorney-general's letter again, weighing every word with +the greatest care--for now that he had seen the old lawyer, he felt it +more difficult to convince himself than it would have been a few +days previously. At last he found himself obliged to admit that the +explanation seemed to him to be satisfactory. But Colomba cried out +vehemently: + +"Tomaso Bianchi is a knave! He'll not be convicted, or he'll escape from +prison! I am certain of it!" + +The prefect shrugged his shoulders. + +"I have laid the information I have received before you, monsieur. I +will now depart, and leave you to your own reflections. I shall wait +till your own reason has enlightened you, and I trust it may prove +stronger than your sister's suppositions." + +Orso, after saying a few words of excuse for Colomba, repeated that he +now believed Tomaso to be the sole culprit. + +The prefect had risen to take his leave. + +"If it were not so late," said he, "I would suggest your coming over +with me to fetch Miss Nevil's letter. At the same time you might repeat +to M. Barricini what you have just said to me, and the whole thing would +be settled." + +"Orso della Rebbia will never set his foot inside the house of a +Barricini!" exclaimed Colomba impetuously. + +"This young lady appears to be the _tintinajo_[*] of the family!" +remarked the prefect, with a touch of irony. + + [*] This is the name given to the ram or he-goat which wears + a bell and leads the flock, and it is applied, + metaphorically, to any member of a family who guides it in + all important matters. + +"Monsieur," replied Colomba resolutely, "you are deceived. You do not +know the lawyer. He is the most cunning and knavish of men. I +beseech you not to make Orso do a thing that would overwhelm him with +dishonour!" + +"Colomba!" exclaimed Orso, "your passion has driven you out of your +senses!" + +"Orso! Orso! By the casket I gave you, I beseech you to listen to me! +There is blood between you and the Barricini. You shall not go into +their house!" + +"Sister!" + +"No, brother, you shall not go! Or I will leave this house, and you will +never see me again! Have pity on me, Orso!" and she fell on her knees. + +"I am grieved," said the prefect, "to find Mademoiselle Colomba so +unreasonable. You will convince her, I am sure." + +He opened the door and paused, seeming to expect Orso to follow him. + +"I can not leave her now," said Orso. "To-morrow, if----" + +"I shall be starting very early," said the prefect. + +"Brother," cried Colomba, clasping her hands, "wait till to-morrow +morning, in any case. Let me look over my father's papers. You can not +refuse me that!" + +"Well, you shall look them over to-night. But at all events you shall +not torment me afterward with your violent hatreds. A thousand pardons, +monsieur! I am so upset myself to-night--it had better be to-morrow." + +"The night brings counsel," said the prefect, as he went out. "I hope +all your uncertainty will have disappeared by to-morrow." + +"Saveria," Colomba called, "take the lantern and attend the Signor +Prefetto. He will give you a letter to bring back to my brother." + +She added a few words which reached Saveria's ear alone. + +"Colomba," said Orso, when the prefect was gone, "you have distressed me +very much. Will no evidence convince you?" + +"You have given me till to-morrow," she replied. "I have very little +time; but I still have some hope." + +Then she took a bunch of keys and ran up to a room on the upper story. +There he could hear her pulling open drawers, and rummaging in the +writing-desk in which Colonel della Rebbia had kept his business papers. + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +Saveria was a long time away, and when she at last reappeared, carrying +a letter, and followed by little Chilina, rubbing her eyes, and +evidently just waked out of her beauty sleep, Orso was wound up to the +highest possible pitch of impatience. + +"Chili," said Orso, "what are you doing here at this hour?" + +"The signorina sent for me," replied Chilina. + +"What the devil does she want with her?" thought Orso to himself. But he +was in a hurry to open Miss Lydia's letter, and while he was reading it +Chilina went upstairs to his sister's room. + +"My father, dear sir, has not been well," Miss Nevil wrote, "and he is +so indolent, besides, that I am obliged to act as his secretary. You +remember that, instead of admiring the landscape with you and me the +other day, he got his feet wet on the sea-shore--and in your delightful +island, that is quite enough to give one a fever! I can see the face you +are making! No doubt you are feeling for your dagger. But I will hope +you have none now. Well, my father had a little fever, and I had a great +fright. The prefect, whom I persist in thinking very pleasant, sent us +a doctor, also a very pleasant man, who got us over our trouble in two +days. There has been no return of the attack, and my father would like +to begin to shoot again. But I have forbidden that. How did you find +matters in your mountain home? Is your North Tower still in its old +place? Are there any ghosts about it? I ask all these questions because +my father remembers you have promised him buck and boar and moufflon--is +that the right name for those strange creatures? We intend to crave your +hospitality on our way to Bastia, where we are to embark, and I trust +the della Rebbia Castle, which you declare is so old and tumble-down, +will not fall in upon our heads! Though the prefect is so pleasant that +subjects of conversation are never lacking to us--I flatter myself, by +the way, that I have turned his head--we have been talking about your +worshipful self. The legal people at Bastia have sent him certain +confessions, made by a rascal they have under lock and key, which are +calculated to destroy your last remaining suspicions. The enmity which +sometimes alarmed me for you must therefore end at once. You have no +idea what a pleasure this has been to me! When you started hence with +the fair _voceratrice_, with your gun in hand, and your brow lowering, +you struck me as being more Corsican than ever--too Corsican indeed! +_Basta!_ I write you this long letter because I am dull. The prefect, +alas! is going away. We will send you a message when we start for your +mountains, and I shall take the liberty of writing to Signorina Colomba +to ask her to give me a _bruccio, ma solenne_! Meanwhile, give her +my love. I use her dagger a great deal to cut the leaves of a novel I +brought with me. But the doughty steel revolts against such usage, and +tears my book for me, after a most pitiful fashion. Farewell, sir! My +father sends you 'his best love.' Listen to what the prefect says. He +is a sensible man, and is turning out of his way, I believe, on your +account. He is going to lay a foundation-stone at Corte. I should fancy +the ceremony will be very imposing, and I am very sorry not to see it. +A gentleman in an embroidered coat and silk stockings and a white scarf, +wielding a trowel--and a speech! And at the end of the performance +manifold and reiterated shouts of 'God save the King.' I say again, sir, +it will make you very vain to think I have written you four whole pages, +and on that account I give you leave to write me a very long letter. By +the way, I think it very odd of you not to have let me hear of your safe +arrival at the Castle of Pietranera! + +"LYDIA. + +"P.S.--I beg you will listen to the prefect, and do as he bids you. We +have agreed that this is the course you should pursue, and I shall be +very glad if you do it." + + +Orso read the letter three or four times over, making endless mental +comments each time as he read. Then he wrote a long answer, which he +sent by Saveria's hand to a man in the village, who was to go down to +Ajaccio the very next day. Already he had almost dismissed the idea of +discussing his grievance, true or false, against the Barricini, with +his sister. Miss Lydia's letter had cast a rose-coloured tint over +everything about him. He felt neither hatred nor suspicion now. He +waited some time for his sister to come down, and finding she did not +reappear, he went to bed, with a lighter heart than he had carried +for many a day. Colomba, having dismissed Chilina with some secret +instructions, spent the greater part of the night in reading old +papers. A little before daybreak a few tiny pebbles rattled against the +window-pane. At the signal, she went down to the garden, opened a back +door, and conducted two very rough men into her house. Her first care +was to bring them into the kitchen and give them food. My readers will +shortly learn who these men were. + + + +CHAPTER XV + +Toward six o'clock next morning one of the prefect's servants came and +knocked at the door of Orso's house. He was received by Colomba, and +informed her the prefect was about to start, and was expecting her +brother. Without a moment's hesitation Colomba replied that her brother +had just had a fall on the stairs, and sprained his foot; and he was +unable to walk a single step, that he begged the prefect to excuse him, +and would be very grateful if he would condescend to take the trouble +of coming over to him. A few minutes after this message had been +despatched, Orso came downstairs, and asked his sister whether the +prefect had not sent for him. + +With the most perfect assurance she rejoined: + +"He begs you'll wait for him here." + +Half an hour went by without the slightest perceptible stir in the +Barricini dwelling. Meanwhile Orso asked Colomba whether she had +discovered anything. She replied that she proposed to make her statement +when the prefect came. She affected an extreme composure. But her colour +and her eyes betrayed her state of feverish excitement. + +At last the door of the Barricini mansion was seen to open. The prefect +came out first, in travelling garb; he was followed by the mayor and his +two sons. What was the stupefaction of the inhabitants of the village of +Pietranera, who had been on the watch since sunrise for the departure of +the chief magistrate of their department, when they saw him go straight +across the square and enter the della Rebbia dwelling, accompanied +by the three Barricini. "They are going to make peace!" exclaimed the +village politicians. + +"Just as I told you," one old man went on. "Ors' Anton' has lived too +much on the mainland to carry things through like a man of mettle." + +"Yet," responded a Rebbianite, "you may notice it is the Barricini who +have gone across to him. They are suing for mercy." + +"It's the prefect who had wheedled them all round," answered the old +fellow. "There is no such thing as courage nowadays, and the young +chaps make no more fuss about their father's blood than if they were all +bastards." + +The prefect was not a little astounded to find Orso up and walking about +with perfect ease. In the briefest fashion Colomba avowed her own lie, +and begged him to forgive it. + +"If you had been staying anywhere else, monsieur, my brother would have +gone to pay his respects to you yesterday." + +Orso made endless apologies, vowing he had nothing to do with his +sister's absurd stratagem, by which he appeared deeply mortified. The +prefect and the elder Barricini appeared to believe in the sincerity +of his regret, and indeed this belief was justified by his evident +confusion and the reproaches he addressed to his sister. But the mayor's +two sons did not seem satisfied. + +"We are being made to look like fools," said Orlanduccio audibly. + +"If my sister were to play me such tricks," said Vincentello, "I'd soon +cure her fancy for beginning them again." + +The words, and the tone in which they were uttered, offended Orso, and +diminished his good-will. Glances that were anything but friendly were +exchanged between him and the two young men. + +Meanwhile, everybody being seated save Colomba, who remained standing +close to the kitchen door, the prefect took up his parable, and after a +few common-places as to local prejudices, he recalled the fact that +the most inveterate enmities generally have their root in some mere +misunderstanding. Next, turning to the mayor, he told him that Signor +della Rebbia had never believed the Barricini family had played any +part, direct or indirect, in the deplorable event which had bereft him +of his father; that he had, indeed, nursed some doubts as to one +detail in the lawsuit between the two families; that Signor Orso's long +absence, and the nature of the information sent him, excused the doubt +in question; that in the light of recent revelations he felt completely +satisfied, and desired to re-open friendly and neighbourly relations +with Signor Barricini and his sons. + +Orso bowed stiffly. Signor Barricini stammered a few words that nobody +could hear, and his sons stared steadily at the ceiling rafters. The +prefect was about to continue his speech, and address the counterpart +of the remarks he had made to Signor Barricini, to Orso, when Colomba +stepped gravely forward between the contracting parties, at the same +time drawing some papers from beneath her neckerchief. + +"I should be happy indeed," she said, "to see the quarrel between our +two families brought to an end. But if the reconciliation is to be +sincere, there must be a full explanation, and nothing must be left in +doubt. Signor Prefetto, Tomaso Bianchi's declaration, coming from a man +of such vile report, seemed to me justly open to doubt. I said your sons +had possibly seen this man in the prison at Bastia." + +"It's false!" interrupted Orlanduccio; "I didn't see him!" + +Colomba cast a scornful glance at him, and proceeded with great apparent +composure. + +"You explained Tomaso's probable interest in threatening Signor +Barricini, in the name of a dreaded bandit, by his desire to keep his +brother Teodoro in possession of the mill which my father allowed him to +hire at a very low rent." + +"That's quite clear," assented the prefect. + +"Where was Tomaso Bianchi's interest?" exclaimed Colomba triumphantly. +"His brother's lease had run out. My father had given him notice on +the 1st of July. Here is my father's account-book; here is his note of +warning given to Teodoro, and the letter from a business man at Ajaccio +suggesting a new tenant." + +As she spoke she gave the prefect the papers she had been holding in her +hand. + +There was an astonished pause. The mayor turned visibly pale. Orso, +knitting his brows, leaned forward to look at the papers, which the +prefect was perusing most attentively. + +"We are being made to look like fools!" cried Orlanduccio again, +springing angrily to his feet. "Let us be off, father! We ought never to +have come here!" + +One instant's delay gave Signor Barricini time to recover his composure. +He asked leave to see the papers. Without a word the prefect handed them +over to him. Pushing his green spectacles up to his forehead, he looked +through them with a somewhat indifferent air, while Colomba watched +him with the eyes of a tigress who sees a buck drawing near to the lair +where she had hidden her cubs. + +"Well," said Signor Barricini, as he pulled down his spectacles and +returned the documents, "knowing the late colonel's kind heart, Tomaso +thought--most likely he thought--that the colonel would change his mind +about the notice. As a matter of fact, Bianchi is still at the mill, +so--" + +"It was I," said Colomba, and there was scorn in her voice, "who left +him there. My father was dead, and situated as I was, I was obliged to +treat my brother's dependents with consideration." + +"Yet," quoth the prefect, "this man Tomaso acknowledges that he wrote +the letter. That much is clear." + +"The thing that is clear to me," broke in Orso, "is that there is some +vile infamy underneath this whole business." + +"I have to contradict another assertion made by these gentlemen," said +Colomba. + +She threw open the door into the kitchen and instantly Brandolaccio, the +licentiate in theology, and Brusco, the dog, marched into the room. The +two bandits were unarmed--apparently, at all events; they wore their +cartridge belts, but the pistols, which are their necessary complement, +were absent. As they entered the room they doffed their caps +respectfully. + +The effect produced by their sudden appearance may be conceived. The +mayor almost fell backward. His sons threw themselves boldly in front +of him, each one feeling for his dagger in his coat pocket. The prefect +made a step toward the door, and Orso, seizing Brandolaccio by the +collar, shouted: + +"What have you come here for, you villain?" + +"This is a trap!" cried the mayor, trying to get the door open. But, by +the bandits' orders, as was afterward discovered, Saveria had locked it +on the outside. + +"Good people," said Brandolaccio, "don't be afraid of me. I'm not such a +devil as I look. We mean no harm at all. Signor Prefetto, I'm your very +humble servant. Gently, lieutenant! You're strangling me! We're here as +witnesses! Now then, Padre, speak up! Your tongue's glib enough!" + +"Signor Prefetto," quoth the licentiate, "I have not the honour of being +known to you. My name is Giocanto Castriconi, better known as the Padre. +Aha, it's coming back to you! The signorina here, whom I have not +the pleasure of knowing either, has sent to ask me to supply some +information about a fellow of the name of Tomaso Bianchi, with whom I +chanced to be shut up, about three weeks ago, in the prison at Bastia. +This is what I have to tell you." + +"Spare yourself the trouble," said the prefect. "I can not listen to +anything from such a man as you. Signor della Rebbia, I am willing to +believe you have had nothing to do with this detestable plot. But are +you master in your own house? Will you have the door opened? Your sister +may have to give an account of the strange relations in which she lives +with a set of bandits." + +"Signor Prefetto!" cried Colomba, "I beseech you to listen to what this +man has to say! You are here to do justice to everybody, and it is your +duty to search out the truth. Speak, Giocanto Castriconi!" + +"Don't listen to him," chorused the three Barricini. + +"If everybody talks at once," remarked the bandit, with a smile, "nobody +can contrive to hear what anybody says. Well, in the prison at Bastia +I had as my companion--not as my friend--this very man, Tomaso. He +received frequent visits from Signor Orlanduccio." + +"You lie!" shouted the two brothers together. + +"Two negatives make an affirmative," pursued Castriconi coolly. "Tomaso +had money, he ate and drank of the best. I have always been fond of good +cheer (that's the least of my failings), and in spite of my repugnance +to rubbing shoulders with such a wretch, I let myself be tempted, +several times over, into dining with him. Out of gratitude, I proposed +he should escape with me. A young person--to whom I had shown some +kindness--had provided me with the necessary means. I don't intend to +compromise anybody. Tomaso refused my offer, telling me he was certain +to be all right, as lawyer Barricini had spoken to all the judges for +him, and he was sure to get out of prison with a character as white as +snow, and with money in his pocket, too. As for me, I thought it better +to get into the fresh air. _Dixi_." + +"Everything that fellow has said is a heap of lies," reiterated +Orlanduccio stoutly. "If we were in the open country, and each of us had +his gun, he wouldn't talk in that way." + +"Here's a pretty folly!" cried Brandolaccio. "Don't you quarrel with the +Padre, Orlanduccio!" + +"Will you be good enough to allow me to leave this room, Signor della +Rebbia," said the prefect, and he stamped his foot in his impatience. + +"Saveria! Saveria!" shouted Orso, "open the door, in the devil's name!" + +"One moment," said Brandolaccio. "We have to slip away first, on our +side. Signor Prefetto, the custom, when people meet in the house of +a mutual friend, is to allow each other half an hour's law, after +departure." + +The prefect cast a scornful glance at him. + +"Your servant, signorina, and gentlemen all!" said Brandolaccio. Then +stretching out his arm, "Hi, Brusco," he cried to his dog, "jump for the +Signor Prefetto!" + +The dog jumped; the bandits swiftly snatched up their arms in the +kitchen, fled across the garden, and at a shrill whistle the door of the +room flew open as though by magic. + +"Signor Barricini," said Orso, and suppressed fury vibrated in his +voice, "I hold you to be a forger! This very day I shall charge you +before the public prosecutor with forgery and complicity with Bianchi. I +may perhaps have a still more terrible accusation to bring against you!" + +"And I, Signor della Rebbia," replied the mayor, "shall lay my charge +against you for conspiracy and complicity with bandits. Meanwhile the +prefect will desire the gendarmes to keep an eye upon you." + +"The prefect will do his duty," said that gentleman sternly. "He will +see the public order is not disturbed at Pietranera; he will take care +justice is done. I say this to you all, gentlemen!" + +The mayor and Vincentello were outside the room already, and Orlanduccio +was following them, stepping backward, when Orso said to him in an +undertone: + +"Your father is an old man. One cuff from me would kill him. It is with +you and with your brother that I intend to deal." + +Orlanduccio's only response was to draw his dagger and fly like a madman +at Orso. But before he could use his weapon Colomba caught hold of his +arm and twisted it violently, while Orso gave him a blow in the face +with his fist, which made him stagger several paces back, and come into +violent collision with the door frame. Orlanduccio's dagger dropped from +his hand. But Vincentello had his ready, and was rushing back into the +room, when Colomba, snatching up a gun convinced him that the struggle +must be unequal. At the same time the prefect threw himself between the +combatants. + +"We shall soon meet, Ors' Anton'!" shouted Orlanduccio, and slamming +the door of the room violently, he turned the key in the lock, so as to +insure himself time to retreat. + +For a full quarter of an hour Orso and the prefect kept their places +in dead silence, at opposite ends of the room. Colomba, the pride of +triumph shining on her brow, gazed first at one and then at the other, +as she leaned on the gun that had turned the scale of victory. + +"What a country! Oh, what a country!" cried the prefect at last, rising +hastily from his chair. "Signor della Rebbia, you did wrong! You must +give me your word of honour to abstain from all violence, and to wait +till the law settles this cursed business." + +"Yes, Signor Prefetto, I was wrong to strike that villain. But I did +strike him, after all, and I can't refuse him the satisfaction he has +demanded of me." + +"Pooh! no! He doesn't want to fight you! But supposing he murders you? +You've done everything you could to insure it." + +"We'll protect ourselves," said Colomba. + +"Orlanduccio," said Orso, "strikes me as being a plucky fellow, and I +think better of him than that, monsieur. He was very quick about drawing +his dagger. But perhaps I should have done the same thing in his place, +and I'm glad my sister has not an ordinary fine lady's wrist." + +"You are not to fight," exclaimed the prefect. "I forbid it!" + +"Allow me to say, monsieur, that in matters that affect my honour the +only authority I acknowledge is that of my own conscience." + +"You sha'n't fight, I tell you!" + +"You can put me under arrest, monsieur--that is, if I let you catch me. +But if you were to do that, you would only delay a thing that has now +become inevitable. You are a man of honour yourself, monsieur; you know +there can be no other course." + +"If you were to have my brother arrested," added Colomba, "half the +village would take his part, and we should have a fine fusillade." + +"I give you fair notice, monsieur, and I entreat you not to think I am +talking mere bravado. I warn you that if Signor Barricini abuses his +authority as mayor, to have me arrested, I shall defend myself." + +"From this very day," said the prefect, "Signor Barricini is suspended. +I trust he will exculpate himself. Listen to me, my young gentleman, I +have a liking for you. What I ask of you is nothing to speak of. Just to +stay quietly at home till I get back from Corte. I shall only be three +days away. I'll bring back the public prosecutor with me, and then we'll +sift this wretched business to the bottom. Will you promise me you will +abstain from all hostilities till then?" + +"I can not promise that, monsieur, if, as I expect, Orlanduccio asks me +to meet him." + +"What, Signor della Rebbia! Would you--a French officer--think of going +out with a man you suspect of being a forger?" + +"I struck him, monsieur!" + +"But supposing you struck a convict, and he demanded satisfaction of +you, would you fight him? Come, come, Signor Orso! But I'll ask you to +do even less, do nothing to seek out Orlanduccio. I'll consent to your +fighting him if he asks you for a meeting." + +"He will ask for it, I haven't a doubt of that. But I'll promise I won't +give him fresh cuffs to induce him to do it." + +"What a country!" cried the prefect once more, as he strode to and fro. +"Shall I never get back to France?" + +"Signor Prefetto," said Colomba in her most dulcet tones, "it is growing +very late. Would you do us the honour of breakfasting here?" + +The prefect could not help laughing. + +"I've been here too long already--it may look like partiality. And there +is that cursed foundation-stone. I must be off. Signorina della Rebbia! +what calamities you may have prepared this day!" + +"At all events, Signor Prefetto, you will do my sister the justice of +believing her convictions are deeply rooted--and I am sure, now, that +you yourself believe them to be well-founded." + +"Farewell, sir!" said the prefect, waving his hand. "I warn you that the +sergeant of gendarmes will have orders to watch everything you do." + +When the prefect had departed-- + +"Orso," said Colomba, "this isn't the Continent. Orlanduccio knows +nothing about your duels, and besides, that wretch must not die the +death of a brave man." + +"Colomba, my dear, you are a clever woman. I owe you a great deal from +having saved me from a hearty knife-thrust. Give me your little hand to +kiss! But, hark ye, let me have my way. There are certain matters that +you don't understand. Give me my breakfast. And as soon as the prefect +had started off send for little Chilina, who seems to perform all the +commissions she is given in the most wonderful fashion. I shall want her +to take a letter for me." + +While Colomba was superintending the preparation of his breakfast, Orso +went up to his own room and wrote the following note: + +"You must be in a hurry to meet me, and I am no less eager. We can meet +at six o'clock to-morrow morning in the valley of Acquaviva. I am a +skilful pistol-shot, so I do not suggest that weapon to you. I hear you +are a good shot with a gun. Let us each take a double-barrelled gun. I +shall be accompanied by a man from this village. If your brother wishes +to go with you, take a second witness, and let me know. In that case +only, I should bring two with me. + +"ORSO ANTONIO DELLA REBBIA." + + +After spending an hour with the deputy-mayor, and going into the +Barricini house for a few minutes, the prefect, attended by a single +gendarme, started for Corte. A quarter of an hour later, Chilina carried +over the letter my readers have just perused, and delivered it into +Orlanduccio's own hands. + +The answer was not prompt, and did not arrive till evening. It bore the +signature of the elder Barricini, and informed Orso that he was laying +the threatening letter sent to his son before the public prosecutor. His +missive concluded thus: "Strong in the sense of a clear conscience, I +patiently wait till the law has pronounced on your calumnies." + +Meanwhile five or six herdsmen, summoned by Colomba, arrived to garrison +the della Rebbia Tower. In spite of Orso's protests, _archere_ were +arranged in the windows looking onto the square, and all through the +evening offers of service kept coming in from various persons belonging +to the village. There was even a letter from the bandit-theologian, +undertaking, for himself and Brandolaccio, that in the event of the +mayor's calling on the gendarmes, they themselves would straightway +intervene. The following postscript closed the letter: + +"Dare I ask you what the Signor Prefetto thinks of the excellent +education bestowed by my friend on Brusco, the dog? Next to Chilina, he +is the most docile and promising pupil I have ever come across." + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +The following day went by without any hostile demonstration. Both sides +kept on the defensive. Orso did not leave his house, and the door of +the Barricini dwelling remained closely shut. The five gendarmes who +had been left to garrison Pietranera were to be seen walking about the +square and the outskirts of the village, in company with the village +constable, the sole representative of the urban police force. The +deputy-mayor never put off his sash. But there was no actual symptom +of war, except the loopholes in the two opponents' houses. Nobody but +a Corsican would have noticed that the group round the evergreen oak in +the middle of the square consisted solely of women. + +At supper-time Colomba gleefully showed her brother a letter she had +just received from Miss Nevil. + +"My dear Signorina Colomba," it ran, "I learn with great pleasure, +through a letter from your brother, that your enmities are all at an +end. I congratulate you heartily. My father can not endure Ajaccio now +your brother is not there to talk about war and go out shooting with +him. We are starting to-day, and shall sleep at the house of your +kinswoman, to whom we have a letter. The day after to-morrow, somewhere +about eleven o'clock, I shall come and ask you to let me taste that +mountain _bruccio_ of yours, which you say is so vastly superior to what +we get in the town. + +"Farewell, dear Signorina Colomba. + +"Your affectionate + +"LYDIA NEVIL." + + +"Then she hasn't received my second letter!" exclaimed Orso. + +"You see by the date of this one that Miss Lydia must have already +started when your letter reached Ajaccio. But did you tell her not to +come?" + +"I told her we were in a state of siege. That does not seem to me a +condition that permits of our receiving company." + +"Bah! These English people are so odd. The very last night I slept in +her room she told me she would be sorry to leave Corsica without having +seen a good _vendetta_. If you choose, Orso, you might let her see an +assault on our enemies' house." + +"Do you know, Colomba," said Orso, "Nature blundered when she made you a +woman. You'd have made a first-rate soldier." + +"Maybe. Anyhow, I'm going to make my _bruccio_." + +"Don't waste your time. We must send somebody down to warn them and stop +them before they start." + +"Do you mean to say you would send a messenger out in such weather, to +have him and your letter both swept away by a torrent? How I pity those +poor bandits in this storm! Luckily they have good _piloni_ (thick cloth +cloaks with hoods). Do you know what you ought to do, Orso. If the storm +clears you should start off very early to-morrow morning, and get to our +kinswoman's house before they leave it. That will be easy enough, for +Miss Lydia always gets up so late. You can tell them everything that +has happened here, and if they still persist in coming, why! we shall be +very glad to welcome them." + +Orso lost no time in assenting to this plan, and after a few moments' +silence, Colomba continued: + +"Perhaps, Orso, you think I was joking when I talked of an assault on +the Barricini's house. Do you know we are in force--two to one at the +very least? Now that the prefect has suspended the mayor, every man in +the place is on our side. We might cut them to pieces. It would be quite +easy to bring it about. If you liked, I could go over to the +fountain and begin to jeer at their women folk. They would come out. +Perhaps--they are such cowards!--they would fire at me through their +loopholes. They wouldn't hit me. Then the thing would be done. They +would have begun the attack, and the beaten party must take its chance. +How is anybody to know which person's aim has been true, in a scuffle? +Listen to your own sister, Orso! These lawyers who are coming will +blacken lots of paper, and talk a great deal of useless stuff. Nothing +will come of it all. That old fox will contrive to make them think they +see stars in broad midday. Ah! if the prefect hadn't thrown himself in +front of Vincentello, we should have had one less to deal with." + +All this was said with the same calm air as that with which she had +spoken, an instant previously, of her preparations for making the +_bruccio_. + +Orso, quite dumfounded, gazed at his sister with an admiration not +unmixed with alarm. + +"My sweet Colomba," he said, as he rose from the table, "I really am +afraid you are the very devil. But make your mind easy. If I don't +succeed in getting the Barricini hanged, I'll contrive to get the better +of them in some other fashion. 'Hot bullet or cold steel'--you see I +haven't forgotten my Corsican." + +"The sooner the better," said Colomba, with a sigh. "What horse will you +ride to-morrow, Ors' Anton'?" + +"The black. Why do you ask?" + +"So as to make sure he has some barley." + +When Orso went up to his room, Colomba sent Saveria and the herdsmen +to their beds, and sat on alone in the kitchen, where the _bruccio_ was +simmering. Now and then she seemed to listen, and was apparently waiting +very anxiously for her brother to go to bed. At last, when she thought +he was asleep, she took a knife, made sure it was sharp, slipped her +little feet into thick shoes, and passed noiselessly out into the +garden. + +This garden, which was inclosed by walls, lay next to a good-sized piece +of hedged ground, into which the horses were turned--for Corsican horses +do not know what a stable means. They are generally turned loose into +a field, and left to themselves, to find pasture and shelter from cold +winds, as best they may. + +Colomba opened the garden gate with the same precaution, entered the +inclosure, and whistling gently, soon attracted the horses, to whom she +had often brought bread and salt. As soon as the black horse came within +reach, she caught him firmly by the mane, and split his ear open with +her knife. The horse gave a violent leap, and tore off with that +shrill cry which sharp pain occasionally extorts from his kind. Quite +satisfied, Colomba was making her way back into the garden, when Orso +threw open his window and shouted, "Who goes there?" At the same time +she heard him cock his gun. Luckily for her the garden-door lay in the +blackest shadow, and was partly screened by a large fig-tree. She +very soon gathered, from the light she saw glancing up and down in her +brother's room, that he was trying to light his lamp. She lost no time +about closing the garden-door, and slipping along the wall, so that the +outline of her black garments was lost against the dark foliage of +the fruit-trees, and succeeded in getting back into the kitchen a few +moments before Orso entered it. + +"What's the matter?" she inquired. + +"I fancied I heard somebody opening the garden-door," said Orso. + +"Impossible! The dog would have barked. But let us go and see!" + +Orso went round the garden, and having made sure that the outer door +was safely secured, he was going back to his room, rather ashamed of his +false alarm. + +"I am glad, brother," remarked Colomba, "that you are learning to be +prudent, as a man in your position ought to be." + +"You are training me well," said Orso. "Good-night!" + +By dawn the next morning Orso was up and ready to start. His style of +dress betrayed the desire for smartness felt by every man bound for the +presence of the lady he would fain please, combined with the caution +of a Corsican _in vendetta_. Over a blue coat, that sat closely to his +figure, he wore a small tin case full of cartridges, slung across his +shoulder by a green silk cord. His dagger lay in his side pocket, and +in his hand he carried his handsome Manton, ready loaded. While he was +hastily swallowing the cup of coffee Colomba had poured out for him, +one of the herdsmen went out to put the bridle and saddle on the black +horse. Orso and his sister followed close on his heels and entered the +field. The man had caught the horse, but he had dropped both saddle +and bridle, and seemed quite paralyzed with horror, while the horse, +remembering the wound it had received during the night, and trembling +for its other ear, was rearing, kicking, and neighing like twenty +fiends. + +"Now then! Make haste!" shouted Orso. + +"Ho, Ors' Anton'! Ho, Ors' Anton'!" yelled the herdsman. "Holy Madonna!" +and he poured out a string of imprecations, numberless, endless, and +most of them quite untranslatable. + +"What can be the matter?" inquired Colomba. They all drew near to the +horse, and at the sight of the creature's bleeding head and split ear +there was a general outcry of surprise and indignation. My readers must +know that among the Corsicans to mutilate an enemy's horse is at once a +vengeance, a challenge, and a mortal threat. "Nothing but a bullet-wound +can expiate such a crime." + +Though Orso, having lived so long on the mainland, was not so sensitive +as other Corsicans to the enormity of the insult, still, if any +supporter of the Barricini had appeared in his sight at that moment, he +would probably have taken vengeance on him for the outrage he ascribed +to his enemies. + +"The cowardly wretches!" he cried. "To avenge themselves on a poor +brute, when they dare not meet me face to face!" + +"What are we waiting for?" exclaimed Colomba vehemently. "They come +here and brave us! They mutilate our horses! and we are not to make any +response? Are you men?" + +"Vengeance!" shouted the herdsmen. "Let us lead the horse through the +village, and attack their house!" + +"There's a thatched barn that touches their Tower," said old Polo +Griffo; "I'd set fire to it in a trice." + +Another man wanted to fetch the ladders out of the church steeple. A +third proposed they should break in the doors of the house with a heavy +beam intended for some house in course of building, which had been left +lying in the square. Amid all the angry voices Colomba was heard telling +her satellites that before they went to work she would give each man of +them a large glass of anisette. + +Unluckily, or rather luckily, the impression she had expected to produce +by her own cruel treatment of the poor horse was largely lost on Orso. +He felt no doubt that the savage mutilation was due to one of his foes, +and he specially suspected Orlanduccio; but he did not believe that the +young man, whom he himself had provoked and struck, had wiped out +his shame by slitting a horse's ear. On the contrary, this mean and +ridiculous piece of vengeance had increased Orso's scorn for his +opponents, and he now felt, with the prefect, that such people were not +worthy to try conclusions with himself. As soon as he was able to make +himself heard, he informed his astonished partisans that they would have +to relinquish all their bellicose intentions, and that the power of the +law, which would shortly be on the spot, would amply suffice to avenge +the hurt done to a horse's ear. + +"I'm master here!" he added sternly; "and I insist on being obeyed. The +first man who dares to say anything more about killing or burning, will +quite possibly get a scorching at my hands! Be off! Saddle me the gray +horse!" + +"What's this, Orso?" said Colomba, drawing him apart. "You allow these +people to insult us? No Barricini would have dared to mutilate any beast +of ours in my father's time." + +"I promise you they shall have reason to repent it. But it is gendarme's +and jailer's work to punish wretches who only venture to raise their +hands against brute beasts. I've told you already, the law will punish +them; and if not, you will not need to remind me whose son I am." + +"Patience!" answered Colomba, with a sigh. + +"Remember this, sister," continued Orso; "if I find, when I come back, +that any demonstration whatever has been made against the Barricini +I shall never forgive you." Then, in a gentler tone, he added, "Very +possibly--very probably--I shall bring the colonel and his daughter back +with me. See that their rooms are well prepared, and that the breakfast +is good. In fact, let us make our guests as comfortable as we can. It's +a very good thing to be brave, Colomba, but a woman must know how to +manage her household, as well. Come, kiss me, and be good! Here's the +gray, ready saddled." + +"Orso," said Colomba, "you mustn't go alone." + +"I don't need anybody," replied Orso; "and I'll promise you nobody shall +slit my ear." + +"Oh, I'll never consent to your going alone, while there is a feud. +Here! Polo Griffo! Gian' Franco! Memmo! Take your guns; you must go with +my brother." + +After a somewhat lively argument, Orso had to give in, and accept an +escort. From the most excited of the herdsmen he chose out those who had +been loudest in their desire to commence hostilities; then, after laying +fresh injunctions on his sister and the men he was leaving behind, he +started, making a detour, this time, so as to avoid the Barricinis' +dwelling. + +They were a long way from Pietranera, and were travelling along at a +great pace, when, as they crossed a streamlet that ran into a marsh, +Polo Griffo noticed several porkers wallowing comfortably in the mud, in +full enjoyment at once of the warmth of the sun and the coolness of the +water. Instantly he took aim at the biggest, fired at its head, and shot +it dead. The dead creature's comrades rose and fled with astonishing +swiftness, and though another herdsman fired at them they reached a +thicket and disappeared into it, safe and sound. + +"Idiots!" cried Orso. "You've been taking pigs for wild boars!" + +"Not a bit, Ors' Anton'," replied Polo Griffo. "But that herd belongs to +the lawyer, and I've taught him, now, to mutilate our horses." + +"What! you rascal!" shouted Orso, in a perfect fury. "You ape the vile +behaviour of our enemies! Be off, villains! I don't want you! You're +only fit to fight with pigs. I swear to God that if you dare follow me +I'll blow your brains out!" + +The herdsmen stared at each other, struck quite dumb. Orso spurred his +horse, galloped off, and was soon out of sight. + +"Well, well!" said Polo Griffo. "Here's a pretty thing. You devote +yourself to people, and then this is how they treat you. His father, the +colonel, was angry with you long ago, because you levelled your gun at +the lawyer. Great idiot you were, not to shoot. And now here is his son. +You saw what I did for him. And he talks about cracking my skull, just +as he would crack a gourd that lets the wine leak out. That's what +people learn on the mainland, Memmo!" + +"Yes, and if any one finds out it was you who killed that pig there'll +be a suit against you, and Ors' Anton' won't speak to the judges, nor +buy off the lawyer for you. Luckily nobody saw, and you have Saint Nega +to help you out." + +After a hasty conclave, the two herdsmen concluded their wisest plan +was to throw the dead pig into a bog, and this project they carefully +executed, after each had duly carved himself several slices out of the +body of this innocent victim of the feud between the Barricini and the +della Rebbia. + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +Once rid of his unruly escort, Orso proceeded calmly on his way, far +more absorbed by the prospective pleasure of seeing Miss Nevil than +stirred by any fear of coming across his enemies. + +"The lawsuit I must bring against these Barricini villains," he mused, +"will necessitate my going down to Bastia. Why should I not go there +with Miss Nevil? And once at Bastia, why shouldn't we all go together to +the springs of Orezza?" + +Suddenly his childish recollections of that picturesque spot rose up +before him. He fancied himself on the verdant lawn that spreads beneath +the ancient chestnut-trees. On the lustrous green sward, studded with +blue flowers like eyes that smiled upon him, he saw Miss Lydia seated at +his side. She had taken off her hat, and her fair hair, softer and finer +than any silk, shone like gold in the sunlight that glinted through the +foliage. Her clear blue eyes looked to him bluer than the sky itself. +With her cheek resting on one hand, she was listening thoughtfully +to the words of love he poured tremblingly into her ear. She wore the +muslin gown in which she had been dressed that last day at Ajaccio. From +beneath its folds peeped out a tiny foot, shod with black satin. Orso +told himself that he would be happy indeed if he might dare to kiss that +little foot--but one of Miss Lydia's hands was bare and held a daisy. +He took the daisy from her, and Lydia's hand pressed his, and then he +kissed the daisy, and then he kissed her hand, and yet she did not +chide him . . . and all these thoughts prevented him from paying +any attention to the road he was travelling, and meanwhile he trotted +steadily onward. For the second time, in his fancy, he was about to kiss +Miss Nevil's snow-white hand, when, as his horse stopped short, he very +nearly kissed its head, in stern reality. Little Chilina had barred his +way, and seized his bridle. + +"Where are you going to, Ors' Anton'?" she said. "Don't you know your +enemy is close by?" + +"My enemy!" cried Orso, furious at being interrupted at such a +delightful moment. "Where is he?" + +"Orlanduccio is close by, he's waiting for you! Go back, go back!" + +"Ho! Ho! So he's waiting for me! Did you see him?" + +"Yes, Ors' Anton'! I was lying down in the heather when he passed by. He +was looking round everywhere through his glass." + +"And which way did he go?" + +"He went down there. Just where you were going!" + +"Thank you!" + +"Ors' Anton', hadn't you better wait for my uncle? He must be here +soon--and with him you would be safe." + +"Don't be frightened, Chili. I don't need your uncle." + +"If you would let me, I would go in front of you." + +"No, thanks! No, thanks!" + +And Orso, spurring his horse, rode rapidly in the direction to which the +little girl had pointed. + +His first impulse had been one of blind fury, and he had told himself +that fortune was offering him an excellent opportunity of punishing the +coward who had avenged the blow he had received by mutilating a horse. +But as he moved onward the thought of his promise to the prefect, and, +above all, his fear of missing Miss Nevil's visit, altered his feelings, +and made him almost wish he might not come upon Orlanduccio. Soon, +however, the memory of his father, the indignity offered to his own +horse, and the threats of the Barricini, stirred his rage afresh, and +incited him to seek his foe, and to provoke and force him to a fight. +Thus tossed by conflicting feelings, he continued his progress, though +now he carefully scrutinized every thicket and hedge, and sometimes even +pulled up his horse to listen to the vague sounds to be heard in any +open country. Ten minutes after he had left little Chilina (it was then +about nine o'clock in the morning) he found himself on the edge of an +exceedingly steep declivity. The road, or rather the very slight path, +which he was following, ran through a _maquis_ that had been lately +burned. The ground was covered with whitish ashes, and here and there +some shrubs, and a few big trees, blackened by the flames, and entirely +stripped of their leaves, still stood erect--though life had long since +departed out of them. The sight of a burned _maquis_ is enough to make a +man fancy he has been transported into midwinter in some northern clime, +and the contrast between the barrenness of the ground over which the +flames have passed, with the luxuriant vegetation round about it, +heightens this appearance of sadness and desolation. But at that moment +the only thing that struck Orso in this particular landscape was one +point--an important one, it is true, in his present circumstances. The +bareness of the ground rendered any kind of ambush impossible, and the +man who has reason to fear that at any moment he may see a gun-barrel +thrust out of a thicket straight at his own chest, looks on a stretch +of smooth ground, with nothing on it to intercept his view, as a kind +of oasis. After this burned _maquis_ came a number of cultivated fields, +inclosed, according to the fashion of that country, with breast-high +walls, built of dry stones. The path ran between these fields, +producing, from a distance, the effect of a thick wood. + +The steepness of the declivity made it necessary for Orso to dismount. +He was walking quickly down the hill, which was slippery with ashes +(he had thrown the bridle on his horse's neck), and was hardly +five-and-twenty paces from one of these stone fences, when, just in +front of him, on the right-hand side of the road, he perceived first +of all the barrel of a gun, and then a head, rising over the top of the +wall. The gun was levelled, and he recognised Orlanduccio, just ready +to fire. Orso swiftly prepared for self-defence, and the two men, taking +deliberate aim, stared at each other for several seconds, with that +thrill of emotion which the bravest must feel when he knows he must +either deal death or endure it. + +"Vile coward!" shouted Orso. + +The words were hardly out of his mouth when he saw the flash of +Orlanduccio's gun, and almost at the same instant a second shot rang out +on his left from the other side of the path, fired by a man whom he had +not noticed, and who was aiming at him from behind another wall. Both +bullets struck him. The first, Orlanduccio's, passed through his left +arm, which Orso had turned toward him as he aimed. The second shot +struck him in the chest, and tore his coat, but coming in contact with +the blade of his dagger, it luckily flattened against it, and only +inflicted a trifling bruise. Orso's left arm fell helpless at his side, +and the barrel of his gun dropped for a moment, but he raised it at +once, and aiming his weapon with his right hand only, he fired at +Orlanduccio. His enemy's head, which was only exposed to the level of +the eyes, disappeared behind the wall. Then Orso, swinging round to the +left, fired the second barrel at a man in a cloud of smoke whom he could +hardly see. This face likewise disappeared. The four shots had followed +each other with incredible swiftness; no trained soldiers ever fired +their volleys in quicker succession. After Orso's last shot a great +silence fell. The smoke from his weapon rose slowly up into the sky. +There was not a movement, not the slightest sound from behind the wall. +But for the pain in his arm, he could have fancied the men on whom he +had just fired had been phantoms of his own imagination. + +Fully expecting a second volley, Orso moved a few steps, to place +himself behind one of the burned trees that still stood upright in +the _maquis_. Thus sheltered, he put his gun between his knees, +and hurriedly reloaded it. Meanwhile his left arm began to hurt him +horribly, and felt as if it were being dragged down by a huge weight. + +What had become of his adversaries? He could not understand. If they had +taken to flight, if they had been wounded, he would certainly have heard +some noise, some stir among the leaves. Were they dead, then? Or, what +was far more likely, were they not waiting behind their wall for a +chance of shooting at him again. In his uncertainty, and feeling his +strength fast failing him, he knelt down on his right knee, rested +his wounded arm upon the other, and took advantage of a branch that +protruded from the trunk of the burned tree to support his gun. With his +finger on the trigger, his eye fixed on the wall, and his ear strained +to catch the slightest sound, he knelt there, motionless, for several +minutes, which seemed to him a century. At last, behind him, in the far +distance, he heard a faint shout, and very soon a dog flew like an arrow +down the slope, and stopped short, close to him, wagging its tail. +It was Brusco, the comrade and follower of the bandits--the herald, +doubtless, of his master's approach. Never was any honest man more +impatiently awaited. With his muzzle in the air, and turned toward the +nearest fence, the dog sniffed anxiously. Suddenly he gave vent to a low +growl, sprang at a bound over the wall, and almost instantly reappeared +upon its crest, whence he gazed steadily at Orso with eyes that spoke +surprise as clearly as a dog's may do it. Then he sniffed again, this +time toward the other inclosure, the wall of which he also crossed. +Within a second he was back on the top of that, with the same air of +astonishment and alarm, and straightway he bounded into the thicket with +his tail between his legs, still gazing at Orso, and retiring from him +slowly, and sideways, until he had put some distance between them. Then +off he started again, tearing up the slope almost as fast as he had +come down it, to meet a man, who, in spite of its steepness, was rapidly +descending. + +"Help, Brando!" shouted Orso, as soon as he thought he was within +hearing. + +"Hallo! Ors' Anton'! are you wounded?" inquired Brandolaccio, as he ran +up panting. "Is it in your body or your limbs?" + +"In the arm." + +"The arm--oh, that's nothing! And the other fellow?" + +"I think I hit him." + +Brandolaccio ran after the dog to the nearest field and leaned over to +look at the other side of the wall, then pulling off his cap-- + +"Signor Orlanduccio, I salute you!" said he, then turning toward Orso, +he bowed to him, also, gravely. + +"That," he remarked, "is what I call a man who has been properly done +for." + +"Is he still alive?" asked Orso, who could hardly breathe. + +"Oh! he wouldn't wish it! he'd be too much vexed about the bullet you +put into his eye! Holy Madonna! What a hole! That's a good gun, upon my +soul! what a weight! That spatters a man's brains for you! Hark ye, Ors' +Anton'! when I heard the first _piff, piff_, says I to myself: 'Dash it, +they're murdering my lieutenant!' Then I heard _boum, boum_. 'Ha, ha!' +says I, 'that's the English gun beginning to talk--he's firing back.' +But what on earth do you want with me, Brusco?" + +The dog guided him to the other field. + +"Upon my word," cried Brandolaccio, utterly astonished, "a right and +left, that's what it is! Deuce take it! Clear enough, powder must be +dear, for you don't waste it!" + +"What do you mean, for God's sake?" asked Orso. + +"Come, sir, don't try to humbug me; you bring down the dame, and then +you want somebody to pick it up for you. Well! there's one man who'll +have a queer dessert to-day, and that's Lawyer Barricini!--you want +butcher's meat, do you? Well, here you have it. Now, who the devil will +be the heir?" + +"What! is Vincentello dead too?" + +"Dead as mutton. _Salute a noi!_ The good point about you is that you +don't let them suffer. Just come over and look at Vincentello; he's +kneeling here with his head against the wall, as if he were asleep. You +may say he sleeps like lead, this time, poor devil." + +Orso turned his head in horror. + +"Are you certain he's dead?" + +"You're like Sampiero Corso, who never had to fire more than once. Look +at it there, in his chest, on the left--just where Vincileone was hit at +Waterloo. I'll wager that bullet isn't far from his heart--a right and +left! Ah! I'll never talk about shooting again. Two with two shots, and +bullets at that! The two brothers! If he'd had a third shot he'd have +killed their papa. Better luck next time. What a shot! Ors' Anton'! And +to think that an honest poor chap like me will never get the chance of a +right and a left two gendarmes!" + +As he talked the bandit was scanning Orso's arm, and splitting up his +sleeve with his dagger. + +"This is nothing," said he. "But this coat of yours will give Signorina +Colomba work to do. Ha! what's this I see? this gash upon your chest? +Nothing went in there, surely? No! you wouldn't be so brisk as you are! +Come, try to move your finger. Do you feel my teeth when I bite your +little finger? Not very well? Never mind! It won't be much. Let me take +your handkerchief and your neckcloth. Well, your coat's spoilt, anyhow! +What the devil did you make yourself so smart for? Were you going to +a wedding? There! drink a drop of wine. Why on earth don't you carry a +flask? Does any Corsican ever go out without a flask?" + +Then again he broke off the dressing of the wound to exclaim: + +"A right and left! Both of them stone dead! How the Padre will laugh! A +right and left! Oh, here's that little dawdle Chilina at last!" + +Orso made no reply--he was as pale as death and shaking in every limb. + +"Chili!" shouted Brandolaccio, "go and look behind that wall!" + +The child, using both hands and feet, scrambled onto the wall, and the +moment she caught sight of Orlanduccio's corpse she crossed herself. + +"That's nothing," proceeded the bandit; "go and look farther on, over +there!" + +The child crossed herself again. + +"Was it you, uncle?" she asked timidly. + +"Me! Don't you know I've turned into a useless old fellow! This, Chili, +is the signor's work; offer him your compliments." + +"The signorina will be greatly rejoiced," said Chilina, "and she will be +very much grieved to know you are wounded, Ors' Anton'." + +"Now then, Ors' Anton'," said the bandit, when he had finished binding +up the wound. "Chilina, here, has caught your horse. You must get on +his back, and come with me to the Stazzona _maquis_. It would be a sly +fellow who'd lay his hand on you there. When we get to the Cross of +Santa Christina, you'll have to dismount. You'll give over your horse to +Chilina, who'll go off and warn the signorina. You can say anything to +the child, Ors' Anton'. She would let herself be cut in pieces rather +than betray her friends," and then, fondly, he turned to the little +girl, "That's it, you little hussy; a ban on you, a curse on you--you +jade!" For Brandolaccio, who was superstitious, like most bandits, +feared he might cast a spell on a child if he blessed it or praised it, +seeing it is a well-known fact that the mysterious powers that rule the +_Annocchiatura_[*] have a vile habit of fulfilling our wishes in the +very opposite sense to that we give them. + + [*] _Annocchiatura_, an involuntary spell cast either by the + eye or by spoken words. + +"Where am I to go, Brando?" queried Orso in a faint voice. + +"Faith! you must choose; either to jail or to the _maquis_. But no della +Rebbia knows the path that leads him to the jail. To the _maquis_, Ors' +Anton'." + +"Farewell, then, to all my hopes!" exclaimed the wounded man, sadly. + +"Your hopes? Deuce take it! Did you hope to do any better with a +double-barrelled gun? How on earth did the fellows contrive to hit you? +The rascals must have been as hard to kill as cats." + +"They fired first," said Orso. + +"True, true; I'd forgotten that!--_piff, piff--boum, boum_! A right and +left, and only one hand! If any man can do better, I'll go hang myself. +Come! now you're safely mounted! Before we start, just give a glance +at your work. It isn't civil to leave one's company without saying +good-bye." + +Orso spurred his horse. He would not have looked at the two poor +wretches he had just destroyed, for anything on earth. + +"Hark ye, Ors' Anton'," quoth the bandit, as he caught hold of the +horse's bridle, "shall I tell you the truth? Well, no offence to you! +I'm sorry for those poor young fellows! You'll pardon me, I hope; so +good-looking, so strong, so young. Orlanduccio, I've shot with him +so often! Only four days ago he gave me a bundle of cigars, and +Vincentello--he was always so cheery. Of course you've only done what +you had to do, and indeed the shot was such a splendid one, nobody could +regret it. But I, you see, had nothing to do with your vengeance. I know +you're perfectly in the right. When one has an enemy one must get rid of +him. But the Barricini were an old family. Here's another of them wiped +out, and by a right and left too! It's striking." + +As he thus spoke his funeral oration over the Barricini, Brandolaccio +hastily guided Orso, Chilina, and Brusco, the dog, toward the Stazzona +_maquis_. + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +Meanwhile, very shortly after Orso's departure, Colomba's spies had +warned her that the Barricini were out on the warpath, and from that +moment she was racked by the most intense anxiety. She was to be seen +moving hither and thither all over the house, between the kitchen and +the rooms that were being made ready for her guests, doing nothing, yet +always busy, and constantly stopping to look out of a window for any +unusual stir in the village. Toward eleven o'clock, a somewhat numerous +cavalcade rode into Pietranera. This was the colonel, with his daughter, +their servants, and their guide. Colomba's first word, as she welcomed +them, was "Have you seen my brother?" Then she questioned the guide as +to the road they had taken, and the hour of their departure, and having +heard his answers, she could not understand why they had not met him. + +"Perhaps," said the guide, "your brother took the higher path; we came +by the lower one." + +But Colomba only shook her head and asked more questions. In spite of +her natural firmness of character, increased as it was by her proud +desire to conceal any sign of weakness before strangers, she could not +hide her anxiety, and as soon as she had informed them of the attempted +reconciliation, and of its unfortunate issue, this was shared by the +colonel and Miss Lydia. Miss Nevil became very uneasy, and wanted to +have messengers sent off in every direction, and her father offered +to remount at once and set out with the guide in search of Orso. Her +guests' alarm recalled Colomba to a sense of her duties as a hostess. +She strove to force a smile as she pressed the colonel to come to table, +and suggested twenty plausible reasons, which she herself demolished +within an instant, to account for her brother's delay. The colonel, +feeling it to be his duty, as a man, to reassure the ladies, put forward +his own explanation. + +"I'll wager," he said, "that della Rebbia has come across some game or +other. He has not been able to stand out against that temptation, and we +shall soon see him come in with a heavy bag. 'Pon my soul," he went on, +"we did hear four shots fired on the road. Two of them were louder +than the others, and I said to my girl, 'I'll bet anything that's della +Rebbia out shooting! My gun is the only one that would make that noise.'" + +Colomba turned pale, and Lydia, who was watching her closely, had +no difficulty in guessing the suspicions with which the colonel's +conjecture had inspired her. After a few minutes' silence, Colomba +eagerly inquired whether the two louder reports had been heard before or +after the others. But neither the colonel, his daughter, nor the guide +had paid much attention to this all-important detail. + +Toward one o'clock, as none of Colomba's messengers had yet returned, +she gathered all her courage, and insisted that her guests should sit +down to table with her. But, except the colonel, none of them could eat. +At the slightest sound in the square, Colomba ran to the window. Then +drearily she returned to her place, and struggled yet more drearily +to carry on a trivial conversation, to which nobody paid the slightest +attention, and which was broken by long intervals of silence. All at +once they heard a horse's gallop. + +"Ah! That must be my brother at last!" said Colomba, rising from her +chair. But when she saw Chilina astride on Orso's horse--"My brother is +dead!" she cried, in a heart-rending voice. + +The colonel dropped his glass. Miss Lydia screamed. They all rushed to +the door of the house. Before Chilina could jump off her steed, she was +snatched up like a feather by Colomba, who held her so tight that she +almost choked her. The child understood her agonized look, and her first +words were those of the chorus in Othello: "He lives!" Colomba's grasp +relaxed, and nimbly as a kitten Chilina dropped upon the ground. + +"The others?" queried Colomba hoarsely. Chilina crossed herself with +her first and middle finger. A deep flush instantly replaced the deadly +pallor of Colomba's face. She cast one fierce look at the Barricini +dwelling, and then, with a smile, she turned to her guests. + +"Let us go in and drink our coffee," she said. + +The story the bandit's Iris had to tell was a long one. Her narrative, +translated literally into Italian by Colomba, and then into English by +Miss Nevil, wrung more than one oath from the colonel, more than one +sigh from the fair Lydia. But Colomba heard it all unmoved. Only she +twisted her damask napkin till it seemed as if she must tear it in +pieces. She interrupted the child, five or six times over, to make her +repeat again that Brandolaccio had said the wound was not dangerous, +and that he had seen many worse. When she had finished her tale, Chilina +announced that Orso earnestly begged he might be sent writing materials, +and that he desired his sister would beseech a lady who might be staying +in his house not to depart from it, until she had received a letter from +him. + +"That is what was worrying him most," the child added; "and even after I +had started he called me back, to bid me not forget the message. It +was the third time he had given it to me." When Colomba heard of +her brother's injunction she smiled faintly, and squeezed the fair +Englishwoman's hand. That young lady burst into tears, and did not seem +to think it advisable to translate that particular part of the story to +her father. + +"Yes, my dear," cried Colomba, kissing Miss Nevil. "You shall stay with +me, and you shall help us." + +Then, taking a pile of old linen out of a cupboard, she began to cut it +up, to make lint and bandages. Any one who saw her flashing eyes, her +heightened colour, her alternate fits of anxiety and composure, would +have found it hard to say whether distress at her brother's wound, or +delight at the extinction of her foes, were most affecting her. One +moment she was pouring out the colonel's coffee, and telling him how +well she made it, the next she was setting Miss Lydia and Chilina to +work, exhorting them to sew bandages, and roll them up. Then, for the +twentieth time, she would ask whether Orso's wound was very painful. She +constantly broke off her own work to exclaim to the colonel: + +"Two such cunning men, such dangerous fellows! And he alone, wounded, +with only one arm! He killed the two of them! What courage, colonel! +Isn't he a hero? Ah, Miss Nevil! How good it is to live in a peaceful +country like yours! I'm sure you did not really know my brother till +now! I said it--'The falcon will spread his wings!' You were deceived +by his gentle look! That's because with you, Miss Nevil--Ah! if he could +see you working for him now! My poor Orso!" + +Miss Lydia was doing hardly any work, and could not find a single word +to say. Her father kept asking why nobody went to lay a complaint before +a magistrate. He talked about a coroner's inquest, and all sorts of +other proceedings quite unknown to Corsican economy. And then he +begged to be told whether the country house owned by that worthy Signor +Brandolaccio, who had brought succour to the wounded man, was very far +away from Pietranera, and whether he could not go there himself, to see +his friend. + +And Colomba replied, with her usual composure, that Orso was in the +_maquis_; that he was being taken care of by a bandit; that it would be +a great risk for him to show himself until he was sure of the line the +prefect and the judges were likely to take; and, finally, that she would +manage to have him secretly attended by a skilful surgeon. + +"Above all things, colonel," she added, "remember that you heard the +four shots, and that you told me Orso fired last." + +The colonel could make neither head nor tail of the business, and his +daughter did nothing but heave sighs and dry her eyes. + +The day was far advanced, when a gloomy procession wended its way into +the village. The bodies of his two sons were brought home to Lawyer +Barricini, each corpse thrown across a mule, which was led by a peasant. +A crowd of dependents and idlers followed the dreary _cortege_. With +it appeared the gendarmes, who always came in too late, and the +deputy-mayor, throwing up his hands, and incessantly repeating, "What +will Signor Prefetto say!" Some of the women, among them Orlanduccio's +foster-mother, were tearing their hair and shrieking wildly. But their +clamorous grief was less impressive than the dumb despair of one man, on +whom all eyes were fixed. This was the wretched father, who passed from +one corpse to the other, lifting up the earth-soiled heads, kissing the +blackened lips, supporting the limbs that were stiff already, as if he +would save them from the jolting of the road. Now and then he opened his +mouth as though about to speak, but not a cry came, not a word. His eyes +never left the dead bodies, and as he walked, he knocked himself against +the stones, against the trees, against every obstacle that chanced to +lie in his path. + +The women's lamentations grew louder, and the men's curses deeper, when +Orso's house appeared in sight. When some shepherds of the della Rebbia +party ventured on a triumphant shout, their enemy's indignation became +ungovernable. "Vengeance! Vengeance!" exclaimed several voices. Stones +were thrown, and two shots, fired at the windows of the room in which +Colomba and her guests were sitting, pierced the outside shutters, and +carried splinters of wood on to the table at which the two ladies were +working. Miss Lydia screamed violently, the colonel snatched up a gun, +and Colomba, before he could stop her, rushed to the door of the house +and threw it violently open. There, standing high on the threshold, with +her two hands outstretched to curse her enemies: + +"Cowards!" she cried. "You fire on women and on foreigners! Are you +Corsicans? Are you men? Wretches, who can only murder a man from behind. +Come on! I defy you! I am alone! My brother is far away! Come! kill +me, kill my guests! It would be worthy of you! . . . But you dare not, +cowards that you are! You know we avenge our wrongs! Away with you! Go, +weep like women, and be thankful we do not ask you for more blood!" + +There was something terrible and imposing in Colomba's voice and mien. +At the sight of her the crowd recoiled as though it beheld one of those +evil fairies of which so many tales are told on long winter evenings, +in Corsica. The deputy-mayor, the gendarmes, and a few women seized +the opportunity, and threw themselves between the two factions; for the +della Rebbia herdsmen were already loading their guns, and for a moment +a general fight in the middle of the square had appeared imminent. +But the two parties were both leaderless, and Corsicans, whose rage +is always subject to discipline, seldom come to blows unless the chief +authors of their internecine quarrels are present. Besides, Colomba, who +had learned prudence from victory, restrained her little garrison. + +"Let the poor folks weep in peace," she said. "Let the old man carry his +own flesh home. What is the good of killing an old fox who has no teeth +left to bite with, . . . Giudice Barricini! Remember the 2d of August! +Remember the blood-stained pocket-book in which you wrote with your +forger's hand! My father had written down your debt! Your sons have paid +it. You may go free, old Barricini!" + +With folded arms and a scornful smile upon her lips, Colomba watched the +bearers carry the corpses of her enemies into their home, and the crowd +without it melt gradually away. Then she closed her own door, and, going +back into the dining-room, she said to the colonel: + +"I beg, sir, you will forgive my fellow-countrymen! I never could have +believed that any Corsican would have fired on a house that sheltered +strangers, and I am ashamed of my country." + +That night, when Miss Lydia had gone up to her room, the colonel +followed her, and inquired whether they had not better get out of a +village where they ran incessant risk of having a bullet through their +heads, the very next morning, and leave this country, seething with +treachery and murder, as soon as possible. + +Miss Nevil did not answer for some time, and her father's suggestion +evidently caused her considerable perplexity. At last she said: + +"How can we leave this poor young creature, just when she is so much in +need of consolation? Don't you think that would be cruel, father?" + +"I only spoke on your account, child," said the colonel. "And I assure +you that if I once felt you were safe in the hotel at Ajaccio, I should +be very sorry to leave this cursed island myself, without shaking that +plucky fellow della Rebbia's hand again." + +"Well then, father, let us wait a while, and before we start let us make +quite sure we can not be of any use to them." + +"Kind soul!" said the colonel, as he kissed his daughter's forehead. "It +is a pleasure to see you sacrifice yourself for the sake of softening +other people's suffering. Let us stay on. We shall never have to repent +having done right." + +Miss Lydia tossed sleeplessly to and fro in her bed. Sometimes she took +the vague night sounds for preparations for an attack on the house. +Sometimes, less alarmed on her own account, she thought of poor wounded +Orso, who was probably lying on the cold earth, with no help beyond what +she might expect from a bandit's charity. She fancied him covered with +blood, and writhing in hideous suffering; and the extraordinary thing +was that whenever Orso's image rose up before her mind's eye, she always +beheld him as she had seen him when he rode away, pressing the talisman +she had bestowed upon him to his lips. Then she mused over his courage. +She told herself he had exposed himself to the frightful danger he had +just escaped on her account, just for the sake of seeing her a little +sooner. A very little more, and she would have persuaded herself that +Orso had earned his broken arm in her defence! She reproached herself +with being the cause of his wound. But she admired him for it all the +more, and if that celebrated right and left was not so splendid a feat +in her sight as in Brandolaccio's or Colomba's, still she was convinced +few heroes of romance could ever had behaved with such intrepidity and +coolness, in so dangerous a pinch. + +Her room was that usually occupied by Colomba. Above a kind of oaken +_prie-dieu_, and beside a sprig of blessed palm, a little miniature of +Orso, in his sub-lieutenant's uniform, hung on the wall. Miss Nevil took +the portrait down, looked at it for a long time, and laid it at last on +the table by her bed, instead of hanging it up again in its place. +She did not fall asleep till daybreak, and when she woke the sun +had travelled high above the horizon. In front of her bed she beheld +Colomba, waiting, motionless, till she should open her eyes. + +"Well, dear lady, are you not very uncomfortable in this poor house of +ours?" said Colomba to her. "I fear you have hardly slept at all." + +"Have you any news, dear friend?" cried Miss Nevil, sitting up in bed. + +Her eye fell on Orso's picture, and she hastily tossed her handkerchief +upon it. + +"Yes, I have news," said Colomba, with a smile. + +Then she took up the picture. + +"Do you think it like him? He is better looking than that!" + +"Really," stammered Miss Nevil, quite confused, "I took down that +picture in a fit of absence! I have a horrid habit of touching +everything and never putting anything back! How is your brother?" + +"Fairly well. Giocanto came here before four o'clock this morning. He +brought me a letter for you, Miss Lydia. Orso hasn't written anything +to me! It is addressed to Colomba, indeed, but underneath that he has +written 'For Miss N.' But sisters are never jealous! Giocanto says it +hurt him dreadfully to write. Giocanto, who writes a splendid hand, +offered to do it at his dictation. But he would not let him. He wrote it +with a pencil, lying on his back. Brandolaccio held the paper for him. +My brother kept trying to raise himself, and then the very slightest +movement gave him the most dreadful agony in his arm. Giocanto says it +was pitiful. Here is his letter." + +Miss Nevil read the letter, which, as an extra precaution, no doubt, was +written in English. Its contents were as follows: + +"MADEMOISELLE: An unhappy fate has driven me on. I know not what my +enemies will say, what slanders they will invent. I care little, so long +as you, mademoiselle, give them no credence! Ever since I first saw you +I have been nursing wild dreams. I needed this catastrophe to show me my +own folly. + +"I have come back to my senses now. I know the future that lies before +me, and I shall face it with resignation. I dare not keep this ring +you gave me, and which I believed to be a lucky talisman. I fear, Miss +Nevil, you may regret your gift has been so ill-bestowed. Or rather, I +fear it may remind me of the days of my own madness. Colomba will give +it to you. Farewell, mademoiselle! You are about to leave Corsica, and +I shall never see you again. But tell my sister, at least, that I still +possess your esteem--and I tell you, confidently, that I am still worthy +of it. + +"O.D.R." + + +Miss Lydia had turned away while she read the letter, and Colomba, who +was watching her closely, gave her the Egyptian ring, with an inquiring +glance as to what it all meant. But Miss Lydia dared not raise her head, +and looked dejectedly at the ring, alternately putting it on her finger +and pulling it off again. + +"Dear Miss Nevil," said Colomba, "may I not know what my brother says to +you? Does he say anything about his health?" + +"Indeed," said Miss Lydia, colouring, "he doesn't mention it. His letter +is in English. He desires me to tell my father--He hopes the prefect +will be able to arrange----" + +With a mischievous smile, Colomba sat down on the bed, took hold of both +Miss Nevil's hands, and, looking at her with her piercing eyes-- + +"Will you be kind?" she said. "Won't you answer my brother's letter? You +would do him so much good! For a moment I thought of waking you when his +letter came, and then I didn't dare!" + +"You did very wrong," replied Miss Nevil. "If a word from me could--" + +"I can't send him any letter now. The prefect has arrived, and +Pietranera is full of his policemen. Later on, we'll see what we can +do. Oh, Miss Nevil, if you only knew my brother, you would love him as +dearly as I do. He's so good! He's so brave! Just think of what he has +done! One man against two, and wounded as well!" + +The prefect had returned. Warned by an express messenger sent by the +deputy-mayor, he had brought over the public prosecutor, the registrar, +and all their myrmidons, to investigate the fresh and terrible +catastrophe which had just complicated, or it may be ended, the warfare +between the chief families of Pietranera. Shortly after his arrival, he +saw the colonel and his daughter, and did not conceal his fear that the +business might take on an ugly aspect. + +"You know," he said, "that the fight took place without witnesses, and +the reputation of these two unhappy men stood so high, both for bravery +and cunning, that nobody will believe Signor della Rebbia can have +killed them without the help of the bandits with whom he is now supposed +to have taken refuge." + +"It's not possible," said the colonel. "Orso della Rebbia is a most +honourable fellow. I'll stake my life on that." + +"I believe you," said the prefect. "But the public prosecutor (those +gentry always are suspicious) does not strike me as being particularly +well disposed toward him. He holds one bit of evidence which goes rather +against our friend--a threatening letter to Orlanduccio, in which he +suggests a meeting, and is inclined to think that meeting was a trap." + +"That fellow Orlanduccio refused to fight it out like a gentleman." + +"That is not the custom here. In this country, people lie in ambush, and +kill each other from behind. There is one deposition in his favour--that +of a child, who declares she heard four reports, two of which were +louder than the others, and produced by a heavy weapon, such as Signor +della Rebbia's gun. Unluckily, the child is the niece of one of the +bandits suspected of being his accomplices, and has probably been taught +her lesson." + +"Sir," broke in Miss Lydia, reddening to the roots of her hair, "we were +on the road when those shots were fired, and we heard the same thing." + +"Really? That's most important! And you, colonel, no doubt you remarked +the very same thing?" + +"Yes," responded Miss Lydia quickly. "It was my father, who is so +accustomed to firearms, who said to me, 'There's Signor della Rebbia +shooting with my gun!'" + +"And you are sure those shots you recognised were the last?" + +"The two last, weren't they, papa?" + +Memory was not the colonel's strong point, but as a standing rule, he +knew better than to contradict his daughter. + +"I must mention this to the public prosecutor at once, colonel. And +besides, we expect a surgeon this evening, who will make an examination +of the two bodies, and find out whether the wounds were caused by that +particular weapon." + +"I gave it to Orso," said the colonel, "and I wish I knew it was at the +bottom of the sea. At least----Plucky boy! I'm heartily glad he had it +with him, for I don't quite know how he would have got off if it hadn't +been for my Manton." + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +It was rather late when the surgeon put in an appearance. On his road up +he had met with an adventure of his own. He had been stopped by Giocanto +Castriconi, who, with the most scrupulous politeness, called on him to +come and attend a wounded man. He had been conducted to Orso's retreat, +and had applied the first dressings to his wound. The bandit had then +accompanied the doctor some distance on his way, and had greatly edified +him by his talk concerning the most celebrated professors at Pisa, whom +he described as his intimate friends. + +"Doctor," said the theologian, as they parted, "you have inspired me +with such a feeling of respect that I think it hardly necessary to +remind you that a physician should be as discreet as a confessor." And +as he said the words he clicked the trigger of his gun. "You have quite +forgotten the spot at which we have had the honour of meeting. Fare you +well! I'm delighted to have made your acquaintance." + +Colomba besought the colonel to be present at the post-mortem +examination. + +"You know my brother's gun better than anybody," she said, "and your +presence will be most valuable. Besides there are so many wicked people +here that we should run a great risk if there were nobody present to +protect our interests." + +When she was left alone with Miss Lydia, she complained that her head +ached terribly, and proposed that they should take a walk just outside +the village. + +"The fresh air will do me good," she said. "It is so long since I've +been out of doors." + +As they walked along she talked about her brother, and Miss Lydia, who +found the subject tolerably interesting, did not notice that they had +travelled a long way from Pietranera. The sun was setting when she +became aware of this fact, and she begged Colomba to return. Colomba +said she knew a cross-cut which would greatly shorten the walk back, +and turning out of the path, she took another, which seemed much less +frequented. Soon she began to climb a hill, so steep that to keep her +balance she was continually obliged to catch hold of branches with one +hand, while she pulled her companion up after her with the other. After +about twenty minutes of this trying ascent, they found themselves on +a small plateau, clothed with arbutus and myrtle, growing round great +granite boulders that jutted above the soil in every direction. Miss +Lydia was very tired, there was no sign of the village, and it was +almost quite dark. + +"Do you know, Colomba, my dear," she said, "I'm afraid we've lost our +way!" + +"No fear!" answered Colomba. "Let us get on. You follow me." + +"But I assure you we're going wrong. The village can't be over there. +I'm certain we're turning our backs on it. Why, look at those lights, +far away. Pietranera must be in that direction." + +"My dear soul," said Colomba, and she looked very much agitated, "you're +perfectly right. But in the _maquis_--less than a hundred yards from +here--" + +"Well?" + +"My brother is lying. If you choose, I might see him, and give him one +kiss." + +Miss Nevil made a gesture of astonishment. + +"I got out of Pietranera without being noticed," continued Colomba, +"because I was with you, otherwise I should have been followed. To be so +close to him, and not to see him! Why shouldn't you come with me to see +my poor brother? You would make him so happy!" + +"But, Colomba--That wouldn't be at all proper on my part----" + +"I see. With you women who live in towns, your great anxiety is to be +proper. We village women only think of what is kind." + +"But it's so late! And then what will your brother think of me?" + +"He'll think his friends have not forsaken him, and that will give him +courage to bear his sufferings." + +"And my father? He'll be so anxious!" + +"He knows you are with me. Come! Make up your mind. You were looking at +his picture this morning," she added, with a sly smile. + +"No! Really and truly, I don't dare, Colomba! Think of the bandits who +are there." + +"Well, what matter? The bandits don't know you. And you were longing to +see some." + +"Oh, dear!" + +"Come, signorina, settle something. I can't leave you alone here. I +don't know what might happen to you. Let us go on to see Orso, or else +let us go back to the village together. I shall see my brother again. +God knows when--never, perhaps!" + +"What's that you are saying, Colomba? Well, well, let us go! But only +for a minute, and then we'll get home at once." + +Colomba squeezed her hand, and without making any reply walked on so +quickly that Miss Lydia could hardly keep up with her. She soon halted, +luckily, and said to her companion: + +"We won't go any farther without warning them. We might have a bullet +flying at our heads." + +She began to whistle through her fingers. Soon they heard a dog bark, +and the bandits' advanced sentry shortly came in sight. This was our old +acquaintance Brusco, who recognised Colomba at once and undertook to be +her guide. After many windings through the narrow paths in the _maquis_ +they were met by two men, armed to the teeth. + +"Is that you, Brandolaccio?" inquired Colomba. "Where is my brother?" + +"Just over there," replied the bandit. "But go quietly. He's asleep, and +for the first time since his accident. Zounds, it's clear that where the +devil gets through, a woman will get through too!" + +The two girls moved forward cautiously, and beside a fire, the blaze of +which was carefully concealed by a little wall of stones built round +it, they beheld Orso, lying on a pile of heather, and covered with a +_pilone_. He was very pale, and they could hear his laboured breathing. +Colomba sat down near him, and gazed at him silently, with her hands +clasped, as though she were praying in her heart. Miss Lydia hid her +face in her handkerchief, and nestled close against her friend, but +every now and then she lifted her head to take a look at the wounded man +over Colomba's shoulder. Thus a quarter of an hour passed by without a +word being said by anybody. At a sign from the theologian, Brandolaccio +had plunged with him into the _maquis_, to the great relief of Miss +Lydia, who for the first time fancied the local colour of the bandits' +wild beards and warlike equipment was a trifle too strong. + +At last Orso stirred. Instantly, Colomba bent over him, and kissed him +again and again, pouring out questions anent his wound, his suffering, +and his needs. After having answered that he was doing as well as +possible, Orso inquired, in his turn, whether Miss Nevil was still at +Pietranera, and whether she had written to him. Colomba, bending over +her brother, completely hid her companion from his sight, and indeed the +darkness would have made any recognition difficult. She was holding one +of Miss Nevil's hands. With the other she slightly raised her wounded +brother's head. + +"No, brother," she replied. "She did not give me any letter for you. But +are you still thinking about Miss Nevil? You must love her very much!" + +"Love her, Colomba!--But--but now she may despise me!" + +At this point Miss Nevil made a struggle to withdraw her fingers. But +it was no easy matter to get Colomba to slacken her grasp. Small and +well-shaped though her hand was, it possessed a strength of which we +have already noticed certain proofs. + +"Despise you!" cried Colomba. "After what you've done? No, indeed! She +praises you! Oh, Orso, I could tell you so many things about her!" + +Lydia's hand was still struggling for its freedom, but Colomba kept +drawing it closer to Orso. + +"But after all," said the wounded man, "why didn't she answer me? If she +had sent me a single line, I should have been happy." + +By dint of pulling at Miss Nevil's hand, Colomba contrived at last to +put it into her brother's. Then, moving suddenly aside, she burst out +laughing. + +"Orso," she cried, "mind you don't speak evil of Miss Lydia--she +understands Corsican quite well." + +Miss Lydia took back her hand at once and stammered some unintelligible +words. Orso thought he must be dreaming. + +"You here, Miss Nevil? Good heavens! how did you dare? Oh, how happy you +have made me!" + +And raising himself painfully, he strove to get closer to her. + +"I came with your sister," said Miss Lydia, "so that nobody might +suspect where she was going. And then I--I wanted to make sure for +myself. Alas! how uncomfortable you are here!" + +Colomba had seated herself behind Orso. She raised him carefully so +that his head might rest on her lap. She put her arms round his neck and +signed to Miss Lydia to come near him. + +"Closer! closer!" she said. "A sick man mustn't talk too loud." And when +Miss Lydia hesitated, she caught her hand and forced her to sit down +so close to Orso that her dress touched him, and her hand, still in +Colomba's grasp, lay on the wounded man's shoulder. + +"Now he's very comfortable!" said Colomba cheerily. "Isn't it good to +lie out in the _maquis_ on such a lovely night? Eh, Orso?" + +"How you must be suffering!" exclaimed Miss Lydia. + +"My suffering is all gone now," said Orso, "and I should like to die +here!" And his right hand crept up toward Miss Lydia's, which Colomba +still held captive. + +"You really must be taken to some place where you can be properly cared +for, Signor della Rebbia," said Miss Nevil. "I shall never be able to +sleep in my bed, now that I have seen you lying here, so uncomfortable, +in the open air." + +"If I had not been afraid of meeting you, Miss Nevil, I should have +tried to get back to Pietranera, and I should have given myself up to +the authorities." + +"And why were you afraid of meeting her, Orso?" inquired Colomba. + +"I had disobeyed you, Miss Nevil, and I should not have dared to look at +you just then." + +"Do you know you make my brother do everything you choose, Miss Lydia?" +said Colomba, laughing. "I won't let you see him any more." + +"I hope this unlucky business will soon be cleared up, and that you will +have nothing more to fear," said Miss Nevil. "I shall be so happy, +when we go away, to know justice has been done you, and that both your +loyalty and your bravery have been acknowledged." + +"Going away, Miss Nevil! Don't say that word yet!" + +"What are we to do? My father can not spend his whole life shooting. He +wants to go." + +Orso's hand, which had been touching Miss Lydia's, dropped away, and +there was silence for a moment. + +"Nonsense!" said Colomba. "We won't let you go yet. We have plenty of +things to show you still at Pietranera. Besides, you have promised to +paint my picture, and you haven't even begun it so far. And then I've +promised to compose you a _serenata_, with seventy-five verses. And +then--but what can Brusco be growling about? And here's Brandolaccio +running after him. I must go and see what's amiss." + +She rose at once, and laying Orso's head, without further ceremony, on +Miss Lydia's lap, she ran after the bandits. + +Miss Nevil, somewhat startled at finding herself thus left in sole +charge of a handsome young Corsican gentleman in the middle of a +_maquis_, was rather puzzled what to do next. + +For she was afraid that any sudden movement on her part might hurt the +wounded man. But Orso himself resigned the exquisite pillow on which his +sister had just laid his head, and raising himself on his right arm, he +said: + +"So you will soon be gone, Miss Lydia? I never expected your stay in +this unhappy country would have been a long one. And yet since you have +come to me here, the thought that I must bid you farewell has grown a +hundred times more bitter to me. I am only a poor lieutenant. I had no +future--and now I am an outlaw. What a moment in which to tell you that +I love you, Miss Lydia! But no doubt this is my only chance of saying +it. And I think I feel less wretched now I have unburdened my heart to +you." + +Miss Lydia turned away her head, as if the darkness were not dark enough +to hide her blushes. + +"Signor della Rebbia," she said, and her voice shook, "should I have +come here at all if----" and as she spoke she laid the Egyptian +talisman in Orso's hand. Then, with a mighty effort to recover her +usual bantering tone--"It's very wrong of you, Signor Orso, to say such +things! You know very well that here, in the middle of the _maquis_, +and with your bandits all about me, I should never dare to be angry with +you." + +Orso made an attempt to kiss the hand that held out the talisman. Miss +Lydia drew it quickly back; he lost his balance, and fell on his wounded +arm. He could not stifle a moan of pain. + +"Oh, dear, you've hurt yourself, and it was my fault!" she cried, as she +raised him up. "Forgive me!" They talked for some time longer, very low, +and very close together. + +Colomba, running hastily up, found them in the very same position in +which she had left them. + +"The soldiers!" she cried. "Orso! try to get up and walk! I'll help +you!" + +"Leave me!" said Orso. "Tell the bandits to escape. What do I care if +I am taken? But take away Miss Lydia. For God's sake, don't let anybody +see her here!" + +"I won't leave you," said Brandolaccio, who had come up on Colomba's +heels. + +"The sergeant in charge is the lawyer's godson. He'll shoot you instead +of arresting you, and then he'll say he didn't do it on purpose." + +Orso tried to rise; he even took a few steps. But he soon halted. "I +can't walk," he said. "Fly, all of you! Good-bye, Miss Nevil! Give me +your hand! Farewell!" + +"We won't leave you!" cried the two girls. + +"If you can't walk," said Brandolaccio, "I must carry you. Come, sir, +a little courage! We shall have time to slip away by the ravine. The +Signor Padre will keep them busy." + +"No, leave me!" said Orso, lying down on the ground. "Colomba, take Miss +Nevil away!--for God's sake!" + +"You're strong, Signorina Colomba," said Brandolaccio. "Catch hold of +his shoulders; I'll take his feet. That's it! Now, then march!" + +In spite of his protests, they began to carry him rapidly along. Miss +Lydia was following them, in a terrible fright, when a gun was fired, +and five or six other reports instantly responded. Miss Lydia screamed +and Brandolaccio swore an oath, but he doubled his pace, and Colomba, +imitating him, tore through the thicket without paying the slightest +heed to the branches that slashed her face and tore her dress. + +"Bend down, bend down, dear!" she called out to her companion. "You may +be hit by some stray bullet!" + +They had walked, or rather run, some five hundred paces in this fashion +when Brandolaccio vowed he could go no further, and dropped on the +ground, regardless of all Colomba's exhortations and reproaches. + +"Where is Miss Nevil?" was Orso's one inquiry. + +Terrified by the firing, checked at every step by the thick growth of +the _maquis_, Miss Nevil had soon lost sight of the fugitives, and been +left all alone in a state of the most cruel alarm. + +"She has been left behind," said Brandolaccio, "but she'll not be +lost--women always turn up again. Do listen to the row the Padre is +making with your gun, Ors' Anton'! Unluckily, it's as black as pitch, +and nobody takes much harm from being shot at in the dark." + +"Hush!" cried Colomba. "I hear a horse. We're saved!" + +Startled by the firing, a horse which had been wandering through the +_maquis_, was really coming close up to them. + +"Saved, indeed!" repeated Brandolaccio. It did not take the bandit more +than an instant to rush up to the creature, catch hold of his mane, and +with Colomba's assistance, bridle him with a bit of knotted rope. + +"Now we must warn the Padre," he said. He whistled twice; another +distant whistle answered the signal, and the loud voice of the Manton +gun was hushed. Then Brandolaccio sprang on the horse's back. Colomba +lifted her brother up in front of the bandit, who held him close with +one hand and managed his bridle with the other. + +In spite of the double load, the animal, urged by a brace of hearty +kicks, started off nimbly, and galloped headlong down a steep declivity +on which anything but a Corsican steed would have broken its neck a +dozen times. + +Then Colomba retraced her steps, calling Miss Nevil at the top of her +voice; but no answering cry was heard. + +After walking hither and thither for some time, trying to recover the +path, she stumbled on two riflemen, who shouted, "Who goes there?" + +"Well, gentlemen," cried Colomba jeeringly, "here's a pretty racket! How +many of you are killed?" + +"You were with the bandits!" said one of the soldiers. "You must come +with us." + +"With pleasure!" she replied. "But there's a friend of mine somewhere +close by, and we must find her first." + +"You friend is caught already, and both of you will sleep in jail +to-night!" + +"In jail, you say? Well, that remains to be seen. But take me to her, +meanwhile." + +The soldiers led her to the bandits' camp, where they had collected the +trophies of their raid--to wit, the cloak which had covered Orso, an +old cooking-pot, and a pitcher of cold water. On the same spot she found +Miss Nevil, who had fallen among the soldiers, and, being half dead +with terror, did nothing but sob in answer to their questions as to the +number of the bandits, and the direction in which they had gone. + +Colomba threw herself into her arms and whispered in her ear, "They are +safe!" Then, turning to the sergeant, she said: "Sir, you can see this +young lady knows none of the things you are trying to find out from +her. Give us leave to go back to the village, where we are anxiously +expected." + +"You'll be taken there, and faster than you like, my beauty," rejoined +the sergeant. "And you'll have to explain what you were after at this +time of night with the ruffians who have just got away. I don't know +what witchcraft those villains practise, but they certainly do bewitch +the women--for wherever there are bandits about, you are dead certain to +find pretty girls." + +"You're very flattering, sergeant!" said Colomba, "but you'll do well to +be careful what you say. This young lady is related to the prefect, and +you'd better be careful of your language before her." + +"A relation of the prefect's," whispered one of the soldiers to his +chief. "Why, she does wear a hat!" + +"Hats have nothing to do with it," said the sergeant. "They were both of +them with the Padre--the greatest woman-wheedler in the whole country, +so it's my business to march them off. And, indeed, there's nothing +more for us to do here. But for that d----d Corporal Taupin--the drunken +Frenchman showed himself before I'd surrounded the _maquis_--we should +have had them all like fish in a net." + +"Are there only seven of you here?" inquired Colomba. "It strikes me, +gentlemen, that if the three Poli brothers--Gambini, Sarocchi, and +Teodoro--should happen to be at the Cross of Santa Christina, with +Brandolaccio and the Padre, they might give you a good deal of corn to +grind. If you mean to have a talk with the Commandante della Campagna, +I'd just as soon not be there. In the dark, bullets don't show any +respect for persons." + +The idea of coming face to face with the dreaded bandits mentioned by +Colomba made an evident impression on the soldiers. The sergeant, still +cursing Corporal Taupin--"that dog of a Frenchman"--gave the order +to retire, and his little party moved toward Pietranera, carrying the +_pilone_ and the cooking-pot; as for the pitcher, its fate was settled +with a kick. + +One of the men would have laid hold of Miss Lydia's arm, but Colomba +instantly pushed him away. + +"Let none of you dare to lay a finger on her!" she said. "Do you fancy +we want to run away? Come, Lydia, my dear, lean on me, and don't cry +like a baby. We've had an adventure, but it will end all right. In half +an hour we shall be at our supper, and for my part I'm dying to get to +it." + +"What will they think of me!" Miss Nevil whispered. + +"They'll think you lost your way in the _maquis_, that's all." + +"What will the prefect say? Above all, what will my father say?" + +"The prefect? You can tell him to mind his own business! Your father? +I should have thought, from the way you and Orso were talking, that you +had something to say to your father." + +Miss Nevil squeezed her arm, and answered nothing. + +"Doesn't my brother deserve to be loved?" whispered Colomba in her ear. +"Don't you love him a little?" + +"Oh, Colomba!" answered Miss Nevil, smiling in spite of her blushes, +"you've betrayed me! And I trusted you so!" + +Colomba slipped her arm round her, and kissed her forehead. + +"Little sister," she whispered very low, "will you forgive me?" + +"Why, I suppose I must, my masterful sister," answered Lydia, as she +kissed her back. + +The prefect and the public prosecutor were staying with the +deputy-mayor, and the colonel, who was very uneasy about his daughter, +was paying them his twentieth call, to ask if they had heard of her, +when a rifleman, whom the sergeant had sent on in advance, arrived with +the full story of the great fight with the brigands--a fight in which +nobody had been either killed or wounded, but which had resulted in +the capture of a cooking-pot, a _pilone_, and two girls, whom the man +described as the mistresses, or the spies, of the two bandits. + +Thus heralded, the two prisoners appeared, surrounded by their armed +escort. + +My readers will imagine Colomba's radiant face, her companion's +confusion, the prefect's surprise, the colonel's astonishment and joy. +The public prosecutor permitted himself the mischievous entertainment +of obliging poor Lydia to undergo a kind of cross-examination, which did +not conclude until he had quite put her out of countenance. + +"It seems to me," said the prefect, "that we may release everybody. +These young ladies went out for a walk--nothing is more natural in fine +weather. They happened to meet a charming young man, who has been lately +wounded--nothing could be more natural, again." Then, taking Colomba +aside-- + +"Signorina," he said, "you can send word to your brother that +this business promises to turn out better than I had expected. The +post-mortem examination and the colonel's deposition both prove that he +only defended himself, and that he was alone when the fight took place. +Everything will be settled--only he must leave the _maquis_ and give +himself up to the authorities." + +It was almost eleven o'clock when the colonel, his daughter, and Colomba +sat down at last to their supper, which had grown cold. Colomba ate +heartily, and made great fun of the prefect, the public prosecutor, +and the soldiers. The colonel ate too, but never said a word, and gazed +steadily at his daughter, who would not lift her eyes from her plate. At +last, gently but seriously, he said in English: + +"Lydia, I suppose you are engaged to della Rebbia?" + +"Yes, father, to-day," she answered, steadily, though she blushed. Then +she raised her eyes, and reading no sign of anger in her father's face, +she threw herself into his arms and kissed him, as all well-brought-up +young ladies do on such occasions. + +"With all my heart!" said the colonel. "He's a fine fellow. But, by +G--d, we won't live in this d---d country of his, or I'll refuse my +consent." + +"I don't know English," said Colomba, who was watching them with an air +of the greatest curiosity, "but I'll wager I've guessed what you are +saying!" + +"We are saying," quoth the colonel, "that we are going to take you for a +trip to Ireland." + +"Yes, with pleasure; and I'll be the Surella Colomba. Is it settled, +colonel? Shall we shake hands on it?" + +"In such a case," remarked the colonel, "people exchanges kisses!" + + + +CHAPTER XX + +One afternoon, a few months after the double shot which, as the +newspapers said, "plunged the village of Pietranera into a state of +consternation," a young man with his left arm in a sling, rode out of +Bastia, toward the village of Cardo, celebrated for its spring, which +in summer supplies the more fastidious inhabitants of the town with +delicious water. He was accompanied by a young lady, tall and remarkably +handsome, mounted on a small black horse, the strength and shape of +which would have attracted the admiration of a connoisseur, although, by +some strange accident, one of its ears had been lacerated. On reaching +the village, the girl sprang nimbly to the ground, and, having helped +her comrade to dismount, she unfastened the somewhat heavy wallets +strapped to his saddle-bow. The horses were left in charge of a peasant. +The girl, laden with the wallets, which she had concealed under her +_mezzaro_, and the young man, carrying a double-barrelled gun, took +their way toward the mountain, along a very steep path that did not +appear to lead to any dwelling. When they had climbed to one of the +lower ridges of the Monte Querico, they halted, and sat down on the +grass. They were evidently expecting somebody, for they kept perpetually +looking toward the mountain, and the young lady often consulted a +pretty gold watch--as much, it may be, for the pleasure of admiring what +appeared a somewhat newly acquired trinket, as in order to know whether +the hour appointed for some meeting or other had come. They had not long +to wait. A dog ran out of the _maquis_, and when the girl called out +"Brusco!" it approached at once, and fawned upon them. Presently two +bearded men appeared, with guns under their arms, cartridge-belts round +their waists, and pistols hanging at their sides. Their torn and patched +garments contrasted oddly with their weapons, which were brilliantly +polished, and came from a famous Continental factory. In spite of the +apparent inequality of their positions, the four actors in this scene +greeted one another in terms of old and familiar friendship. + +"Well, Ors' Anton'," said the elder bandit to the young man, "so your +business is settled--the indictment against you has fallen through? I +congratulate you. I'm sorry the lawyer has left the island. I'd like to +see his rage. And how's your arm?" + +"They tell me I shall get rid of my sling in a fortnight," said the +young man. "Brando, my good friend, I'm going to Italy to-morrow--I +wanted to say good-bye to you and to the cure. That's why I asked you to +come here." + +"You're in a fine hurry," said Brandolaccio. "Only acquitted yesterday, +and you're off to-morrow." + +"Business must be attended to," said the young lady merrily. "Gentlemen, +I've brought some supper. Fall to, if you please, and don't you forget +my friend Brusco." + +"You spoil Brusco, Mademoiselle Colomba. But he's a grateful dog. You +shall see. Here, Brusco," and he held out his gun horizontally, "jump +for the Barricini!" + +The dog stood motionless, licking his chops, and staring at his master. + +"Jump for the della Rebbia!" And he leaped two feet higher than he need +have done. + +"Look here, my friends," said Orso, "you're plying a bad trade; and even +if you don't end your career on that square below us,[*] the best you +can look for is to die in the _maquis_ by some gendarme's bullet." + +[*] The square at Bastia on which executions take place. + +"Well, well," said Castriconi, "that's no more than death, anyhow; and +it's better than being killed in your bed by a fever, with your +heirs snivelling more or less honestly all round you. To men who are +accustomed to the open air like us, there's nothing so good as to die +'in your shoes,' as the village folk say." + +"I should like to see you get out of this country," said Orso, "and lead +a quieter life. For instance, why shouldn't you settle in Sardinia, as +several of your comrades have done? I could make the matter easy for +you." + +"In Sardinia!" cried Brandolaccio. "_Istos Sardos!_ Devil take them and +their lingo! We couldn't live in such bad company." + +"Sardinia's a country without resources," added the theologian. "For +my part, I despise the Sardinians. They keep mounted men to hunt their +bandits. That's a stigma on both the bandits and the country.[*] Out +upon Sardinia, say I! The thing that astounds me, Signor della Rebbia, +is that you, who are a man of taste and understanding, should not have +taken to our life in the _maquis_, after having once tried it, as you +did." + + [*] I owe this criticism of Sardinia to an ex-bandit of my + acquaintance, and he alone must bear the responsibility of + it. He means that bandits who let themselves be caught by + horse soldiers are idiots, and that soldiers who try to + catch bandits on horseback have very little chance of + getting at them. + +"Well," said Orso, with a smile, "when I was lucky enough to be your +guest, I wasn't in very good case for enjoying the charms of your +position, and my ribs still ache when I think of the ride I took one +lovely night, thrown like a bundle across an unsaddled horse that my +good friend Brandolaccio guided." + +"And the delight of escaping from your pursuers," rejoined Castriconi; +"is that nothing to you? How can you fail to realize the charm of +absolute freedom in such a beautiful climate as ours? With this to +insure respect," and he held up his gun, "we are kings of everything +within its range. We can give orders, we can redress wrongs. That's a +highly moral entertainment, monsieur, and a very pleasant one, which we +don't deny ourselves. What can be more beautiful than a knight-errant's +life, when he has good weapons, and more common sense than Don Quixote +had? Listen! The other day I was told that little Lilla Luigi's +uncle--old miser that he is--wouldn't give her a dowry. So I wrote to +him. I didn't use threats--that's not my way. Well, well, in one moment +the man was convinced. He married his niece, and I made two people +happy. Believe me, Orso, there's no life like the bandit's life! Pshaw! +You'd have joined us, perhaps, if it hadn't been for a certain young +Englishwoman whom I have scarcely seen myself, but about whose beauty +every one in Bastia is talking." + +"My future sister-in-law doesn't like the _maquis_," laughed Colomba. +"She got too great a fright in one of them." + +"Well," said Orso, "you are resolved to stay here? So be it! But tell me +whether there is anything I can do for you?" + +"Nothing," said Brandolaccio. "You've heaped kindnesses upon us. Here's +little Chilina with her dowry ready, so that there'll be no necessity +for my friend the cure to write one of his persuasive letters to insure +her marrying well. We know the man on your farm will give us bread and +powder whenever we need them. So fare you well! I hope we shall see you +back in Corsica one of these days." + +"In case of pressing need," said Orso, "a few gold coins are very +useful. Now we are such old friends, you won't refuse this little +_cartouche_.[*] It will help you to provide cartridges of another kind." + + [*] _Cartouche_ means a collection of gold pieces as well as + a cartridge. + +"No money between you and me, sir," said Brandolaccio resolutely. + +"In the world money is everything," remarked Castriconi, "but in the +_maquis_, all a man need care for is a brave heart, and a gun that +carries true." + +"I don't want to leave you without giving you something to remember me +by," persisted Orso. "Come, Brandolaccio, what can I leave with you?" + +The bandit scratched his head and cast a sidelong glance at Orso's gun. + +"By my faith, if I dared--but no! you're too fond of it." + +"What would you like?" + +"Nothing! 'Tisn't anything at all. It's knowing how to use it as well. I +keep thinking of that devil of a double-shot of yours--and with only one +hand, too! Oh! that never could happen twice over!" + +"Is it the gun you fancy? I bought it for you. But see you don't use it +more than you are obliged." + +"Oh, I won't promise to make as good use of it as you. But make your +mind easy. When any other man has it, you may be certain it's all over +with Brando Savelli." + +"And you, Castriconi--what am I to give you?" + +"Since you really insist on giving me some tangible keepsake, I'll +simply ask you to send me the smallest Horace you can get. It will amuse +me, and prevent me from forgetting all my Latin. There's a little woman +who sells cigars on the jetty at Bastia. If you give it to her, she'll +see I get it." + +"You shall have an Elzevir, my erudite friend. There just happens to +be one among some books I was going to take away with me. Well, good +friends, we must part! Give me your hands. If you should ever think of +Sardinia write to me. Signor N., the notary, will give you my address on +the mainland." + +"To-morrow, lieutenant," said Brando, "when you get out in the harbour, +look up to this spot on the mountain-side. We shall be here, and we'll +wave our handkerchiefs to you." + +And so they parted. Orso and his sister took their way back to Cardo, +and the bandits departed up the mountain. + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +One lovely April morning, Sir Thomas Nevil, his daughter, a newly made +bride--Orso, and Colomba, drove out of Pisa to see a lately discovered +Etruscan vault to which all strangers who came to that part of the +country paid a visit. + +Orso and his wife went down into the ancient building, pulled out their +pencils, and began to sketch the mural paintings. But the colonel and +Colomba, who neither of them cared much for archaeology, left them to +themselves, and walked about in the neighbourhood. + +"My dear Colomba," said the colonel, "we shall never get back to Pisa in +time for lunch. Aren't you hungry? There are Orso and his wife buried +in their antiquities; when once they begin sketching together, it lasts +forever!" + +"Yes," remarked Colomba. "And yet they never bring the smallest sketch +home with them." + +"I think," proceeded the colonel, "our best plan would be to make our +way to that little farm-house yonder. We should find bread there, and +perhaps some _aleatico_. Who knows, we might even find strawberries and +cream! And then we should be able to wait patiently for our artists." + +"You are quite right, colonel. You and I are the reasonable members of +this family. We should be very foolish if we let ourselves by martyrized +by that pair of lovers, who live on poetry! Give me your arm! Don't you +think I'm improving? I lean on people's arms, wear fashionable hats and +gowns and trinkets--I'm learning I don't know how many fine things--I'm +not at all a young savage any more. Just observe the grace with which I +wear this shawl. That fair-haired spark--that officer belonging to +your regiment who came to the wedding--oh, dear! I can't recollect +his name!--a tall, curly-headed man, whom I could knock over with one +hand----" + +"Chatsworth?" suggested the colonel. + +"That's it!--but I never shall be able to say it!--Well, you know he's +over head and ears in love with me!" + +"O Colomba, you're growing a terrible flirt! We shall have another +wedding before long." + +"I! Marry! And then who will there be to bring up my nephew--when Orso +provides me with a nephew? And who'll teach him to talk Corsican? Yes, +he shall talk Corsican, and I'll make him a peaked cap, just to vex +you." + +"Well, well, wait till you have your nephew, and then you shall teach +him to use a dagger, if you choose." + +"Farewell to daggers!" said Colomba merrily. "I have a fan now, to rap +your fingers with when you speak ill of my country." + +Chatting thus, they reached the farm-house, where they found wine, +strawberries, and cream. Colomba helped the farmer's wife to gather the +strawberries, while the colonel drank his _aleatico_. At the turning of +a path she caught sight of an old man, sitting in the sun, on a straw +chair. He seemed ill, his cheeks were fallen in, his eyes were hollow, +he was frightfully thin; as he sat there, motionless, pallid, staring +fixedly in front of him, he looked more like a corpse than like a living +creature. Colomba watched him for some minutes, and with a curiosity so +great that it attracted the woman's attention. + +"That poor old fellow is a countryman of yours," she said. "For I know +you are from Corsica by the way you talk, signorina! He has had great +trouble in his own country. His children met with some terrible death. +They say--you'll excuse me, signorina--that when they quarrel, your +compatriots don't show each other very much mercy. Then the poor +old gentleman, being left all alone, came over to Pisa, to a distant +relation of his, who owns this farm. Between his misfortunes and his +sorrow, the good man is a little cracked. . . . The lady found him +troublesome--for she sees a great deal of company. So she sent him out +here. He's very gentle--no worry at all. He doesn't speak three words +the whole day long. In fact, his brain's quite gone. The doctor comes to +see him every week. He says he won't live long." + +"There's no hope for him, then!" said Colomba. "In such a case, death +will be a mercy." + +"You might say a word to him in Corsican, signorina. Perhaps it would +cheer him up to hear the speech of his own country." + +"I'll see!" said Colomba, and her smile was mysterious. + +She drew nearer to the old man, till her shadow fell across his chair. +Then the poor idiot lifted his head and stared at Colomba, while she +looked at him, smiling still. After a moment, the old man passed his +hand across his forehead, and closed his eyes, as though he would have +shut out the sight of Colomba. He opened them again, desperately wide +this time. His lips began to work, he tried to stretch out his hands, +but, fascinated by Colomba's glance, he sat, nailed, as it were, to his +chair, unable to move or utter a word. At last great tears dropped from +his eyes, and a few sobs escaped from his heaving chest. + +"'Tis the first time I've seen him like this," said the good woman. +"This signorina belongs to your own country; she has come to see you," +said she to the old man. + +"Mercy!" he cried in a hoarse voice. "Mercy! Are you not content? The +leaf I burned. How did you read it? But why did you take them both? +Orlanduccio! You can't have read anything against him! You should have +left me one, only one! Orlanduccio--you didn't read _his_ name!" + +"I had to have them both!" answered Colomba, speaking low and in the +Corsican dialect. "The branches are topped off! If the stem had not been +rotten, I would have torn it up! Come! make no moan. You will not suffer +long! _I_ suffered for two years!" + +The old man cried out, and then his head dropped on his breast. Colomba +turned her back on him, and went slowly into the house, humming some +meaningless lines out of a _ballata_: + + "I must have the hand + that fired, the eye that aimed, the heart + that planned." + +While the farmer's wife ran to attend on the old man, Colomba, with +blazing eyes and brilliant cheeks, sat down to luncheon opposite the +colonel. + +"What's the matter with you?" he said. "You look just as you did that +day at Pietranera, when they fired at us while we were at dinner." + +"Old Corsican memories had come back to me. But all that's done with. +I shall be godmother, sha'n't I? Oh! what fine names I'll give him! +Ghilfuccio--Tomaso--Orso--Leone!" + +The farmer's wife came back into the room. + +"Well?" inquired Colomba, with the most perfect composure. "Is he dead, +or had he only fainted?" + +"It was nothing, signorina. But it's curious what an effect the sight of +you had on him." + +"And the doctor says he won't last long?" + +"Not two months, very likely." + +"He'll be no great loss!" remarked Colomba. + +"What the devil are you talking about?" inquired the colonel. + +"About an idiot from my own country, who is boarded out here. I'll send +from time to time to find out how he is. Why, Colonel Nevil, aren't you +going to leave any strawberries for Lydia and my brother?" + +When Colomba left the farm-house and got into the carriage, the farmer's +wife looked after her for a while. Then, turning to her daughter: + +"Dost see that pretty young lady yonder?" she said. "Well, I'm certain +she has the evil eye!" + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Columba, by Prosper Merimee + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK COLUMBA *** + +***** This file should be named 2708.txt or 2708.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/7/0/2708/ + +Produced by Dagny; Emma Dudding; John Bickers; David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Columba + +Author: Prosper Merimee + +Release Date: March 28, 2006 [EBook #2708] +Last Updated: October 25, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK COLUMBA *** + + + + +Produced by Dagny; Emma Dudding; John Bickers; David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h1> + COLOMBA + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Prosper Merimee + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h3> + Translated By The Lady Mary Loyd + </h3> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER XXI </a> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + CHAPTER I + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Pe far la to vendetta, + Sta sigur’, vasta anche ella.” + + —Vocero du Niolo. +</pre> + <p> + Early in the month of October, 181-, Colonel Sir Thomas Nevil, a + distinguished Irish officer of the English army, alighted with his + daughter at the Hotel Beauveau, Marseilles, on their return from a tour in + Italy. The perpetual and universal admiration of enthusiastic travellers + has produced a sort of reaction, and many tourists, in their desire to + appear singular, now take the <i>nil admirari</i> of Horace for their + motto. To this dissatisfied class the colonel’s only daughter, Miss Lydia, + belonged. “The Transfiguration” has seemed to her mediocre, and Vesuvius + in eruption an effect not greatly superior to that produced by the + Birmingham factory chimneys. Her great objection to Italy, on the whole, + was its lack of local colour and character. My readers must discover the + sense of these expressions as best they may. A few years ago I understood + them very well myself, but at the present time I can make nothing of them. + At first, Miss Lydia had flattered herself she had found things on the + other side of the Alps which nobody had ever before seen, about which she + could converse <i>avec les honnetes gens</i>, as M. Jourdain calls them. + But soon, anticipated in every direction by her countrymen, she despaired + of making any fresh discoveries, and went over to the party of the + opposition. It is really very tiresome not to be able to talk abut the + wonders of Italy without hearing somebody say “Of course you know the + Raphael in the Palazzo—— at ——? It is the finest + thing in Italy!” and just the thing <i>you</i> happen to have overlooked! + As it would take too long to see everything, the simplest course is to + resort to deliberate and universal censure. + </p> + <p> + At the Hotel Beauveau Miss Lydia met with a bitter disappointment. She had + brought back a pretty sketch of the Pelasgic or Cyclopean Gate at Segni, + which, as she believed, all other artists had completely overlooked. Now, + at Marseilles, she met Lady Frances Fenwick, who showed her her album, in + which appeared, between a sonnet and a dried flower, the very gate in + question, brilliantly touched in with sienna. Miss Lydia gave her drawing + to her maid—and lost all admiration for Pelasgic structures. + </p> + <p> + This unhappy frame of mind was shared by Colonel Nevil, who, since the + death of his wife, looked at everything through his daughter’s eyes. In + his estimation, Italy had committed the unpardonable sin of boring his + child, and was, in consequence, the most wearisome country on the face of + the earth. He had no fault to find, indeed, with the pictures and statues, + but he was in a position to assert that Italian sport was utterly + wretched, and that he had been obliged to tramp ten leagues over the Roman + Campagna, under a burning sun, to kill a few worthless red-legged + partridges. + </p> + <p> + The morning after his arrival at Marseilles he invited Captain Ellis—his + former adjutant, who had just been spending six weeks in Corsica—to + dine with him. The captain told Miss Lydia a story about bandits, which + had the advantage of bearing no resemblance to the robber tales with which + she had been so frequently regaled, on the road between Naples and Rome, + and he told it well. At dessert, the two men, left alone over their + claret, talked of hunting—and the colonel learned that nowhere is + there more excellent sport, or game more varied and abundant, than in + Corsica. “There are plenty of wild boars,” said Captain Ellis. “And you + have to learn to distinguish them from the domestic pigs, which are + astonishingly like them. For if you kill a pig, you find yourself in + difficulties with the swine-herds. They rush out of the thickets (which + they call <i>maquis</i>) armed to the teeth, make you pay for their + beasts, and laugh at you besides. Then there is the mouflon, a strange + animal, which you will not find anywhere else—splendid game, but + hard to get—and stags, deer, pheasants, and partridges—it + would be impossible to enumerate all the kinds with which Corsica swarms. + If you want shooting, colonel, go to Corsica! There, as one of my + entertainers said to me, you can get a shot at every imaginable kind of + game, from a thrush to a man!” + </p> + <p> + At tea, the captain once more delighted Lydia with the tale of a <i>vendetta + transversale</i> (A vendetta in which vengeance falls on a more or less + distant relation of the author of the original offence.), even more + strange than his first story, and he thoroughly stirred her enthusiasm by + his descriptions of the strange wild beauty of the country, the + peculiarities of its inhabitants, and their primitive hospitality and + customs. Finally, he offered her a pretty little stiletto, less remarkable + for its shape and copper mounting than for its origin. A famous bandit had + given it to Captain Ellis, and had assured him it had been buried in four + human bodies. Miss Lydia thrust it through her girdle, laid it on the + table beside her bed, and unsheathed it twice over before she fell asleep. + Her father meanwhile was dreaming he had slain a mouflon, and that its + owner insisted on his paying for it, a demand to which he gladly acceded, + seeing it was a most curious creature, like a boar, with stag’s horns and + a pheasant’s tail. + </p> + <p> + “Ellis tells me there’s splendid shooting in Corsica,” said the colonel, + as he sat at breakfast, alone with his daughter. “If it hadn’t been for + the distance, I should like to spend a fortnight there.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” replied Miss Lydia, “why shouldn’t we go to Corsica? While you are + hunting I can sketch—I should love to have that grotto Captain Ellis + talked about, where Napoleon used to go and study when he was a child, in + my album.” + </p> + <p> + It was the first time, probably, that any wish expressed by the colonel + had won his daughter’s approbation. Delighted as he was by the unexpected + harmony on their opinions, he was nevertheless wise enough to put forward + various objections, calculated to sharpen Miss Lydia’s welcome whim. In + vain did he dwell on the wildness of the country, and the difficulties of + travel there for a lady. Nothing frightened her; she liked travelling on + horseback of all things; she delighted in the idea of bivouacking in the + open; she even threatened to go as far as Asia Minor—in short, she + found an answer to everything. No Englishwoman had ever been to Corsica; + therefore she must go. What a pleasure it would be, when she got back to + St. James’s Place, to exhibit her album! “But, my dear creature, why do + you pass over that delightful drawing?” “That’s only a trifle—just a + sketch I made of a famous Corsican bandit who was our guide.” “What! you + don’t mean to say you have been to Corsica?” + </p> + <p> + As there were no steamboats between France and Corsica, in those days, + inquiries were made for some ship about to sail for the island Miss Lydia + proposed to discover. That very day the colonel wrote to Paris, to + countermand his order for the suite of apartments in which he was to have + made some stay, and bargained with the skipper of a Corsican schooner, + just about to set sail for Ajaccio, for two poor cabins, but the best that + could be had. Provisions were sent on board, the skipper swore that one of + his sailors was an excellent cook, and had not his equal for <i>bouilleabaisse</i>; + he promised mademoiselle should be comfortable, and have a fair wind and a + calm sea. + </p> + <p> + The colonel further stipulated, in obedience to his daughter’s wishes, + that no other passenger should be taken on board, and that the captain + should skirt the coast of the island, so that Miss Lydia might enjoy the + view of the mountains. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II + </h2> + <p> + On the day of their departure everything was packed and sent on board + early in the morning. The schooner was to sail with the evening breeze. + Meanwhile, as the colonel and his daughter were walking on the Canebiere, + the skipper addressed them, and craved permission to take on board one of + his relations, his eldest son’s godfather’s second cousin, who was going + back to Corsica, his native country, on important business, and could not + find any ship to take him over. + </p> + <p> + “He’s a charming fellow,” added Captain Mattei, “a soldier, an officer in + the Infantry of the Guard, and would have been a colonel already if <i>the + other</i> (meaning Napoleon) had still been emperor!” + </p> + <p> + “As he is a soldier,” began the colonel—he was about to add, “I + shall be very glad he should come with us,” when Miss Lydia exclaimed in + English: + </p> + <p> + “An infantry officer!” (Her father had been in the cavalry, and she + consequently looked down on every other branch of the service.) “An + uneducated man, very likely, who would be sea-sick, and spoil all the + pleasure of our trip!” + </p> + <p> + The captain did not understand a word of English, but he seemed to catch + what Miss Lydia was saying by the pursing up of her pretty mouth, and + immediately entered upon an elaborate panegyric of his relative, which he + wound up by declaring him to be a gentleman, belonging to a family of <i>corporals</i>, + and that he would not be in the very least in the colonel’s way, for that + he, the skipper, would undertake to stow him in some corner, where they + should not be aware of his presence. + </p> + <p> + The colonel and Miss Nevil thought it peculiar that there should be + Corsican families in which the dignity of corporal was handed down from + father to son. But, as they really believed the individual in question to + be some infantry corporal, they concluded he was some poor devil whom the + skipper desired to take out of pure charity. If he had been an officer, + they would have been obliged to speak to him and live with him; but there + was no reason why they should put themselves out for a corporal—who + is a person of no consequence unless his detachment is also at hand, with + bayonets fixed, ready to convey a person to a place to which he would + rather not be taken. + </p> + <p> + “Is your kinsman ever sea-sick?” demanded Miss Nevil sharply. + </p> + <p> + “Never, mademoiselle, he is as steady as a rock, either on sea or land!” + </p> + <p> + “Very good then, you can take him,” said she. + </p> + <p> + “You can take him!” echoed the colonel, and they passed on their way. + </p> + <p> + Toward five o’clock in the evening Captain Mattei came to escort them on + board the schooner. On the jetty, near the captain’s gig, they met a tall + young man wearing a blue frock-coat, buttoned up to his chin; his face was + tanned, his eyes were black, brilliant, wide open, his whole appearance + intelligent and frank. His shoulders, well thrown back, and his little + twisted mustache clearly revealed the soldier—for at that period + mustaches were by no means common, and the National Guard had not carried + the habits and appearance of the guard-room into the bosom of every + family. + </p> + <p> + When the young man saw the colonel he doffed his cap, and thanked him in + excellent language, and without the slightest shyness, for the service he + was rendering him. + </p> + <p> + “Delighted to be of use to you, my good fellow!” said the colonel, with a + friendly nod, and he stepped into the gig. + </p> + <p> + “He’s not very ceremonious, this Englishman of yours,” said the young man + in Italian, and in an undertone, to the captain. + </p> + <p> + The skipper laid his forefinger under his left eye, and pulled down the + corners of his mouth. To a man acquainted with the language of signs, this + meant that the Englishman understood Italian, and was an oddity into the + bargain. The young man smiled slightly and touched his forehead, in answer + to Mattei’s sign, as though to indicate that every Englishman had a bee in + his bonnet. Then he sat down beside them, and began to look very + attentively, though not impertinently, at his pretty fellow-traveller. + </p> + <p> + “These French soldiers all have a good appearance,” remarked the colonel + in English to his daughter, “and so it is easy to turn them into + officers.” Then addressing the young man in French, he said, “Tell me, my + good man, what regiment have you served in?” The young man nudged his + second cousin’s godson’s father gently with his elbow, and suppressing an + ironic smile, replied that he had served in the Infantry of the Guard, and + that he had just quitted the Seventh Regiment of Light Infantry. + </p> + <p> + “Were you at Waterloo? You are very young!” + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon, colonel, that was my only campaign.” + </p> + <p> + “It counts as two,” said the colonel. + </p> + <p> + The young Corsican bit his lips. + </p> + <p> + “Papa,” said Miss Lydia in English, “do ask him if the Corsicans are very + fond of their Buonaparte.” + </p> + <p> + Before the colonel could translate her question into French, the young man + answered in fairly good English, though with a marked accent: + </p> + <p> + “You know, mademoiselle, that no man is ever a prophet in his own country. + We, who are Napoleon’s fellow-countrymen, are perhaps less attached to him + than the French. As for myself, though my family was formerly at enmity + with his, I both love and admire him.” + </p> + <p> + “You speak English!” exclaimed the colonel. + </p> + <p> + “Very ill, as you may perceive!” + </p> + <p> + Miss Lydia, though somewhat shocked by the young man’s easy tone, could + not help laughing at the idea of a personal enmity between a corporal and + an emperor. She took this as a foretaste of Corsican peculiarities, and + made up her mind to note it down in her journal. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you were a prisoner in England?” asked the colonel. + </p> + <p> + “No, colonel, I learned English in France, when I was very young, from a + prisoner of your nation.” + </p> + <p> + Then, addressing Miss Nevil: + </p> + <p> + “Mattei tells me you have just come back from Italy. No doubt, + mademoiselle, you speak the purest Tuscan—I fear you’ll find it + somewhat difficult to understand our dialect.” + </p> + <p> + “My daughter understands every Italian dialect,” said the colonel. “She + has the gift of languages. She doesn’t get it from me.” + </p> + <p> + “Would mademoiselle understand, for instance, these lines from one of our + Corsican songs in which a shepherd says to his shepherdess: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “S’entrassi ‘ndru paradisu santu, santu, + E nun truvassi a tia, mi n’escriria.” + + (“If I entered the holy land of paradise + and found thee not, I would depart!”) + + —<i>Serenata di Zicavo</i>. +</pre> + <p> + Miss Lydia did understand. She thought the quotation bold, and the look + which accompanied it still bolder, and replied, with a blush, “Capisco.” + </p> + <p> + “And are you going back to your own country on furlough?” inquired the + colonel. + </p> + <p> + “No, colonel, they have put me on half-pay, because I was at Waterloo, + probably, and because I am Napoleon’s fellow-countryman. I am going home, + as the song says, low in hope and low in purse,” and he looked up to the + sky and sighed. + </p> + <p> + The colonel slipped his hand into his pocket, and tried to think of some + civil phrase with which he might slip the gold coin he was fingering into + the palm of his unfortunate enemy. + </p> + <p> + “And I too,” he said good-humouredly, “have been put on half-pay, but your + half-pay can hardly give you enough to buy tobacco! Here, corporal!” and + he tried to force the gold coin into the young man’s closed hand, which + rested on the gunwale of the gig. + </p> + <p> + The young Corsican reddened, drew himself up, bit his lips, and seemed, + for a moment, on the brink of some angry reply. Then suddenly his + expression changed and he burst out laughing. The colonel, grasping his + gold piece still in his hand, sat staring at him. + </p> + <p> + “Colonel,” said the young man, when he had recovered his gravity, “allow + me to offer you two pieces of advice—the first is never to offer + money to a Corsican, for some of my fellow-countrymen would be rude enough + to throw it back in your face; the second is not to give people titles + they do not claim. You call me ‘corporal,’ and I am a lieutenant—the + difference is not very great, no doubt, still——” + </p> + <p> + “Lieutenant! Lieutenant!” exclaimed Sir Thomas. “But the skipper told me + you were a corporal, and that your father and all your family had been + corporals before you!” + </p> + <p> + At these words the young man threw himself back and laughed louder than + ever, so merrily that the skipper and his two sailors joined the chorus. + </p> + <p> + “Forgive me, colonel!” he cried at last. “The mistake is so comical, and I + have only just realized it. It is quite true that my family glories in the + fact that it can reckon many corporals among its ancestors—but our + Corsican corporals never wore stripes upon their sleeves! Toward the year + of grace 1100 certain villages revolted against the tyranny of the great + mountain nobles, and chose leaders of their own, whom they called <i>corporals</i>. + In our island we think a great deal of being descended from these + tribunes.” + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon, sir,” exclaimed the colonel, “I beg your pardon a + thousand times! As you understand the cause of my mistake, I hope you will + do me the kindness of forgiving it!” and he held out his hand. + </p> + <p> + “It is the just punishment of my petty pride,” said the young man, still + laughing, and cordially shaking the Englishman’s hand. “I am not at all + offended. As my friend Mattei has introduced me so unsuccessfully, allow + me to introduce myself. My name is Orso della Rebbia; I am a lieutenant on + half-pay; and if, as the sight of those two fine dogs of yours leads me to + believe, you are coming to Corsica to hunt, I shall be very proud to do + you the honours of our mountains and our <i>maquis</i>—if, indeed, I + have not forgotten them altogether!” he added, with a sigh. + </p> + <p> + At this moment the gig came alongside the schooner, the lieutenant offered + his hand to Miss Lydia, and then helped the colonel to swing himself up on + deck. Once there, Sir Thomas, who was still very much ashamed of his + blunder, and at a loss to know what he had better do to make the man whose + ancestry dated from the year 1100 forget it, invited him to supper, + without waiting for his daughter’s consent, and with many fresh apologies + and handshakes. Miss Lydia frowned a little, but, after all, she was not + sorry to know what a corporal really was. She rather liked there guest, + and was even beginning to fancy there was something aristocratic about him—only + she thought him too frank and merry for a hero of romance. + </p> + <p> + “Lieutenant della Rebbia,” said the colonel, bowing to him, English + fashion, over a glass of Madeira, “I met a great many of your countrymen + in Spain—they were splendid sharp-shooters.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and a great many of them have stayed in Spain,” replied the young + lieutenant gravely. + </p> + <p> + “I shall never forget the behaviour of a Corsican battalion at the Battle + of Vittoria,” said the colonel; “I have good reason to remember it, + indeed,” he added, rubbing his chest. “All day long they had been + skirmishing in the gardens, behind the hedges, and had killed I don’t know + how many of our horses and men. When the retreat was sounded, they rallied + and made off at a great pace. We had hoped to take our revenge on them in + the open plain, but the scoundrels—I beg your pardon, lieutenant; + the brave fellows, I should have said—had formed a square, and there + was no breaking it. In the middle of the square—I fancy I can see + him still—rode an officer on a little black horse. He kept close + beside the standard, smoking his cigar as coolly as if he had been in a + café. Every now and then their bugles played a flourish, as if to defy us. + I sent my two leading squadrons at them. Whew! Instead of breaking the + front of the square, my dragoons passed along the sides, wheeled, and came + back in great disorder, and with several riderless horses—and all + the time those cursed bugles went on playing. When the smoke which had + hung over the battalion cleared away, I saw the officer still puffing at + his cigar beside his eagle. I was furious, and led a final charge myself. + Their muskets, foul with continual firing, would not go off, but the men + had drawn up, six deep, with their bayonets pointed at the noses of our + horses; you might have taken them for a wall. I was shouting, urging on my + dragoons, and spurring my horse forward, when the officer I have + mentioned, at length throwing away his cigar, pointed me out to one of his + men, and I heard him say something like <i>‘Al capello bianco!’’</i>—I + wore a white plume. Then I did not hear any more, for a bullet passed + through my chest. That was a splendid battalion, M. della Rebbia, that + first battalion of the Eighteenth—all of them Corsicans, as I was + afterward told!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Orso, whose eyes had shone as he listened to the story. “They + covered the retreat, and brought back their eagle. Two thirds of those + brave fellows are sleeping now on the plains of Vittoria!” + </p> + <p> + “And, perhaps, you can tell me the name of the officer in command?” + </p> + <p> + “It was my father—he was then a major in the Eighteenth, and was + promoted colonel for his conduct on that terrible day.” + </p> + <p> + “Your father! Upon my word, he was a brave man! I should be glad to see + him again, and I am certain I should recognise him. Is he still alive?” + </p> + <p> + “No, colonel,” said the young man, turning slightly pale. + </p> + <p> + “Was he at Waterloo?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, colonel; but he had not the happiness of dying on the field of + battle. He died in Corsica two years ago. How beautiful the sea is! It is + ten years since I have seen the Mediterranean! Don’t you think the + Mediterranean much more beautiful than the ocean, mademoiselle?” + </p> + <p> + “I think it too blue, and its waves lack grandeur.” + </p> + <p> + “You like wild beauty then, mademoiselle! In that case, I am sure you will + be delighted with Corsica.” + </p> + <p> + “My daughter,” said the colonel, “delights in everything that is out of + the common, and for that reason she did not care much for Italy.” + </p> + <p> + “The only place in Italy that I know,” said Orso, “is Pisa, where I was at + school for some time. But I can not think, without admiration, of the + Campo-Santo, the Duomo, and the Leaning Tower—especially of the + Campo-Santo. Do you remember Orcagna’s ‘Death’? I think I could draw every + line of it—it is so graven on my memory.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Lydia was afraid the lieutenant was going to deliver an enthusiastic + tirade. + </p> + <p> + “It is very pretty,” she said, with a yawn. “Excuse me, papa, my head + aches a little; I am going down to my cabin.” + </p> + <p> + She kissed her father on the forehead, inclined her head majestically to + Orso, and disappeared. Then the two men talked about hunting and war. They + discovered that at Waterloo they had been posted opposite each other, and + had no doubt exchanged many a bullet. This knowledge strengthened their + good understanding. Turning about, they criticised Napoleon, Wellington, + and Blucher, and then they hunted buck, boar, and mountain sheep in + company. At last, when night was far advanced, and the last bottle of + claret had been emptied, the colonel wrung the lieutenant’s hand once more + and wished him good-night, expressing his hope that an acquaintance, which + had begun in such ridiculous fashion, might be continued. They parted, and + each went to bed. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III + </h2> + <p> + It was a lovely night. The moonlight was dancing on the waves, the ship + glided smoothly on before a gentle breeze. Miss Lydia was not sleepy, and + nothing but the presence of an unpoetical person had prevented her from + enjoying those emotions which every human being possessing a touch of + poetry must experience at sea by moonlight. When she felt sure the young + lieutenant must be sound asleep, like the prosaic creature he was, she got + up, took her cloak, woke her maid, and went on deck. Nobody was to be seen + except the sailor at the helm, who was singing a sort of dirge in the + Corsican dialect, to some wild and monotonous tune. In the silence of the + night this strange music had its charm. Unluckily Miss Lydia did not + understand perfectly what the sailor was singing. Amid a good deal that + was commonplace, a passionate line would occasionally excite her liveliest + curiosity. But just at the most important moment some words of <i>patois</i> + would occur, the sense of which utterly escaped her. Yet she did make out + that the subject was connected with a murder. Curses against the assassin, + threats of vengeance, praise of the dead were all mingled confusedly. She + remembered some of the lines. I will endeavour to translate them here. + </p> + <p> + . . . “Neither cannon nor bayonets . . . Brought pallor to his brow. . . + As serene on the battlefield . . . as a summer sky. He was the falcon—the + eagle’s friend . . . Honey of the sand to his friends . . . To his + enemies, a tempestuous sea. . . . . . . Prouder than the sun . . . gentler + than the moon . . . He for whom the enemies of France . . . never waited . + . . Murderers in his own land . . . struck him from behind . . . As + Vittolo slew Sampiero Corso . . . Never would they have dared to look him + in The face . . . Set up on the wall Before my bed . . . my well-earned + cross of honour . . . red is its ribbon . . . redder is my shirt! . . . + For my son, my son in a far country . . . keep my cross and my + blood-stained shirt! . . . + </p> + <p> + “. . . He will see two holes in it . . . For each hole a hole in another + shirt! . . . But will that accomplish the vengeance? . . . I must have the + hand that fired, the eye that aimed . . . the heart that planned!” . . . + </p> + <p> + Suddenly the sailor stopped short. + </p> + <p> + “Why don’t you go on, my good man?” inquired Miss Nevil. + </p> + <p> + The sailor, with a jerk of his head, pointed to a figure appearing through + the main hatchway of the schooner: it was Orso, coming up to enjoy the + moonlight. “Pray finish your song,” said Miss Lydia. “It interests me + greatly!” + </p> + <p> + The sailor leaned toward her, and said, in a very low tone, “I don’t give + the <i>rimbecco</i> to anybody!” + </p> + <p> + “The what?” + </p> + <p> + The sailor, without replying, began to whistle. + </p> + <p> + “I have caught you admiring our Mediterranean, Miss Nevil,” said Orso, + coming toward her. “You must allow you never see a moon like this anywhere + else!” + </p> + <p> + “I was not looking at it, I was altogether occupied in studying Corsican. + That sailor, who has been singing a most tragic dirge, stopped short at + the most interesting point.” + </p> + <p> + The sailor bent down, as if to see the compass more clearly, and tugged + sharply at Miss Nevil’s fur cloak. It was quite evident his lament could + not be sung before Lieutenant Orso. + </p> + <p> + “What were you singing, Paolo France?” said Orso. “Was it a <i>ballata</i> + or a <i>vocero</i>? Mademoiselle understands you, and would like to hear + the end.” + </p> + <p> + “I have forgotten it, Ors’ Anton’,” said the sailor. + </p> + <p> + And instantly he began a hymn to the Virgin, at the top of his voice. + </p> + <p> + Miss Lydia listened absent-mindedly to the hymn, and did not press the + singer any further—though she was quite resolved, in her own mind, + to find out the meaning of the riddle later. But her maid, who, being a + Florentine, could not understand the Corsican dialect any better than her + mistress, was as eager as Miss Lydia for information, and, turning to + Orso, before the English lady could warn her by a nudge, she said: + “Captain what does <i>giving the rimbecco</i> mean?” + </p> + <p> + “The rimbecco!” said Orso. “Why, it’s the most deadly insult that can be + offered to a Corsican. It means reproaching him with not having avenged + his wrong. Who mentioned the rimbecco to you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yesterday, at Marseilles,” replied Miss Lydia hurriedly, “the captain of + the schooner used the word.” + </p> + <p> + “And whom was he talking about?” inquired Orso eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, he was telling us some odd story about the time—yes, I think it + was about Vannina d’Ornano.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose, mademoiselle, that Vannina’s death has not inspired you with + any great love for our national hero, the brave Sampiero?” + </p> + <p> + “But do you think his conduct was so very heroic?” + </p> + <p> + “The excuse for his crime lies in the savage customs of the period. And + then Sampiero was waging deadly war against the Genoese. What confidence + could his fellow-countrymen have felt in him if he had not punished his + wife, who tried to treat with Genoa?” + </p> + <p> + “Vannina,” said the sailor, “had started off without her husband’s leave. + Sampiero did quite right to wring her neck!” + </p> + <p> + “But,” said Miss Lydia, “it was to save her husband, it was out of love + for him, that she was going to ask his pardon from the Genoese.” + </p> + <p> + “To ask his pardon was to degrade him!” exclaimed Orso. + </p> + <p> + “And then to kill her himself!” said Miss Lydia. “What a monster he must + have been!” + </p> + <p> + “You know she begged as a favour that she might die by his hand. What + about Othello, mademoiselle, do you look on him, too, as a monster?” + </p> + <p> + “There is a difference; he was jealous. Sampiero was only vain!” + </p> + <p> + “And after all is not jealousy a kind of vanity? It is the vanity of love; + will you not excuse it on account of its motive?” + </p> + <p> + Miss Lydia looked at him with an air of great dignity, and turning to the + sailor, inquired when the schooner would reach port. + </p> + <p> + “The day after to-morrow,” said he, “if the wind holds.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish Ajaccio were in sight already, for I am sick of this ship.” She + rose, took her maid’s arm, and walked a few paces on the deck. Orso stood + motionless beside the helm, not knowing whether he had better walk beside + her, or end a conversation which seemed displeasing to her. + </p> + <p> + “Blood of the Madonna, what a handsome girl!” said the sailor. “If every + flea in my bed were like her, I shouldn’t complain of their biting me!” + </p> + <p> + Miss Lydia may possibly have overheard this artless praise of her beauty + and been startled by it; for she went below almost immediately. Shortly + after Orso also retired. As soon as he had left the deck the maid + reappeared, and, having cross-questioned the sailor, carried back the + following information to her mistress. The <i>ballata</i> which had been + broken off on Orso’s appearance had been composed on the occasion of the + death of his father, Colonel della Rebbia, who had been murdered two years + previously. The sailor had no doubt at all that Orso was coming back to + Corsica <i>per fare la vendetta</i>, such was his expression, and he + affirmed that before long there would be <i>fresh meat</i> to be seen in + the village of Pietranera. This national expression, being interpreted, + meant that Signor Orso proposed to murder two or three individuals + suspected of having assassinated his father—individuals who had, + indeed, been prosecuted on that account, but had come out of the trial as + white as snow, for they were hand and glove with the judges, lawyers, + prefect, and gendarmes. + </p> + <p> + “There is no justice in Corsica,” added the sailor, “and I put much more + faith in a good gun than in a judge of the Royal Court. If a man has an + enemy he must choose one of the three S’s.” (A national expression meaning + <i>schioppetto</i>, <i>stiletto</i>, <i>strada</i>—that is, <i>gun</i>, + <i>dagger</i>, or <i>flight</i>.) + </p> + <p> + These interesting pieces of information wrought a notable change in Miss + Lydia’s manner and feeling with regard to Lieutenant della Rebbia. From + that moment he became a person of importance in the romantic + Englishwoman’s eyes. + </p> + <p> + His careless air, his frank and good humour, which had at first impressed + her so unfavourably, now seemed to her an additional merit, as being + proofs of the deep dissimulation of a strong nature, which will not allow + any inner feeling to appear upon the surface. Orso seemed to her a sort of + Fieschi, who hid mighty designs under an appearance of frivolity, and, + though it is less noble to kill a few rascals than to free one’s country, + still a fine deed of vengeance is a fine thing, and besides, women are + rather glad to find their hero is not a politician. Then Miss Nevil + remarked for the first time that the young lieutenant had large eyes, + white teeth, an elegant figure, that he was well-educated, and possessed + the habits of good society. During the following day she talked to him + frequently, and found his conversation interesting. He was asked many + questions about his own country, and described it well. Corsica, which he + had left when young, to go first to college, and then to the Ecole + militaire, had remained in his imagination surrounded with poetic + associations. When he talked of its mountains, its forests, and the quaint + customs of its inhabitants he grew eager and animated. As may be imagined, + the word <i>vengeance</i> occurred more than once in the stories he told—for + it is impossible to speak of the Corsicans without either attacking or + justifying their proverbial passion. Orso somewhat surprised Miss Nevil by + his general condemnation of the undying hatreds nursed by his + fellow-countrymen. As regarded the peasants, however, he endeavoured to + excuse them, and claimed that the <i>vendetta</i> is the poor man’s duel. + “So true is this,” he said, “that no assassination takes place till a + formal challenge has been delivered. ‘Be on your guard yourself, I am on + mine!’ are the sacramental words exchanged, from time immemorial, between + two enemies, before they begin to lie in wait for each other. There are + more assassinations among us,” he added, “than anywhere else. But you will + never discover an ignoble cause for any of these crimes. We have many + murderers, it is true, but not a single thief.” + </p> + <p> + When he spoke about vengeance and murder Miss Lydia looked at him closely, + but she could not detect the slightest trace of emotion on his features. + As she had made up her mind, however, that he possessed sufficient + strength of mind to be able to hide his thoughts from every eye (her own, + of course, excepted), she continued in her firm belief that Colonel della + Rebbia’s shade would not have to wait long for the atonement it claimed. + </p> + <p> + The schooner was already within sight of Corsica. The captain pointed out + the principal features of the coast, and, though all of these were + absolutely unknown to Miss Lydia, she found a certain pleasure in hearing + their names; nothing is more tiresome than an anonymous landscape. From + time to time the colonel’s telescope revealed to her the form of some + islander clad in brown cloth, armed with a long gun, bestriding a small + horse, and galloping down steep slopes. In each of these Miss Lydia + believed she beheld either a brigand or a son going forth to avenge his + father’s death. But Orso always declared it was some peaceful denizen of a + neighbouring village travelling on business, and that he carried a gun + less from necessity than because it was the fashion, just as no dandy ever + takes a walk without an elegant cane. Though a gun is a less noble and + poetic weapon than a stiletto, Miss Lydia thought it much more stylish for + a man than any cane, and she remembered that all Lord Byron’s heroes died + by a bullet, and not by the classic poniard. + </p> + <p> + After three days’ sailing, the ship reached Les Sanguinaires (The Bloody + Islands), and the magnificent panorama of the Gulf of Ajaccio was unrolled + before our travellers’ eyes. It is compared, with justice, to the Bay of + Naples, and just as the schooner was entering the harbour a burning <i>maquis</i>, + which covered the Punta di Girato, brought back memories of Vesuvius and + heightened the resemblance. To make it quite complete, Naples should be + seen after one of Attila’s armies had devastated its suburbs—for + round Ajaccio everything looks dead and deserted. Instead of the handsome + buildings observable on every side from Castellamare to Cape Misena, + nothing is to be seen in the neighbourhood of the Gulf of Ajaccio but + gloomy <i>maquis</i> with bare mountains rising behind them. Not a villa, + not a dwelling of any kind—only here and there, on the heights about + the town, a few isolated white structures stand out against a background + of green. These are mortuary chapels or family tombs. Everything in this + landscape is gravely and sadly beautiful. + </p> + <p> + The appearance of the town, at that period especially, deepened the + impression caused by the loneliness of its surroundings. There was no stir + in the streets, where only a few listless idlers—always the same—were + to be seen; no women at all, except an odd peasant come in to sell her + produce; no loud talk, laughter, and singing, as in the Italian towns. + Sometimes, under the shade of a tree on the public promenade, a dozen + armed peasants will play at cards or watch each other play; they never + shout or wrangle; if they get hot over the game, pistol shots ring out, + and this always before the utterance of any threat. The Corsican is grave + and silent by nature. In the evening, a few persons come out to enjoy the + cool air, but the promenaders on the Corso are nearly all of them + foreigners; the islanders stay in front of their own doors; each one seems + on the watch, like a falcon over its nest. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV + </h2> + <p> + When Miss Lydia had visited the house in which Napoleon was born, and had + procured, by means more or less moral, a fragment of the wall-paper + belonging to it, she, within two days of her landing in Corsica, began to + feel that profound melancholy which must overcome every foreigner in a + country whose unsociable inhabitants appear to condemn him or her to a + condition of utter isolation. She was already regretting her headstrong + caprice; but to go back at once would have been to risk her reputation as + an intrepid traveller, so she made up her mind to be patient, and kill + time as best she could. With this noble resolution, she brought out her + crayons and colours, sketched views of the gulf, and did the portrait of a + sunburnt peasant, who sold melons, like any market-gardener on the + Continent, but who wore a long white beard, and looked the fiercest rascal + that had ever been seen. As all that was not enough to amuse her, she + determined to turn the head of the descendant of the corporals, and this + was no difficult matter, since, far from being in a hurry to get back to + his village, Orso seemed very happy at Ajaccio, although he knew nobody + there. Furthermore, Miss Lydia had a lofty purpose in her mind; it was + nothing less than to civilize this mountain bear, and induce him to + relinquish the sinister design which had recalled him to his island. Since + she had taken the trouble to study the young man, she had told herself it + would be a pity to let him rush upon his ruin, and that it would be a + glorious thing to convert a Corsican. + </p> + <p> + Our travellers spent the day in the following manner: Every morning the + colonel and Orso went out shooting. Miss Lydia sketched or wrote letters + to her friends, chiefly for the sake of dating them from Ajaccio. Toward + six o’clock the gentlemen came in, laden with game. Then followed dinner. + Miss Lydia sang, the colonel went to sleep, and the young people sat + talking till very late. + </p> + <p> + Some formality or other, connected with his passports, had made it + necessary for Colonel Nevil to call on the prefect. This gentleman, who, + like most of his colleagues, found his life very dull, had been delighted + to hear of the arrival of an Englishman who was rich, a man of the world, + and the father of a pretty daughter. He had, therefore, given him the most + friendly reception, and overwhelmed him with offers of service; further, + within a very few days, he came to return his visit. The colonel, who had + just dined, was comfortably stretched out upon his sofa, and very nearly + asleep. His daughter was singing at a broken-down piano; Orso was turning + over the leaves of her music, and gazing at the fair singer’s shoulders + and golden hair. The prefect was announced, the piano stopped, the colonel + got up, rubbed his eyes, and introduced the prefect to his daughter. + </p> + <p> + “I do not introduce M. della Rebbia to you,” said he, “for no doubt you + know him already.” + </p> + <p> + “Is this gentleman Colonel della Rebbia’s son?” said the prefect, looking + a trifle embarrassed. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, monsieur,” replied Orso. + </p> + <p> + “I had the honour of knowing your father.” + </p> + <p> + The ordinary commonplaces of conversation were soon exhausted. The + colonel, in spite of himself, yawned pretty frequently. Orso, as a + liberal, did not care to converse with a satellite of the Government. The + burden of the conversation fell on Miss Lydia. The prefect, on his side, + did not let it drop, and it was clear that he found the greatest pleasure + in talking of Paris, and of the great world, to a woman who was acquainted + with all the foremost people in European society. As he talked, he now and + then glanced at Orso, with an expression of singular curiosity. + </p> + <p> + “Was it on the Continent that you made M. della Rebbia’s acquaintance?” he + inquired. + </p> + <p> + Somewhat embarrassed, Miss Lydia replied that she had made his + acquaintance on the ship which had carried them to Corsica. + </p> + <p> + “He is a very gentlemanly young fellow,” said the prefect, in an + undertone; “and has he told you,” he added, dropping his voice still + lower, “why he has returned to Corsica?” + </p> + <p> + Miss Lydia put on her most majestic air and answered: + </p> + <p> + “I have not asked him,” she said. “You may do so.” + </p> + <p> + The prefect kept silence, but, an instant later, hearing Orso speak a few + words of English to the colonel, he said: + </p> + <p> + “You seem to have travelled a great deal, monsieur. You must have + forgotten Corsica and Corsican habits.” + </p> + <p> + “It is quite true that I was very young when I went away.” + </p> + <p> + “You still belong to the army?” + </p> + <p> + “I am on half-pay, monsieur.” + </p> + <p> + “You have been too long in the French army not to have become a thorough + Frenchman, I have no doubt?” + </p> + <p> + The last words of the sentence were spoken with marked emphasis. + </p> + <p> + The Corsicans are not particularly flattered at being reminded that they + belong to the “Great Nations.” They claim to be a people apart, and so + well do they justify their claim that it may very well be granted them. + </p> + <p> + Somewhat nettled, Orso replied: “Do you think, M. le Prefet, that a + Corsican must necessarily serve in the French army to become an honourable + man?” + </p> + <p> + “No, indeed,” said the prefect, “that is not my idea at all; I am only + speaking of certain <i>customs</i> belonging to this country, some of + which are not such as a Government official would like to see.” + </p> + <p> + He emphasized the word <i>customs</i>, and put on as grave an expression + as his features could assume. Soon after he got up and took his leave, + bearing with him Miss Lydia’s promise that she would go and call on his + wife at the prefecture. + </p> + <p> + When he had departed: “I had to come to Corsica,” said Miss Lydia, “to + find out what a prefect is like. This one strikes me as rather amiable.” + </p> + <p> + “For my part,” said Orso, “I can’t say as much. He strikes me as a very + queer individual, with his airs of emphasis and mystery.” + </p> + <p> + The colonel was extremely drowsy. Miss Lydia cast a glance in his + direction, and, lowering her voice: + </p> + <p> + “And I,” she said, “do not think him so mysterious as you pretend; for I + believe I understood him!” + </p> + <p> + “Then you are clear-sighted indeed, Miss Nevil. If you have seen any wit + in what he has just said you must certainly have put it there yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “It is the Marquis de Mascarille, I think, who says that, M. della Rebbia. + But would you like me to give you a proof of my clear-sightedness? I am + something of a witch, and I can read the thoughts of people I have seen + only twice.” + </p> + <p> + “Good heavens! you alarm me. If you really can read my thoughts I don’t + know whether I should be glad or sorry.” + </p> + <p> + “M. della Rebbia,” went on Miss Lydia, with a blush, “we have only known + each other for a few days. But at sea, and in savage countries (you will + excuse me, I hope)—in savage countries friendships grow more quickly + than they do in society . . . so you must not be astonished if I speak to + you, as a friend, upon private matters, with which, perhaps, a stranger + ought not to interfere.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, do not say that word, Miss Nevil. I like the other far better.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, monsieur, I must tell you that without having tried to find + out your secrets, I have learned some of them, and they grieve me. I have + heard, monsieur, of the misfortune which has overtaken your family. A + great deal has been said to me about the vindictive nature of your + fellow-countrymen, and the fashion in which they take their vengeance. Was + it not to that the prefect was alluding?” + </p> + <p> + “Miss Lydia! Can you believe it!” and Orso turned deadly pale. + </p> + <p> + “No, M. della Rebbia,” she said, interrupting him, “I know you to be a + most honourable gentleman. You have told me yourself that it was only the + common people in your country who still practised the <i>vendetta</i>—which + you are pleased to describe as a kind of duel.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you, then, believe me capable of ever becoming a murderer?” + </p> + <p> + “Since I have mentioned the subject at all, Monsieur Orso, you must + clearly see that I do not suspect you, and if I have spoken to you at + all,” she added, dropping her eyes, “it is because I have realized that + surrounded, it may be, by barbarous prejudices on your return home, you + will be glad to know that there is somebody who esteems you for having the + courage to resist them. Come!” said she, rising to her feet, “don’t let us + talk again of such horrid things, they make my head ache, and besides it’s + very late. You are not angry with me, are you? Let us say good-night in + the English fashion,” and she held out her hand. + </p> + <p> + Orso pressed it, looking grave and deeply moved. + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle,” he said, “do you know that there are moments when the + instincts of my country wake up within me. Sometimes, when I think of my + poor father, horrible thoughts assail me. Thanks to you, I am rid of them + forever. Thank you! thank you!” + </p> + <p> + He would have continued, but Miss Lydia dropped a teaspoon, and the noise + woke up the colonel. + </p> + <p> + “Della Rebbia, we’ll start at five o’clock to-morrow morning. Be + punctual!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, colonel.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V + </h2> + <p> + The next day, a short time before the sportsmen came back, Miss Nevil, + returning with her maid from a walk along the seashore, was just about to + enter the inn, when she noticed a young woman, dressed in black, riding + into the town on a small but strong horse. She was followed by a sort of + peasant, also on horseback, who wore a brown cloth jacket cut at the + elbows. A gourd was slung over his shoulder and a pistol was hanging at + his belt, his hand grasped a gun, the butt of which rested in a leathern + pocket fastened to his saddle-bow—in short, he wore the complete + costume of a brigand in a melodrama, or of the middle-class Corsican on + his travels. Miss Nevil’s attention was first attracted by the woman’s + remarkable beauty. She seemed about twenty years of age; she was tall and + pale, with dark blue eyes, red lips, and teeth like enamel. In her + expression pride, anxiety, and sadness were all legible. On her head she + wore a black silk veil called a <i>mezzaro</i>, which the Genoese + introduced into Corsica, and which is so becoming to women. Long braids of + chestnut hair formed a sort of turban round her head. Her dress was neat, + but simple in the extreme. + </p> + <p> + Miss Nevil had plenty of time to observe her, for the lady in the <i>mezzaro</i> + had halted in the street, and was questioning somebody on a subject which, + to judge from the expression of her eyes, must have interested her + exceedingly. Then, as soon as she received an answer, she touched her + mount with her riding-switch, and, breaking into a quick trot, never + halted till she reached the door of the hotel in which Sir Thomas Nevil + and Orso were staying. There, after exchanging a few words with the host, + the girl sprang nimbly from her saddle and seated herself on a stone bench + beside the entrance door, while her groom led the horses away to the + stable. Miss Lydia, in her Paris gown, passed close beside the stranger, + who did not raise her eyes. A quarter of an hour later she opened her + window, and saw the lady in the <i>mezzaro</i> still sitting in the same + place and in the same attitude. Not long afterward the colonel and Orso + returned from hunting. Then the landlord said a few words to the young + lady in mourning, and pointed to della Rebbia with his finger. She + coloured deeply, rose eagerly, went a few paces forward, and then stopped + short, apparently much confused. Orso was quite close to her, and was + looking at her curiously. + </p> + <p> + “Are you Orso Antonio della Rebbia?” said she in a tremulous voice. “I am + Colomba.” + </p> + <p> + “Colomba!” cried Orso. + </p> + <p> + And taking her in his arms he kissed her tenderly, somewhat to the + surprise of the colonel and his daughter—but in England people do + not kiss each other in the street. + </p> + <p> + “Brother,” said Colomba, “you must forgive me for having come without your + permission. But I heard from our friends that you had arrived, and it is + such a great consolation to me to see you.” + </p> + <p> + Again Orso kissed her. Then, turning to the colonel: + </p> + <p> + “This is my sister,” said he, “whom I never should have recognised if she + had not told me her name—Colomba—Colonel Sir Thomas Nevil—colonel, + you will kindly excuse me, but I can not have the honour of dining with + you to-day. My sister—” + </p> + <p> + “But, my dear fellow, where the devil do you expect to dine? You know very + well there is only one dinner in this infernal tavern, and we have + bespoken it. It will afford my daughter great pleasure if this young lady + will join us.” + </p> + <p> + Colomba looked at her brother, who did not need much pressing, and they + all passed together into the largest room in the inn, which the colonel + used as his sitting and dining room. Mademoiselle della Rebbia, on being + introduced to Miss Nevil, made her a deep courtesy, but she did not utter + a single word. It was easy to see that she was very much frightened at + finding herself, perhaps for the first time in her life, in the company of + strangers belonging to the great world. Yet there was nothing provincial + in her manners. The novelty of her position excused her awkwardness. Miss + Nevil took a liking to her at once, and, as there was no room disengaged + in the hotel, the whole of which was occupied by the colonel and his + attendants, she offered, either out of condescension or curiosity, to have + a bed prepared in her own room for Mademoiselle della Rebbia. + </p> + <p> + Colomba stammered a few words of thanks, and hastened after Miss Nevil’s + maid, to make such changes in her toilet as were rendered necessary by a + journey on horseback in the dust and heat. + </p> + <p> + When she re-entered the sitting-room, she paused in front of the colonel’s + guns, which the hunters had left in a corner. + </p> + <p> + “What fine weapons,” said she. “Are they yours, brother?” + </p> + <p> + “No, they are the colonel’s English guns—and they are as good as + they are handsome.” + </p> + <p> + “How much I wish you had one like them!” said Colomba. + </p> + <p> + “One of those three certainly does belong to della Rebbia,” exclaimed the + colonel. “He really shoots almost too well! To-day he fired fourteen + shots, and brought down fourteen head of game.” + </p> + <p> + A friendly dispute at once ensued, in which Orso was vanquished, to his + sister’s great satisfaction, as it was easy to perceive from the childish + expression of delight which illumined her face, so serious a moment + before. + </p> + <p> + “Choose, my dear fellow,” said the colonel; but Orso refused. + </p> + <p> + “Very well, then. Your sister shall choose for you.” + </p> + <p> + Colomba did not wait for a second invitation. She took up the plainest of + the guns, but it was a first-rate Manton of large calibre. + </p> + <p> + “This one,” she said, “must carry a ball a long distance.” + </p> + <p> + Her brother was growing quite confused in his expressions of gratitude, + when dinner appeared, very opportunely, to help him out of his + embarrassment. + </p> + <p> + Miss Lydia was delighted to notice that Colomba, who had shown + considerable reluctance to sit down with them, and had yielded only at a + glance from her brother, crossed herself, like a good Catholic, before she + began to eat. + </p> + <p> + “Good!” said she to herself, “that is primitive!” and she anticipated + acquiring many interesting facts by observing this youthful representative + of ancient Corsican manners. As for Orso, he was evidently a trifle + uneasy, fearing, doubtless, that his sister might say or do something + which savoured too much of her native village. But Colomba watched him + constantly, and regulated all her own movements by his. Sometimes she + looked at him fixedly, with a strange expression of sadness, and then, if + Orso’s eyes met hers, he was the first to turn them away, as though he + would evade some question which his sister was mentally addressing to him, + the sense of which he understood only too well. Everybody talked French, + for the colonel could only express himself very badly in Italian. Colomba + understood French, and even pronounced the few words she was obliged to + exchange with her entertainers tolerably well. + </p> + <p> + After dinner, the colonel, who had noticed the sort of constraint which + existed between the brother and sister, inquired of Orso, with his + customary frankness, whether he did not wish to be alone with Mademoiselle + Colomba, offering, in that case, to go into the next room with his + daughter. But Orso hastened to thank him, and to assure him they would + have plenty of time to talk at Pietranera—this was the name of the + village where he was to take up his abode. + </p> + <p> + The colonel then resumed his customary position on the sofa, and Miss + Nevil, after attempting several subjects of conversation, gave up all hope + of inducing the fair Colomba to talk, and begged Orso to read her a canto + out of Dante, her favourite poet. Orso chose the canto of the Inferno, + containing the episode of Francesca da Rimini, and began to read, as + impressively as he was able, the glorious tiercets which so admirably + express the risk run by two young persons who venture to read a love-story + together. As he read on Colomba drew nearer to the table, and raised her + head, which she had kept lowered. Her wide-open eyes, shone with + extraordinary fire, she grew red and pale by turns, and stirred + convulsively in her chair. How admirable is the Italian organization, + which can understand poetry without needing a pedant to explain its + beauties! + </p> + <p> + When the canto was finished: + </p> + <p> + “How beautiful that is!” she exclaimed. “Who wrote it, brother?” + </p> + <p> + Orso was a little disconcerted, and Miss Lydia answered with a smile that + it was written by a Florentine poet, who had been dead for centuries. + </p> + <p> + “You shall read Dante,” said Orso, “when you are at Pietranera.” + </p> + <p> + “Good heavens, how beautiful it is!” said Colomba again, and she repeated + three or four tiercets which she had remembered, speaking at first in an + undertone; then, growing excited, she declaimed them aloud, with far more + expression than her brother had put into his reading. + </p> + <p> + Miss Lydia was very much astonished. + </p> + <p> + “You seem very fond of poetry,” she said. “How I envy you the delight you + will find in reading Dante for the first time!” + </p> + <p> + “You see, Miss Nevil,” said Orso, “what a power Dante’s lines must have, + when they so move a wild young savage who knows nothing but her <i>Pater</i>. + But I am mistaken! I recollect now that Colomba belongs to the guild. Even + when she was quite a little child she used to try her hand at + verse-making, and my father used to write me word that she was the best <i>voceratrice</i> + in Pietranera, and for two leagues round about.” + </p> + <p> + Colomba cast an imploring glance at her brother. Miss Nevil had heard of + the Corsican <i>improvisatrici</i>, and was dying to hear one. She begged + Colomba, then, to give her a specimen of her powers. Very much vexed now + at having made any mention of his sister’s poetic gifts, Orso interposed. + In vain did he protest that nothing was so insipid as a Corsican <i>ballata</i>, + and that to recite the Corsican verses after those of Dante was like + betraying his country. All he did was to stimulate Miss Nevil’s curiosity, + and at last he was obliged to say to his sister: + </p> + <p> + “Well! well! improvise something—but let it be short!” + </p> + <p> + Colomba heaved a sigh, looked fixedly for a moment, first at the + table-cloth, and then at the rafters of the ceiling; at last, covering her + eyes with her hand like those birds that gather courage, and fancy they + are not seen when they no longer see themselves, she sang, or rather + declaimed, in an unsteady voice, the following <i>serenata</i>: + </p> + <p> + “THE MAIDEN AND THE TURTLE-DOVE + </p> + <p> + “In the valley, far away among the mountains, the sun only shines for an + hour every day. In the valley there stands a gloomy house, and grass grows + on its threshold. Doors and windows are always shut. No smoke rises from + the roof. But at noon, when the sunshine falls, a window opens, and the + orphan girl sits spinning at her wheel. She spins, and as she works, she + sings—a song of sadness. But no other song comes to answer hers! One + day—a day in spring-time—a turtle-dove settled on a tree hard + by, and heard the maiden’s song. ‘Maiden,’ it said, ‘thou art not the only + mourner! A cruel hawk has snatched my mate from me!’ ‘Turtle-dove, show me + that cruel hawk; were it to soar higher than the clouds I would soon bring + it down to earth! But who will restore to me, unhappy that I am, my + brother, now in a far country?’ ‘Maiden, tell me, where thy brother is, + and my wings shall bear me to him.’” + </p> + <p> + “A well-bred turtle-dove, indeed!” exclaimed Orso, and the emotion with + which he kissed his sister contrasted strongly with the jesting tone in + which he spoke. + </p> + <p> + “Your song is delightful,” said Miss Lydia. “You must write it in my + album; I’ll translate it into English, and have it set to music.” + </p> + <p> + The worthy colonel, who had not understood a single word, added his + compliments to his daughter’s and added: “Is this dove you speak of the + bird we ate broiled at dinner to-day?” + </p> + <p> + Miss Nevil fetched her album, and was not a little surprised to see the <i>improvisatrice</i> + write down her song, with so much care in the matter of economizing space. + </p> + <p> + The lines, instead of being separate, were all run together, as far as the + breadth of the paper would permit, so that they did not agree with the + accepted definition of poetic composition—“short lines of unequal + length, with a margin on each side of them.” Mademoiselle Colomba’s + somewhat fanciful spelling might also have excited comment. More than once + Miss Nevil was seen to smile, and Orso’s fraternal vanity suffered + tortures. + </p> + <p> + Bedtime came, and the two young girls retired to their room. There, while + Miss Lydia unclasped her necklace, ear-rings, and bracelets, she watched + her companion draw something out of her gown—something as long as a + stay-busk, but very different in shape. Carefully, almost stealthily, + Colomba slipped this object under her <i>mezzaro</i>, which she laid on + the table. Then she knelt down, and said her prayers devoutly. Two minutes + afterward she was in her bed. Miss Lydia, naturally very inquisitive, and + as slow as every Englishwoman is about undressing herself, moved over to + the table, pretended she was looking for a pin, lifted up the <i>mezzaro</i>, + and saw a long stiletto—curiously mounted in silver and + mother-of-pearl. The workmanship was remarkably fine. It was an ancient + weapon, and just the sort of one an amateur would have prized very highly. + </p> + <p> + “Is it the custom here,” inquired Miss Nevil, with a smile, “for young + ladies to wear such little instruments as these in their bodices?” + </p> + <p> + “It is,” answered Colomba, with a sigh. “There are so many wicked people + about!” + </p> + <p> + “And would you really have the courage to strike with it, like this?” And + Miss Nevil, dagger in hand, made a gesture of stabbing from above, as + actors do on the stage. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Colomba, in her soft, musical voice, “if I had to do it to + protect myself or my friends. But you must not hold it like that, you + might wound yourself if the person you were going to stab were to draw + back.” Then, sitting up in bed, “See,” she added, “you must strike like + this—upward! If you do so, the thrust is sure to kill, they say. + Happy are they who never need such weapons.” + </p> + <p> + She sighed, dropped her head back on the pillow, and closed her eyes. A + more noble, beautiful, virginal head it would be impossible to imagine. + Phidias would have asked no other model for Minerva. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI + </h2> + <p> + It is in obedience to the precept of Horace that I have begun by plunging + <i>in media res</i>. Now that every one is asleep—the beautiful + Colomba, the colonel, and his daughter—I will seize the opportunity + to acquaint my reader with certain details of which he must not be + ignorant, if he desires to follow the further course of this veracious + history. He is already aware that Colonel della Rebbia, Orso’s father, had + been assassinated. Now, in Corsica, people are not murdered, as they are + in France, by the first escaped convict who can devise no better means of + relieving a man of his silver-plate. In Corsica a man is murdered by his + enemies—but the reason he has enemies is often very difficult to + discover. Many families hate each other because it has been an + old-standing habit of theirs to hate each other; but the tradition of the + original cause of their hatred may have completely disappeared. + </p> + <p> + The family to which Colonel della Rebbia belonged hated several other + families, but that of the Barricini particularly. Some people asserted + that in the sixteenth century a della Rebbia had seduced a lady of the + Barricini family, and had afterward been poniarded by a relative of the + outraged damsel. Others, indeed, told the story in a different fashion, + declaring that it was a della Rebbia who had been seduced, and a Barricini + who had been poniarded. However that may be, there was, to use the + time-honoured expression, “blood between the two houses.” Nevertheless, + and contrary to custom, this murder had not resulted in others; for the + della Rebbia and the Barricini had been equally persecuted by the Genoese + Government, and as the young men had all left the country, the two + families were deprived, during several generations, of their more + energetic representatives. At the close of the last century, one of the + della Rebbias, an officer in the Neapolitan service, quarrelled, in a + gambling hell, with some soldiers, who called him a Corsican goatherd, and + other insulting names. He drew his sword, but being only one against + three, he would have fared very ill if a stranger, who was playing in the + same room, had not exclaimed, “I, too, am a Corsican,” and come to his + rescue. This stranger was one of the Barricini, who, for that matter, was + not acquainted with his countryman. After mutual explanations, they + interchanged courtesies and vowed eternal friendship. For on the + Continent, quite contrary to their practice in their own island, Corsicans + quickly become friends. This fact was clearly exemplified on the present + occasion. As long as della Rebbia and Barricini remained in Italy they + were close friends. Once they were back in Corsica, they saw each other + but very seldom, although they both lived in the same village; and when + they died, it was reported that they had not spoken to each other for five + or six years. Their sons lived in the same fashion—“on ceremony,” as + they say in the island; one of them Ghilfuccio, Orso’s father, was a + soldier; the other Giudice Barricini, was a lawyer. Having both become + heads of families, and being separated by their professions, they scarcely + ever had an opportunity of seeing or hearing of each other. + </p> + <p> + One day, however, about the year 1809, Giudice read in a newspaper at + Bastia that Captain Ghilfuccio had just been decorated, and remarked, + before witnesses, that he was not at all surprised, considering that the + family enjoyed the protection of General ——-. This remark was + reported at Vienna to Ghilfuccio, who told one of his countrymen that, + when he got back to Corsica, he would find Giudice a very rich man, + because he made more money out of the suits he lost than out of those he + won. It was never known whether he meant this as an insinuation that the + lawyer cheated his clients, or as a mere allusion to the commonplace truth + that a bad cause often brings a lawyer more profit than a good one. + However that may have been, the lawyer Barricini heard of the epigram, and + never forgot it. In 1812 he applied for the post of mayor of his commune, + and had every hope of being appointed, when General ——- wrote + to the prefect, to recommend one of Ghilfuccio’s wife’s relations. The + prefect lost no time in carrying out the general’s wish, and Barricini + felt no doubt that he owed his failure to the intrigues of Ghilfuccio. In + 1814, after the emperor’s fall, the general’s protégé was denounced as a + Bonapartist, and his place was taken by Barricini. He, in his turn, was + dismissed during the Hundred Days, but when the storm had blown over, he + again took possession, with great pomp, of the mayoral seal and the + municipal registers. + </p> + <p> + From this moment his star shone brighter than ever. Colonel della Rebbia, + now living on half-pay at Pietranera, had to defend himself against covert + and repeated attacks due to the pettifogging malignity of his enemy. At + one time he was summoned to pay for the damage his horse had done to the + mayor’s fences, at another, the latter, under pretence of repairing the + floor of the church, ordered the removal of a broken flagstone bearing the + della Rebbia arms, which covered the grave of some member of the family. + If the village goats ate the colonel’s young plants, the mayor always + protected their owners. The grocer who kept the post-office at Pietranera, + and the old maimed soldier who had been the village policeman—both + of them attached to the della Rebbia family—were turned adrift, and + their places filled by Barricini’s creatures. + </p> + <p> + The colonel’s wife died, and her last wish was that she might be buried in + the middle of the little wood in which she had been fond of walking. + Forthwith the mayor declared she should be buried in the village cemetery, + because he had no authority to permit burial in any other spot. The + colonel, in a fury, declared that until the permit came, his wife would be + interred in the spot she had chosen. He had her grave dug there. The + mayor, on his side, had another grave dug in the cemetery, and sent for + the police, that the law, so he declared, might be duly enforced. On the + day of the funeral, the two parties came face to face, and, for a moment, + there was reason to fear a struggle might ensue for the possession of + Signora della Rebbia’s corpse. Some forty well-armed peasants, mustered by + the dead woman’s relatives, forced the priest, when he issued from the + church, to take the road to the wood. On the other hand, the mayor, at the + head of his two sons, his dependents, and the gendarmes, advanced to + oppose their march. When he appeared, and called on the procession to turn + back, he was greeted with howls and threats. The advantage of numbers was + with his opponents, and they seemed thoroughly determined. At sight of him + several guns were loaded, and one shepherd is even said to have levelled + his musket at him, but the colonel knocked up the barrel, and said, “Let + no man fire without my orders!” The mayor, who, like Panurge, had “a + natural fear of blows,” refused to give battle, and retired, with his + escort. Then the funeral procession started, carefully choosing the + longest way, so as to pass in front of the mayor’s house. As it was filing + by, an idiot, who had joined its ranks, took it into his head to shout, + “Vive l’Empereur!” Two or three voices answered him, and the Rebbianites, + growing hotter, proposed killing one of the mayor’s oxen, which chanced to + bar their way. Fortunately the colonel stopped this act of violence. + </p> + <p> + It is hardly necessary to mention that an official statement was at once + drawn up, or that the mayor sent the prefect a report, in his sublimest + style, describing the manner in which all laws, human and divine, had been + trodden under foot—how the majesty of himself, the mayor, and of the + priest had been flouted and insulted, and how Colonel della Rebbia had put + himself at the head of a Bonapartist plot, to change the order of + succession to the throne, and to excite peaceful citizens to take arms + against one another—crimes provided against by Articles 86 and 91 of + the Penal Code. + </p> + <p> + The exaggerated tone of this complaint diminished its effect. The colonel + wrote to the prefect and to the public prosecutor. One of his wife’s + kinsmen was related to one of the deputies of the island, another was + cousin to the president of the Royal Court. Thanks to this interest, the + plot faded out of sight, Signora della Rebbia was left quiet in the wood, + and the idiot alone was sentenced to a fortnight’s imprisonment. + </p> + <p> + Lawyer Barricini, dissatisfied with the result of this affair, turned his + batteries in a different direction. He dug out some old claim, whereby he + undertook to contest the colonel’s ownership of a certain water-course + which turned a mill-wheel. A lawsuit began and dragged slowly along. At + the end of twelve months, the court was about to give its decision, and + according to all appearances in favour of the colonel, when Barricini + placed in the hands of the public prosecutor a letter, signed by a certain + Agostini, a well-known bandit, threatening him, the mayor, with fire and + sword if he did not relinquish his pretensions. It is well known that in + Corsica the protection of these brigands is much sought after, and that, + to oblige their friends, they frequently intervene in private quarrels. + The mayor was deriving considerable advantage from this letter, when the + business was further complicated by a fresh incident. Agostini, the + bandit, wrote to the public prosecutor, to complain that his handwriting + had been counterfeited, and his character aspersed, by some one who + desired to represent him as a man who made a traffic of his influence. “If + I can discover the forger,” he said at the end of his letter, “I will make + a striking example of him.” + </p> + <p> + It was quite clear that Agostini did not write the threatening letter to + the mayor. The della Rebbia accused the Barricini of it and <i>vice versa</i>. + Both parties broke into open threats, and the authorities did not know + where to find the culprit. + </p> + <p> + In the midst of all this Colonel Ghilfuccio was murdered. Here are the + facts, as they were elicited at the official inquiry. On the 2d of August, + 18—, toward nightfall, a woman named Maddalena Pietri, who was + carrying corn to Pietranera, heard two shots fired, very close together, + the reports, as it seemed to her, coming from the deep lane leading to the + village, about a hundred and fifty paces from the spot on which she stood. + Almost immediately afterward she saw a man running, crouching along a + footpath among the vines, and making for the village. The man stopped for + a minute, and turned round, but the distance prevented the woman Pietri + from seeing his features, and besides, he had a vine-leaf in his mouth, + which hid almost the whole of his face. He made a signal with his head to + some comrade, whom the witness could not see, and then disappeared among + the vines. + </p> + <p> + The woman Pietri dropped her burden, ran up the path, and found Colonel + della Rebbia, bathed in his own blood from two bullet wounds, but still + breathing. Close beside him lay his gun, loaded and cocked, as if he had + been defending himself against a person who had attacked him in front, + just when another had struck him from behind. Although the rattle was in + his throat, he struggled against the grip of death, but he could not utter + a word—this the doctors explained by the nature of the wounds, which + had cut through his lungs: the blood was choking him, it flowed slowly, + like red froth. In vain did the woman lift him up, and ask him several + questions. She saw plainly enough that he desired to speak, but he could + not make himself understood. Noticing that he was trying to get his hand + to his pocket, she quickly drew out of it a little note-book, which she + opened and gave to him. + </p> + <p> + The wounded man took the pencil out of the note-book and tried to write. + In fact, the witness saw him form several letters, but with great + difficulty. As she could not read, however, she was unable to understand + their meaning. Exhausted by the effort, the colonel left the note-book in + the woman’s hand, which he squeezed tightly, looking at her strangely, as + if he wanted to say (these are the witness’s own words): “It is important—it + is my murderer’s name!” + </p> + <p> + Maddalena Pietri was going up to the village, when she met Barricini, the + mayor, with his son Vincentello. It was then almost dark. She told them + what she had seen. The mayor took the note-book, hurried up to his house, + put on his sash, and fetched his secretary and the gendarmes. Left alone + with young Vincentello, Maddalena Pietri suggested that he should go to + the colonel’s assistance, in case he was still alive, but Vincentello + replied that if he were to go near a man who had been the bitter enemy of + his family, he would certainly be accused of having killed him. A very + short time afterward the mayor arrived, found the colonel dead, had the + corpse carried away, and drew up his report. + </p> + <p> + In spite of the agitation so natural on such an occasion, Monsieur + Barricini had hastened to place the colonel’s note-book under seal, and to + make all the inquiries in his power, but none of them resulted in any + discovery of importance. + </p> + <p> + When the examining magistrate arrived the note-book was opened, and on a + blood-stained page were seen letters written in a trembling hand, but + still quite legible; the sheet bore the word <i>Agosti</i>—and the + judge did not doubt that the colonel had intended to point out Agostini as + his murderer. Nevertheless, Colomba della Rebbia, who had been summoned by + the magistrate, asked leave to examine the note-book. After turning the + leaves for a few moments, she stretched out her hand toward the mayor and + cried, “There stands the murderer!” Then with a precision and a clearness + which were astonishing, considering the passion of sorrow that shook her, + she related that, a few days previously, her father had received a letter + from his son, which he had burned, but that before doing so he had written + Orso’s address (he had just changed his garrison) in the note-book with + his pencil. Now, his address was no longer in the note-book, and Colomba + concluded that the mayor had torn out the leaf on which it was written, + which probably was that on which her father had traced the murderer’s + name, and for that name the mayor, according to Colomba, had substituted + Agostini’s. The magistrate, in fact, noticed that one sheet was missing + from the quire on which the name was written, but he remarked also that + leaves were likewise missing from other quires in the same note-book, and + certain witnesses testified that the colonel had a habit of tearing out + pages when he wanted to light a cigar—therefore nothing was more + probable than that, by an oversight, he had burned the address he had + copied. Further, it was shown that the mayor could not have read the + note-book on receiving it from Maddalena Pietri, on account of the + darkness, and it was proved that he had not stopped an instant before he + went into his house, that the sergeant of the gendarmes had gone there + with him, and had seen him light a lamp and put the note-book into an + envelope which he had sealed before his eyes. + </p> + <p> + When this officer had concluded his deposition, Colomba, half-distracted, + cast herself at his feet, and besought him, by all he held most sacred, to + say whether he had not left the mayor alone for a single moment. After a + certain amount of hesitation, the man, who was evidently affected by the + young girl’s excitement, admitted that he had gone into the next room to + fetch a sheet of foolscap, but that he had not been away a minute, and + that the mayor had talked to him all the time he was groping for the paper + in a drawer. Moreover, he deposed that when he came back the blood-stained + note-book was still on the table, in the very place where the mayor had + thrown it when he first came in. + </p> + <p> + Monsieur Barricini gave his evidence with the utmost coolness. He made + allowances, he said, for Mademoiselle della Rebbia’s excitement, and was + ready to condescend to justify himself. He proved that he had spent his + whole evening in the village, that his son Vincentello had been with him + in front of the house at the moment when the crime was committed, and that + his son Orlanduccio, who had had an attack of fever that very day, had + never left his bed. He produced every gun in his house, and not one of + them had been recently discharged. He added, that, as regarded the + note-book, he had at once realized its importance; that he had sealed it + up, and placed it in the hands of his deputy, foreseeing that he himself + might be suspected, on account of his quarrel with the colonel. Finally, + he reminded the court that Agostini had threatened to kill the man who had + written a letter in his name, and he insinuated that this ruffian had + probably suspected the colonel, and murdered him. Such a vengeance, for a + similar reason, is by no means unprecedented in the history of brigandage. + </p> + <p> + Five days after Colonel della Rebbia’s death, Agostini was surprised by a + detachment of riflemen, and killed, fighting desperately to the last. On + his person was found a letter from Colomba, beseeching him to declare + whether he was guilty of the murder imputed to him, or not. As the bandit + had sent no answer, it was pretty generally concluded that he had not the + courage to tell a daughter he had murdered her father. Yet those who + claimed to know Agostini’s nature thoroughly, whispered that if he had + killed the colonel, he would have boasted of the deed. Another bandit, + known by the name of Brandolaccio, sent Colomba a declaration in which he + bore witness “on his honour” to his comrade’s innocence—but the only + proof he put forward was that Agostini had never told him that he + suspected the colonel. + </p> + <p> + The upshot was that the Barricini suffered no inconvenience, the examining + magistrate was loud in his praise of the mayor, and the mayor, on his + side, crowned his handsome behaviour by relinquishing all his claims over + the stream, concerning which he had brought the lawsuit against Colonel + della Rebbia. + </p> + <p> + According to the custom of her country, Colomba improvised a <i>ballata</i> + in presence of her father’s corpse, and before his assembled friends. In + it she poured out all her hatred against the Barricini, formally charged + them with the murder, and threatened them with her brother’s vengeance. It + was this same <i>ballata</i>, which had grown very popular, that the + sailor had sung before Miss Lydia. When Orso, who was in the north of + France, heard of his father’s death, he applied for leave, but failed to + obtain it. A letter from his sister led him to believe at first in the + guilt of the Barricini, but he soon received copies of all the documents + connected with the inquiry and a private letter from the judge, which + almost convinced him that the bandit Agostini was the only culprit. Every + three months Colomba had written to him, reiterating her suspicions, which + she called her “proofs.” In spite of himself, these accusations made his + Corsican blood boil, and sometimes he was very near sharing his sister’s + prejudices. Nevertheless, every time he wrote to her he repeated his + conviction that her allegations possessed no solid foundation, and were + quite unworthy of belief. He even forbade her, but always vainly, to + mention them to him again. + </p> + <p> + Thus two years went by. At the end of that time Orso was placed on + half-pay, and then it occurred to him to go back to his own country—not + at all for the purpose of taking vengeance on people whom he believed + innocent, but to arrange a marriage for his sister, and the sale of his + own small property—if its value should prove sufficient to enable + him to live on the Continent. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII + </h2> + <p> + Whether it was that the arrival of his sister had reminded Orso forcibly + of his paternal home, or that Colomba’s unconventional dress and manners + made him feel shy before his civilized friends, he announced, the very + next day, his determination to leave Ajaccio, and to return to Pietranera. + But he made the colonel promise that when he went to Bastia he would come + and stay in his modest manor-house, and undertook, in return, to provide + him with plenty of buck, pheasant, boar, and other game. + </p> + <p> + On the day before that of his departure Orso proposed that, instead of + going out shooting, they should all take a walk along the shores of the + gulf. With Miss Lydia on his arm he was able to talk in perfect freedom—for + Colomba had stayed in the town to do her shopping, and the colonel was + perpetually leaving the young people to fire shots at sea-gulls and + gannets, greatly to the astonishment of the passers-by, who could not + conceive why any man should waste his powder on such paltry game. + </p> + <p> + They were walking along the path leading to the Greek Chapel, which + commands the finest view to be had of the bay, but they paid no attention + to it. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Lydia,” said Orso, after a silence which had lasted long enough to + become embarrassing, “tell me frankly, what do you think of my sister?” + </p> + <p> + “I like her very much,” answered Miss Nevil. “Better than you,” she added, + with a smile; “for she is a true Corsican, and you are rather too + civilized a savage!” + </p> + <p> + “Too civilized! Well, in spite of myself, I feel that I am growing a + savage again, since I have set my foot on the island! A thousand horrid + thoughts disturb and torment me, and I wanted to talk with you a little + before I plunge into my desert!” + </p> + <p> + “You must be brave, monsieur! Look at your sister’s resignation; she sets + you an example!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! do not be deceived! Do not believe in her resignation. She has not + said a word to me as yet, but every look of hers tells me what she expects + of me.” + </p> + <p> + “What does she expect of you, then?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, nothing! Except that I should try whether your father’s gun will kill + a man as surely as it kills a partridge.” + </p> + <p> + “What an idea! You can actually believe that, when you have just + acknowledged that she has said nothing to you yet? It really is too + dreadful of you!” + </p> + <p> + “If her thoughts were not fixed on vengeance, she would have spoken to me + at once about our father; she has never done it. She would have mentioned + the names of those she considers—wrongly, I know—to be his + murderers. But no; not a word! That is because we Corsicans, you see, are + a cunning race. My sister realizes that she does not hold me completely in + her power, and she does not choose to startle me while I may still escape + her. Once she has led me to the edge of the precipice, and once I turn + giddy there, she will thrust me into the abyss.” + </p> + <p> + Then Orso gave Miss Nevil some details of his father’s death, and + recounted the principal proofs which had culminated in his belief that + Agostini was the assassin. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing,” he added, “has been able to convince Colomba. I saw that by her + last letter. She has sworn the Barricini shall die, and—you see, + Miss Nevil, what confidence I have in you!—they would not be alive + now, perhaps, if one of the prejudices for which her uncivilized education + must be the excuse had not convinced her that the execution of this + vengeance belongs to me, as head of her family, and that my honour depends + upon it!” + </p> + <p> + “Really and truly, Monsieur della Rebbia!” said Miss Nevil, “you slander + your sister!” + </p> + <p> + “No. As you have said it yourself, she is a Corsican; she thinks as they + all think. Do you know why I was so sad yesterday?” + </p> + <p> + “No. But for some time past you have been subject to these fits of + sadness. You were much pleasanter in the earlier days of our + acquaintance.” + </p> + <p> + “Yesterday, on the contrary, I was more cheery and happy than I generally + am. I had seen how kind, how indulgent, you were to my sister. The colonel + and I were coming home in a boat. Do you know what one of the boatmen said + to me in his infernal <i>patois</i>? ‘You’ve killed a deal of game, Ors’ + Anton’, but you’ll find Orlanduccio Barricini a better shot than you!’” + </p> + <p> + “Well, what was there so very dreadful in that remark? Are you so very + much set upon being considered a skilful sportsman?” + </p> + <p> + “But don’t you see the ruffian was telling me I shouldn’t have courage to + kill Orlanduccio!” + </p> + <p> + “Do you know, M. della Rebbia, you frighten me! The air of this island of + yours seems not only to give people fevers, but to drive them mad. Luckily + we shall be leaving it soon!” + </p> + <p> + “Not without coming to Pietranera—you have promised my sister that.” + </p> + <p> + “And if we were to fail in that promise, we should bring down some + terrible vengeance on our heads, no doubt!” + </p> + <p> + “Do you remember that story your father was telling us, the other day, + about the Indians who threatened the company’s agents that, if they would + not grant their prayer, they would starve themselves to death?” + </p> + <p> + “That means that you would starve yourself to death! I doubt it very much! + You would go hungry for one day and then Mademoiselle Colomba would bring + you such a tempting <i>bruccio</i>[*] that you would quite relinquish your + plan.” + </p> + <p> + [*] A sort of baked cream cheese, a national dish in Corsica. + </p> + <p> + “Your jests are cruel, Miss Nevil. You might spare me. Listen, I am alone + here; I have no one but you to prevent me from going mad, as you call it. + You have been my guardian angel, and now——!” + </p> + <p> + “Now,” said Miss Lydia gravely, “to steady this reason of yours, which is + so easily shaken, you have the honour of a soldier and a man, and,” she + added, turning away to pluck a flower, “if that will be any help to you, + you have the memory of your guardian angel, too!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Miss Nevil, if I could only think you really take some interest!” + </p> + <p> + “Listen, M. della Rebbia,” said Miss Nevil, with some emotion. “As you are + a child, I will treat you as I would treat a child. When I was a little + girl my mother gave me a beautiful necklace, which I had longed for + greatly; but she said to me, ‘Every time you put on this necklace, + remember you do not know French yet.’ The necklace lost some of its value + in my eyes, it was a source of constant self-reproach. But I wore it, and + in the end I knew French. Do you see this ring? It is an Egyptian + scarabaeus, found, if you please, in a pyramid. That strange figure, which + you may perhaps take for a bottle, stands for ‘<i>human life</i>.’ There + are certain people in my country to whom this hieroglyphic should appear + exceedingly appropriate. This, which comes after it, is a shield upon an + arm, holding a lance; that means ‘<i>struggle</i>, <i>battle</i>.’ Thus + the two characters, together, form this motto, which strikes me as a fine + one, ‘<i>Life is a battle</i>.’ Pray do not fancy I can translate + hieroglyphics at sight! It was a man learned in such matters who explained + these to me. Here, I will give you my scarabaeus. Whenever you feel some + wicked Corsican thought stir in you, look at my talisman, and tell + yourself you must win the battle our evil passions wage against us. Why, + really, I don’t preach at all badly!” + </p> + <p> + “I shall think of you, Miss Nevil, and I shall say to myself——” + </p> + <p> + “Say to yourself you have a friend who would be in despair at the idea of + your being hanged—and besides it would be too distressing for your + ancestors the corporals!” + </p> + <p> + With these words she dropped Orso’s arm, laughing and running to her + father. + </p> + <p> + “Papa,” she said, “do leave those poor birds alone, and come and make up + poetry with us, in Napoleon’s grotto!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII + </h2> + <p> + There is always a certain solemnity about a departure, even when the + separation is only to be a short one. Orso and his sister were to start + very early in the morning, and he had taken his leave of Miss Lydia the + night before—for he had no hope that she would disturb her indolent + habits on his account. Their farewells had been cold and grave. Since that + conversation on the sea-shore, Miss Lydia had been afraid she had perhaps + shown too strong an interest in Orso, and on the other hand, her jests, + and more especially her careless tone, lay heavy on Orso’s heart. At one + moment he had thought the young Englishwoman’s manner betrayed a budding + feeling of affection, but now, put out of countenance by her jests, he + told himself she only looked on him as a mere acquaintance, who would be + soon forgotten. Great, therefore, was his surprise, next morning, when, as + he sat at coffee with the colonel, he saw Miss Lydia come into the room, + followed by his sister. She had risen at five o’clock, and for an + Englishwoman, and especially for Miss Nevil, the effort was so great that + it could not but give him some cause for vanity. + </p> + <p> + “I am so sorry you should have disturbed yourself so early,” said Orso. + “No doubt my sister woke you up in spite of my injunctions, and you must + hate us heartily! Perhaps you wish I was hanged already!” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Miss Lydia, very low and in Italian, evidently so that her + father might not hear her, “but you were somewhat sulky with me yesterday, + because of my innocent jokes, and I would not have you carry away an + unpleasant recollection of your humble servant. What terrible people you + are, you Corsicans! Well, good-bye! We shall meet soon, I hope.” + </p> + <p> + And she held out her hand. + </p> + <p> + A sigh was the only answer Orso could find. Colomba came to his side, led + him into a window, and spoke to him for a moment in an undertone, showing + him something she held under her <i>mezzaro</i>. + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle,” said Orso to Miss Nevil, “my sister is anxious to give you + a very odd present, but we Corsicans have not much to offer—except + our affection—which time never wipes out. My sister tells me you + have looked with some curiosity at this dagger. It is an ancient + possession in our family. It probably hung, once upon a time, at the belt + of one of those corporals, to whom I owe the honour of your acquaintance. + Colomba thinks it so precious that she has asked my leave to give it to + you, and I hardly know if I ought to grant it, for I am afraid you’ll + laugh at us!” + </p> + <p> + “The dagger is beautiful,” said Miss Lydia. “But it is a family weapon, I + can not accept it!” + </p> + <p> + “It’s not my father’s dagger,” exclaimed Colomba eagerly; “it was given to + one of mother’s ancestors by King Theodore. If the signorina will accept + it, she will give us great pleasure.” + </p> + <p> + “Come, Miss Lydia,” said Orso, “don’t scorn a king’s dagger!” + </p> + <p> + To a collector, relics of King Theodore are infinitely more precious than + those of the most powerful of monarchs. The temptation was a strong one, + and already Miss Lydia could see the effect the weapon would produce laid + out on a lacquered table in her room at St. James’s Place. + </p> + <p> + “But,” said she, taking the dagger with the hesitating air of one who + longs to accept, and casting one of her most delightful smiles on Colomba, + “dear Signorina Colomba . . . I can not . . . I should not dare to let you + depart thus, unarmed.” + </p> + <p> + “My brother is with me,” said Colomba proudly, “and we have the good gun + your father has given us. Orso, have you put a bullet in it?” + </p> + <p> + Miss Nevil kept the dagger, and to avert the danger consequent on <i>giving</i> + instruments that cut or pierce to a friend, Colomba insisted on receiving + a soldo in payment. + </p> + <p> + A start had to be made at last. Yet once again Orso pressed Miss Nevil’s + hand, Colomba kissed her, and then held up her rosy lips to the colonel, + who was enchanted with this Corsican politeness. From the window of the + drawing-room Miss Lydia watched the brother and sister mount their horses. + Colomba’s eyes shone with a malignant joy which she had never remarked in + them before. The sight of this tall strong creature, with her fanatical + ideas of savage honour, pride written on her forehead, and curled in a + sardonic smile upon her lips, carrying off the young man with his weapons, + as though on some death-dealing errand, recalled Orso’s fears to her, and + she fancied she beheld his evil genius dragging him to his ruin. Orso, who + was already in the saddle, raised his head and caught sight of her. Either + because he had guessed her thought, or desired to send her a last + farewell, he took the Egyptian ring, which he had hung upon a ribbon, and + carried it to his lips. Blushing, Miss Lydia stepped back from the window, + then returning to it almost at once, she saw the two Corsicans cantering + their little ponies rapidly toward the mountains. Half an hour later the + colonel showed them to her, through his glasses, riding along the end of + the bay, and she noticed that Orso constantly turned his head toward the + town. At last he disappeared behind the marshes, the site of which is now + filled by a flourishing nursery garden. + </p> + <p> + Miss Lydia glanced at herself in the glass, and thought she looked pale. + </p> + <p> + “What must that young man think of me,” said she, “and what did I think of + him? And why did I think about him? . . . A travelling acquaintance! . . . + What have I come to Corsica for? . . . Oh! I don’t care for him! . . . No! + no! and besides the thing is impossible . . . And Colomba . . . Fancy me + sister-in-law to a <i>voceratrice</i>, who wears a big dagger!” + </p> + <p> + And she noticed she was still holding King Theodore’s dagger in her hand. + She tossed it on to her toilette table. “Colomba, in London, dancing at + Almacks! . . . Good heavens! what a lion[*] that would be, to show off! . + . . Perhaps she’d make a great sensation! . . . He loves me, I’m certain + of it! He is the hero of a novel, and I have interrupted his adventurous + career. . . . But did he really long to avenge his father in true Corsican + fashion? . . . He was something between a Conrad and a dandy . . . I’ve + turned him into nothing but a dandy! . . . And a dandy with a Corsican + tailor! . . .” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + [*] At this period this name was used in England for people + who were the fashion because they had something + extraordinary about them. +</pre> + <p> + She threw herself on her bed, and tried to sleep—but that proved an + impossibility, and I will not undertake to continue her soliloquy, during + which she declared, more than a hundred times over, that Signor della + Rebbia had not been, was not, and never should be, anything to her. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX + </h2> + <p> + Meanwhile Orso was riding along beside his sister. At first the speed at + which their horses moved prevented all conversation, but when the hills + grew so steep that they were obliged to go at a foot’s pace, they began to + exchange a few words about the friends from whom they had just parted. + Colomba spoke with admiration of Miss Nevil’s beauty, of her golden hair, + and charming ways. Then she asked whether the colonel was really as rich + as he appeared, and whether Miss Lydia was his only child. + </p> + <p> + “She would be a good match,” said she. “Her father seems to have a great + liking for you——” + </p> + <p> + And as Orso made no response, she added: “Our family was rich, in days + gone by. It is still one of the most respected in the island. All these <i>signori</i> + about us are bastards. The only noble blood left is in the families of the + corporals, and as you know, Orso, your ancestors were the chief corporals + in the island. You know our family came from beyond the hills, and it was + the civil wars that forced us over to this side. If I were you, Orso, I + shouldn’t hesitate—I should ask Colonel Nevil for his daughter’s + hand.” Orso shrugged his shoulders. “With her fortune, you might buy the + Falsetta woods, and the vineyards below ours. I would build a fine stone + house, and add a story to the old tower in which Sambucuccio killed so + many Moors in the days of Count Henry, <i>il bel Missere</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “Colomba, you’re talking nonsense,” said Orso, cantering forward. + </p> + <p> + “You are a man, Ors’ Anton’, and of course you know what you ought to do + better than any woman. But I should very much like to know what objection + that Englishman could have to the marriage. Are there any corporals in + England?” + </p> + <p> + After a somewhat lengthy ride, spent in talking in this fashion, the + brother and sister reached a little village, not far from Bocognano, where + they halted to dine and sleep at a friend’s house. They were welcomed with + a hospitality which must be experienced before it can be appreciated. The + next morning, their host, who had stood godfather to a child to whom + Madame della Rebbia had been godmother, accompanied them a league beyond + his house. + </p> + <p> + “Do you see those woods and thickets?” said he to Orso, just as they were + parting. “A man who had met with a misfortune might live there peacefully + for ten years, and no gendarme or soldier would ever come to look for him. + The woods run into the Vizzavona forest, and anybody who had friends at + Bocognano or in the neighbourhood would want for nothing. That’s a good + gun you have there. It must carry a long way. Blood of the Madonna! What + calibre! You might kill better game than boars with it!” + </p> + <p> + Orso answered, coldly, that his gun was of English make, and carried “the + lead” a long distance. The friends embraced, and took their different + ways. + </p> + <p> + Our travellers were drawing quite close to Pietranera, when, at the + entrance of a little gorge, through which they had to pass, they beheld + seven or eight men, armed with guns, some sitting on stones, others lying + on the grass, others standing up, and seemingly on the lookout. Their + horses were grazing a little way off. Colomba looked at them for a moment, + through a spy-glass which she took out of one of the large leathern + pockets all Corsicans wear when on a journey. + </p> + <p> + “Those are our men!” she cried, with a well-pleased air. “Pieruccio had + done his errand well!” + </p> + <p> + “What men?” inquired Orso. + </p> + <p> + “Our herdsmen,” she replied. “I sent Pieruccio off yesterday evening to + call the good fellows together, so that they may attend you home. It would + not do for you to enter Pietranera without an escort, and besides, you + must know the Barricini are capable of anything!” + </p> + <p> + “Colomba,” said Orso, and his tone was severe, “I have asked you, over and + over again, not to mention the Barricini and your groundless suspicions to + me. I shall certainly not make myself ridiculous by riding home with all + these loafers behind me, and I am very angry with you for having sent for + them without telling me.” + </p> + <p> + “Brother, you have forgotten the ways of your own country. It is my + business to protect you, when your own imprudence exposes you to danger. + It was my duty to do what I have done.” + </p> + <p> + Just at that moment the herdsmen, who had caught sight of them, hastened + to their horses, and galloped down the hill to meet them. + </p> + <p> + “Evvviva Ors’ Anton’!” shouted a brawny, white-bearded old fellow, + wrapped, despite the heat, in a hooded cloak of Corsican cloth, thicker + than the skins of his own goats. “The image of his father, only taller and + stronger! What a splendid gun! There’ll be talk about that gun, Ors’ + Anton’!” + </p> + <p> + “Evvviva Ors’ Anton’!” chorused the herdsmen. “We were sure you’d come + back, at last!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Ors’ Anton’!” cried a tall fellow, with a skin tanned brick red. “How + happy your father would be, if he were here to welcome you! The dear, good + man! You would have seen him now, if he would have listened to me—if + he would have let me settle Guidice’s business! . . . But he wouldn’t + listen to me, poor fellow! He knows I was right, now!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, well!” said the old man. “Guidice will lose nothing by waiting.” + </p> + <p> + “Evvviva Ors’ Anton’!” And the reports of a dozen guns capped the plaudit. + </p> + <p> + Very much put out, Orso sat in the midst of the group of mounted men, all + talking at once, and crowding round to shake hands with him. For some time + he could not make himself heard. At last, with the air he put on when he + used to reprimand the men of his company, or send one of them to the + guard-room, he said: + </p> + <p> + “I thank you, friends, for the affection you show for me, and for that + which you felt for my father! But I do not want advice from any of you, + and you must not offer it. I know my own duty.” + </p> + <p> + “He’s right! He’s right!” cried the herdsmen. “You know you may reckon on + us!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I do reckon on you. But at this moment I need no help, and no + personal danger threatens me. Now face round at once, and be off with you + to your goats. I know my way to Pietranera, and I want no guides.” + </p> + <p> + “Fear nothing, Ors’ Anton’,” said the old man. “They would never dare to + show their noses to-day. The mouse runs back to its hole when the tom-cat + comes out!” + </p> + <p> + “Tom-cat yourself, old gray-beard!” said Orso. “What’s your name?” + </p> + <p> + “What! don’t you remember me, Ors’ Anton’? I who have so often taken you + up behind me on that biting mule of mine! You don’t remember Polo Griffo? + I’m an honest fellow, though, and with the della Rebbia, body and soul. + Say but the word, and when that big gun of yours speaks, this old musket + of mine, as old as its master, shall not be dumb. Be sure of that, Ors’ + Anton’!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, well! But be off with you now, in the devil’s name, and let us go + on our way!” + </p> + <p> + At last the herdsmen departed, trotting rapidly off toward the village, + but they stopped every here and there, at all the highest spots on the + road, as though they were looking out for some hidden ambuscade, always + keeping near enough to Orso and his sister to be able to come to their + assistance if necessary. And old Polo Griffo said to his comrades: + </p> + <p> + “I understand him! I understand him! He’ll not say what he means to do, + but he’ll do it! He’s the born image of his father. Ah! you may say you + have no spite against any one, my boy! But you’ve made your vow to Saint + Nega.[*] Bravo! I wouldn’t give a fig for the mayor’s hide—there + won’t be the makings of a wineskin in it before the month is out!” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + [*] This saint is not mentioned in the calendar. To make a + vow to Saint Nega means to deny everything deliberately. +</pre> + <p> + Preceded by this troop of skirmishers, the last descendant of the della + Rebbia entered the village, and proceeded to the old mansion of his + forefathers, the corporals. The Rebbianites, who had long been leaderless, + had gathered to welcome him, and those dwellers in the village who + observed a neutral line of conduct all came to their doorsteps to see him + pass by. The adherents of the Barricini remained inside their houses, and + peeped out of the slits in their shutters. + </p> + <p> + The village of Pietranera is very irregularly built, like most Corsican + villages—for indeed, to see a street, the traveller must betake + himself to Cargese, which was built by Monsieur de Marboeuf. The houses, + scattered irregularly about, without the least attempt at orderly + arrangement, cover the top of a small plateau, or rather of a ridge of the + mountain. Toward the centre of the village stands a great evergreen oak, + and close beside it may be seen a granite trough, into which the water of + a neighbouring spring is conveyed by a wooden pipe. This monument of + public utility was constructed at the common expense of the della Rebbia + and Barricini families. But the man who imagined this to be a sign of + former friendship between the two families would be sorely mistaken. On + the contrary, it is the outcome of their mutual jealousy. Once upon a + time, Colonel della Rebbia sent a small sum of money to the Municipal + Council of his commune to help to provide a fountain. The lawyer Barricini + hastened to forward a similar gift, and to this generous strife Pietranera + owes its water supply. Round about the evergreen oak and the fountain + there is a clear space, known as “the Square,” on which the local idlers + gather every night. Sometimes they play at cards, and once a year, in + Carnival-time, they dance. At the two ends of the square stands two + edifices, of greater height than breadth, built of a mixture of granite + and schist. These are the <i>Towers</i> of the two opposing families, the + Barricini and the della Rebbia. Their architecture is exactly alike, their + height is similar, and it is quite evident that the rivalry of the two + families has never been absolutely decided by any stroke of fortune in + favor of either. + </p> + <p> + It may perhaps be well to explain what should be understood by this word, + “Tower.” It is a square building, some forty feet in height, which in any + other country would be simply described as a pigeon-house. A narrow + entrance-door, eight feet above the level of the ground, is reached by a + very steep flight of steps. Above the door is a window, in front of which + runs a sort of balcony, the floor of which is pierced with openings, like + a machicolation, through which the inhabitants may destroy an unwelcome + visitor without any danger to themselves. Between the window and the door + are two escutcheons, roughly carved. One of these bears what was + originally a Genoese cross, now so battered that nobody but an antiquary + could recognise it. On the other are chiselled the arms of the family to + whom the Tower belongs. If the reader will complete this scheme of + decoration by imagining several bullet marks on the escutcheons and on the + window frames, he will have a fair idea of a Corsican mansion, dating from + the middle ages. I had forgotten to add that the dwelling-house adjoins + the tower, and is frequently connected with it by some interior passage. + </p> + <p> + The della Rebbia house and tower stand on the northern side of the square + at Pietranera. The Barricini house and tower are on the southern side. + Since the colonel’s wife had been buried, no member of either family had + ever been seen on any side of the square, save that assigned by tacit + agreement to its own party. Orso was about to ride past the mayor’s house + when his sister checked him, and suggested his turning down a lane that + would take them to their own dwelling without crossing the square at all. + </p> + <p> + “Why should we go out of our way?” said Orso. “Doesn’t the square belong + to everybody?” and he rode on. + </p> + <p> + “Brave heart!” murmured Colomba. “. . . My father! you will be avenged!” + </p> + <p> + When they reached the square, Colomba put herself between her brother and + the Barricini mansion, and her eyes never left her enemy’s windows. She + noticed that they had been lately barricaded and provided with <i>archere</i>. + <i>Archere</i> is the name given to narrow openings like loopholes, made + between the big logs of wood used to close up the lower parts of the + windows. When an onslaught is expected, this sort of barricade is used, + and from behind the logs the attacked party can fire at its assailants + with ease and safety. + </p> + <p> + “The cowards!” said Colomba. “Look, brother, they have begun to protect + themselves! They have put up barricades! But some day or other they’ll + have to come out.” + </p> + <p> + Orso’s presence on the southern side of the square made a great sensation + at Pietranera, and was taken to be a proof of boldness savouring of + temerity. It was subject of endless comment on the part of the neutrals, + when they gathered around the evergreen oak, that night. + </p> + <p> + “It is a good thing,” they said, “that Barricini’s sons are not back yet, + for they are not so patient as the lawyer, and very likely they would not + have let their enemy set his foot on their ground without making him pay + for his bravado.” + </p> + <p> + “Remember what I am telling you, neighbour,” said an old man, the village + oracle. “I watched Colomba’s face to-day. She had some idea in her head. I + smell powder in the air. Before long, butcher’s meat will be cheap in + Pietranera!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X + </h2> + <p> + Orso had been parted from his father at so early an age that he had + scarcely had time to know him. He had left Pietranera to pursue his + studies at Pisa when he was only fifteen. Thence he had passed into the + military school, and Ghilfuccio, meanwhile, was bearing the Imperial + Eagles all over Europe. On the mainland, Orso only saw his father at rare + intervals, and it was not until 1815 that he found himself in the regiment + he commanded. But the colonel, who was an inflexible disciplinarian, + treated his son just like any other sub-lieutenant—in other words, + with great severity. Orso’s memories of him were of two kinds: He + recollected him, at Pietranera, as the father who would trust him with his + sword, and would let him fire off his gun when he came in from a shooting + expedition, or who made him sit down, for the first time, tiny urchin as + he was, at the family dinner-table. Then he remembered the Colonel della + Rebbia who would put him under arrest for some blunder, and who never + called him anything but Lieutenant della Rebbia. + </p> + <p> + “Lieutenant della Rebbia, you are not in your right place on parade. You + will be confined to barracks three days.” + </p> + <p> + “Your skirmishers are five yards too far from your main body—five + days in barracks.” + </p> + <p> + “It is five minutes past noon, and you are still in your forage-cap—a + week in barracks.” + </p> + <p> + Only once, at Quatre-Bras, he had said to him, “Well done, Orso! But be + cautious!” + </p> + <p> + But, after all, these later memories were not connected in his mind with + Pietranera. The sight of the places so familiar to him in his childish + days, of the furniture he had seen used by his mother, to whom he had been + fondly attached, filled his soul with a host of tender and painful + emotions. Then the gloomy future that lay before him, the vague anxiety he + felt about his sister, and, above all other things, the thought that Miss + Nevil was coming to his house, which now struck him as being so small, so + poor, so unsuited to a person accustomed to luxury—the idea that she + might possibly despise it—all these feelings made his brain a chaos, + and filled him with a sense of deep discouragement. + </p> + <p> + At supper he sat in the great oaken chair, blackened with age, in which + his father had always presided at the head of the family table, and he + smiled when he saw that Colomba hesitated to sit down with him. But he was + grateful to her for her silence during the meal, and for her speedy + retirement afterward. For he felt he was too deeply moved to be able to + resist the attack she was no doubt preparing to make upon him. Colomba, + however, was dealing warily with him, and meant to give him time to + collect himself. He sat for a long time motionless, with his head on his + hand, thinking over the scenes of the last fortnight of his life. He saw, + with alarm, how every one seemed to be watching what would be his + behaviour to the Barricini. Already he began to perceive that the opinion + of Pietranera was beginning to be the opinion of all the world to him. He + would have to avenge himself, or be taken for a coward! But on whom was he + to take vengeance? He could not believe the Barricini to be guilty of + murder. They were his family enemies, certainly, but only the vulgar + prejudice of his fellow-countrymen could accuse them of being murderers. + Sometimes he would look at Miss Nevil’s talisman, and whisper the motto + “Life is a battle!” over to himself. At last, in a resolute voice, he + said, “I will win it!” Strong in that thought, he rose to his feet, took + up the lamp, and was just going up to his room, when he heard a knock at + the door of the house. It was a very unusual hour for any visitor to + appear. Colomba instantly made her appearance, followed by the woman who + acted as their servant. + </p> + <p> + “It’s nothing!” she said, hurrying to the door. + </p> + <p> + Yet before she opened it she inquired who knocked. A gentle voice + answered, “It is I.” + </p> + <p> + Instantly the wooden bar across the door was withdrawn, and Colomba + reappeared in the dining-room, followed by a little ragged, bare-footed + girl of about ten years old, her head bound with a shabby kerchief, from + which escaped long locks of hair, as black as the raven’s wing. The child + was thin and pale, her skin was sunburnt, but her eyes shone with + intelligence. When she saw Orso she stopped shyly, and courtesied to him, + peasant fashion—then she said something in an undertone to Colomba, + and gave her a freshly killed pheasant. + </p> + <p> + “Thanks, Chili,” said Colomba. “Thank your uncle for me. Is he well?” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, signorina, at your service. I couldn’t come sooner because he + was late. I waited for him in the <i>maquis</i> for three hours.” + </p> + <p> + “And you’ve had no supper?” + </p> + <p> + “Why no, signorina! I’ve not had time.” + </p> + <p> + “You shall have some supper here. Has your uncle any bread left?” + </p> + <p> + “Very little, signorina. But what he is most short of is powder. Now the + chestnuts are in, the only other thing he wants is powder.” + </p> + <p> + “I will give you a loaf for him, and some powder, too. Tell him to use it + sparingly—it is very dear.” + </p> + <p> + “Colomba,” said Orso in French, “on whom are you bestowing your charity?” + </p> + <p> + “On a poor bandit belonging to this village,” replied Colomba in the same + language. “This little girl is his niece.” + </p> + <p> + “It strikes me you might place your gifts better. Why should you send + powder to a ruffian who will use it to commit crimes? But for the + deplorable weakness every one here seems to have for the bandits, they + would have disappeared out of Corsica long ago.” + </p> + <p> + “The worst men in our country are not those who are ‘in the country.’” + </p> + <p> + “Give them bread, if it so please you. But I will not have you supply them + with ammunition.” + </p> + <p> + “Brother,” said Colomba, in a serious voice, “you are master here, and + everything in this house belongs to you. But I warn you that I will give + this little girl my <i>mezzaro</i>, so that she may sell it; rather than + refuse powder to a bandit. Refuse to give him powder! I might just as well + make him over to the gendarmes! What has he to protect him against them, + except his cartridges?” + </p> + <p> + All this while the little girl was ravenously devouring a bit of bread, + and carefully watching Colomba and her brother, turn about, trying to read + the meaning of what they were saying in their eyes. + </p> + <p> + “And what has this bandit of yours done? What crime has driven him into + the <i>maquis</i>?” + </p> + <p> + “Brandolaccio has not committed any crime,” exclaimed Colomba. “He killed + Giovan’ Oppizo, who murdered his father while he was away serving in the + army!” + </p> + <p> + Orso turned away his head, took up the lamp, and, without a word, departed + to his bedroom. Then Colomba gave the child food and gunpowder, and went + with her as far as the house-door, saying over and over again: + </p> + <p> + “Mind your uncle takes good care of Orso!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI + </h2> + <p> + It was long before Orso fell asleep, and as a consequence he woke late—late + for a Corsican, at all events. When he left his bed, the first object that + struck his gaze was the house of his enemies, and the <i>archere</i> with + which they had furnished it. He went downstairs and asked for his sister. + </p> + <p> + “She is in the kitchen, melting bullets,” answered Saveria, the + woman-servant. + </p> + <p> + So he could not take a step without being pursued by the image of war. + </p> + <p> + He found Colomba sitting on a stool, surrounded by freshly cast bullets, + and cutting up strips of lead. + </p> + <p> + “What the devil are you doing?” inquired her brother. + </p> + <p> + “You had no bullets for the colonel’s gun,” she answered, in her soft + voice. “I found I had a mould for that calibre, and you shall have + four-and-twenty cartridges to-day, brother.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t need them, thank God!” + </p> + <p> + “You mustn’t be taken at a disadvantage, Ors’ Anton’. You have forgotten + your country, and the people who are about you.” + </p> + <p> + “If I had forgotten, you would soon have reminded me. Tell me, did not a + big trunk arrive here some days ago?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, brother. Shall I take it up to your room?” + </p> + <p> + “You take it up! Why, you’d never be strong enough even to lift it! . . . + Is there no man about who can do it?” + </p> + <p> + “I’m not so weak as you think!” said Colomba, turning up her sleeves, and + displaying a pair of round white arms, perfect in shape, but looking more + than ordinarily strong. “Here, Saveria,” said she to the servant; “come + and help me!” + </p> + <p> + She was already lifting the trunk alone, when Orso came hastily to her + assistance. + </p> + <p> + “There is something for you in this trunk, my dear Colomba,” said he. “You + must excuse the modesty of my gifts. A lieutenant on half-pay hasn’t a + very well-lined purse!” + </p> + <p> + As he spoke, he opened the trunk, and took out of it a few gowns, a shawl, + and some other things likely to be useful to a young girl. + </p> + <p> + “What beautiful things!” cried Colomba. “I’ll put them away at once, for + fear they should be spoiled. I’ll keep them for my wedding,” she added, + with a sad smile, “for I am in mourning now!” + </p> + <p> + And she kissed her brother’s hand. + </p> + <p> + “It looks affected, my dear sister, to wear your mourning for so long.” + </p> + <p> + “I have sworn an oath,” said Colomba resolutely, “I’ll not take off my + mourning. . . .” And her eyes were riveted on the Barricini mansion. + </p> + <p> + “Until your wedding day?” said Orso, trying to avoid the end of her + sentence. + </p> + <p> + “I shall never marry any man,” said Colomba, “unless he has done three + things . . .” And her eyes still rested gloomily on the house of the + enemy. + </p> + <p> + “You are so pretty, Colomba, that I wonder you are not married already! + Come, you must tell me about your suitors. And besides, I’m sure to hear + their serenades. They must be good ones to please a great <i>voceratrice</i> + like you.” + </p> + <p> + “Who would seek the hand of a poor orphan girl? . . . And then, the man + for whom I would change my mourning-dress will have to make the women over + there put on mourning!” + </p> + <p> + “This is becoming a perfect mania,” said Orso to himself. But to avoid + discussion he said nothing at all. + </p> + <p> + “Brother,” said Colomba caressingly, “I have something to give you, too. + The clothes you are wearing are much too grand for this country. Your fine + cloth frock-coat would be in tatters in two days, if you wore it in the <i>maquis</i>. + You must keep it for the time when Miss Nevil comes.” + </p> + <p> + Then, opening a cupboard, she took out a complete hunting dress. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve made you a velvet jacket, and here’s a cap, such as our smart young + men wear. I embroidered it for you, ever so long ago. Will you try them + on?” And she made him put on a loose green velvet jacket, with a huge + pocket at the back. On his head she set a pointed black velvet cap, + embroidered with jet and silk of the same colour, and finished with a sort + of tassel. + </p> + <p> + “Here is our father’s <i>carchera</i>”[*] she said. “His stiletto is in + the pocket of the jacket. I’ll fetch you his pistol.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + [*] Carchera, a belt for cartridges. A pistol is worn + fastened to the left side of it. +</pre> + <p> + “I look like a brigand at the Ambigu-Comique,” said Orso, as he looked at + himself in the little glass Saveria was holding up for him. + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, you look first-rate, dressed like that, Ors’ Anton’,” said the + old servant, “and the smartest <i>pinsuto</i>[*] in Bocognano or Bastelica + is not braver.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + [*] Pinsuto, the name given to men who wear the pointed cap, + <i>barreta pinsuta</i>. +</pre> + <p> + Orso wore his new clothes at breakfast, and during that meal he told his + sister that his trunk contained a certain number of books, that he was + going to send to France and Italy for others, and intended she should + study a great deal. + </p> + <p> + “For it really is disgraceful, Colomba,” he added, “that a grown-up girl + like you should still be ignorant of things that children on the mainland + know as soon as they are weaned.” + </p> + <p> + “You are right, brother,” said Colomba. “I know my own shortcomings quite + well, and I shall be too glad to learn—especially if you are kind + enough to teach me.” + </p> + <p> + Some days went by, and Colomba never mentioned the name of Barricini. She + lavished care and attention on her brother, and often talked to him about + Miss Nevil. Orso made her read French and Italian books, and was + constantly being surprised either by the correctness and good sense of her + comments, or by her utter ignorance on the most ordinary subjects. + </p> + <p> + One morning, after breakfast, Colomba left the room for a moment, and + instead of returning as usual, with a book and some sheets of paper, + reappeared with her <i>mezzaro</i> on her head. The expression of her + countenance was even more serious than it generally was. + </p> + <p> + “Brother,” she said, “I want you to come out with me.” + </p> + <p> + “Where do you want me to go with you?” said Orso, holding out his arm. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t want your arm, brother, but take your gun and your + cartridge-pouch. A man should never go abroad without his arms.” + </p> + <p> + “So be it. I must follow the fashion. Where are we going?” + </p> + <p> + Colomba, without answering, drew her <i>mezzaro</i> closer about her head, + called the watch-dog, and went out followed by her brother. Striding + swiftly out of the village, she turned into a sunken road that wound among + the vineyards, sending on the dog, to whom she made some gesture, which he + seemed to understand, in front of her. He instantly began to run zigzag + fashion, through the vines, first on one side and then on the other, + always keeping within about fifty paces of his mistress, and occasionally + stopping in the middle of the road and wagging his tail. He seemed to + perform his duties as a scout in the most perfect fashion imaginable. + </p> + <p> + “If Muschetto begins to bark, brother,” said Colomba, “cock your gun, and + stand still.” + </p> + <p> + Half a mile beyond the village, after making many detours, Colomba stopped + short, just where there was a bend in the road. On that spot there rose a + little pyramid of branches, some of them green, some withered, heaped + about three feet high. Above them rose the top of a wooden cross, painted + black. In several of the Corsican cantons, especially those among the + mountains, a very ancient custom, connected, it may be with some pagan + superstition, constrains every passer-by to cast either a stone or a + branch on the spot whereon a man has died a violent death. For years and + years—as long as the memory of his tragic fate endures—this + strange offering goes on accumulating from day to day. + </p> + <p> + This is called the dead man’s <i>pile</i>—his “<i>mucchio</i>.” + </p> + <p> + Colomba stopped before the heap of foliage, broke off an arbutus branch, + and cast it on the pile. + </p> + <p> + “Orso,” she said, “this is where your father died. Let us pray for his + soul!” + </p> + <p> + And she knelt down. Orso instantly followed her example. At that moment + the village church-bell tolled slowly for a man who had died during the + preceding night. Orso burst into tears. + </p> + <p> + After a few minutes Colomba rose. Her eyes were dry, but her face was + eager. She hastily crossed herself with her thumb, after the fashion + generally adopted by her companions, to seal any solemn oath, then, + hurrying her brother with her, she took her way back to the village. They + re-entered their house in silence. Orso went up to his room. A moment + afterward Colomba followed him, carrying a small casket which she set upon + the table. Opening it, she drew out a shirt, covered with great stains of + blood. + </p> + <p> + “Here is your father’s shirt, Orso!” + </p> + <p> + And she threw it across his knees. “Here is the lead that killed him!” And + she laid two blackened bullets on the shirt. + </p> + <p> + “Orso! Brother!” she cried, throwing herself into his arms and clasping + him desperately to her. “Orso, you will avenge him!” + </p> + <p> + In a sort of frenzy she kissed him, then kissed the shirt and the bullets, + and went out of the room, leaving her brother sitting on his chair, as if + he had been turned to stone. For some time Orso sat motionless, not daring + to put the terrible relics away. At last, with an effort, he laid them + back in their box, rushed to the opposite end of his room, and threw + himself on his bed, with his face turned to the wall, and his head buried + in his pillow, as though he were trying to shut out the sight of some + ghost. His sister’s last words rang unceasingly in his ears, like the + words of an oracle, fatal, inevitable, calling out to him for blood, and + for innocent blood! I shall not attempt to depict the unhappy young man’s + sensations, which were as confused as those that overwhelm a madman’s + brain. For a long time he lay in the same position, without daring to turn + his head. At last he got up, closed the lid of the casket, and rushed + headlong out of the house, into the open country, moving aimlessly + forward, whither he knew not. + </p> + <p> + By degrees, the fresh air did him good. He grew calmer, and began to + consider his position, and his means of escape from it, with some + composure. He did not, as my readers already know, suspect the Barricini + of the murder, but he did accuse them of having forged Agostini’s letter, + and this letter, he believed, at any rate, had brought about his father’s + death. He felt it was impossible to prosecute them for the forgery. Now + and then, when the prejudices or the instincts of his race assailed him, + and suggested an easy vengeance—a shot fired at the corner of some + path—the thought of his brother-officers, of Parisian drawing-rooms, + and above all, of Miss Nevil, made him shrink from them in horror. Then + his mind dwelt on his sister’s reproaches, and all the Corsican within him + justified her appeal, and even intensified its bitterness. One hope alone + remained to him, in this battle between his conscience and his prejudices—the + hope that, on some pretext or other, he might pick a quarrel with one of + the lawyer’s sons, and fight a duel with him. The idea of killing the + young man, either by a bullet or a sword-thrust reconciled his French and + Corsican ideas. This expedient adopted, he began to meditate means for its + execution, and was feeling relieved already of a heavy burden, when other + and gentler thoughts contributed still further to calm his feverish + agitation. Cicero, in his despair at the death of his daughter Tullia, + forgot his sorrow when he mused over all the fine things he might say + about it. Mr. Shandy consoled himself by discourses of the same nature for + the loss of his son. Orso cooled his blood by thinking that he would + depict his state of mind to Miss Nevil, and that such a picture could not + fail to interest that fair lady deeply. + </p> + <p> + He was drawing near the village, from which he had unconsciously travelled + a considerable distance, when he heard the voice of a little girl, who + probably believed herself to be quite alone, singing in a path that ran + along the edge of the <i>maquis</i>. It was one of those slow, monotonous + airs consecrated to funeral dirges, and the child was singing the words: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “And when my son shall see again the dwelling of his father, + Give him that murdered father’s cross; show him my shirt blood- + spattered.” + </pre> + <p> + “What’s that you’re singing, child?” said Orso, in an angry voice, as he + suddenly appeared before her. + </p> + <p> + “Is that you, Ors’ Anton’?” exclaimed the child, rather startled. “It is + Signorina Colomba’s song.” + </p> + <p> + “I forbid you to sing it!” said Orso, in a threatening voice. + </p> + <p> + The child kept turning her head this way and that, as though looking about + for a way of escape, and she would certainly have run off had she not been + held back by the necessity of taking care of a large bundle which lay on + the grass, at her feet. + </p> + <p> + Orso felt ashamed of his own vehemence. “What are you carrying there, + little one?” said he, with all the gentleness he could muster. And as + Chilina hesitated, he lifted up the linen that was wrapped round the + bundle, and saw it contained a loaf of bread and other food. + </p> + <p> + “To whom are you bringing the loaf, my dear?” he asked again. + </p> + <p> + “You know quite well, Ors’ Anton’: to my uncle.” + </p> + <p> + “And isn’t your uncle a bandit?” + </p> + <p> + “At your service, Ors’ Anton’.” + </p> + <p> + “If you met the gendarmes, they would ask you where you were going. . . .” + </p> + <p> + “I should tell them,” the child replied, at once, “that I was taking food + to the men from Lucca who were cutting down the <i>maquis</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “And if you came across some hungry hunter who insisted on dining at your + expense, and took your provisions away from you?” + </p> + <p> + “Nobody would dare! I would say they are for my uncle!” + </p> + <p> + “Well! he’s not the sort of man to let himself be cheated of his dinner! . + . . Is your uncle very fond of you?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, Ors’ Anton’. Ever since my father died, he has taken care of my + whole family—my mother and my little sister, and me. Before mother + was ill, he used to recommend her to rich people, who gave her employment. + The mayor gives me a frock every year, and the priest has taught me my + catechism, and how to read, ever since my uncle spoke to them about us. + But your sister is kindest of all to us!” + </p> + <p> + Just at this moment a dog ran out on the pathway. The little girl put two + of her fingers into her mouth and gave a shrill whistle, the dog came to + her at once, fawned upon her, and then plunged swiftly into the thicket. + Soon two men, ill-dressed, but very well armed, rose up out of a clump of + young wood a few paces from where Orso stood. It was as though they had + crawled up like snakes through the tangle of cytisus and myrtle that + covered the ground. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Ors’ Anton’, you’re welcome!” said the elder of the two men. “Why, + don’t you remember me?” + </p> + <p> + “No!” said Orso, looking hard at him. + </p> + <p> + “Queer how a beard and a peaked cap alter a man! Come, monsieur, look at + me well! Have you forgotten your old Waterloo men? Don’t you remember + Brando Savelli, who bit open more than one cartridge alongside of you on + that unlucky day?” + </p> + <p> + “What! Is it you?” said Orso. “And you deserted in 1816!” + </p> + <p> + “Even so, sir. Faith! soldiering grows tiresome, and besides, I had a job + to settle over in this country. Aha, Chili! You’re a good girl! Give us + our dinner at once, we’re hungry. You’ve no notion what an appetite one + gets in the <i>maquis</i>. Who sent us this—was it Signorina Colomba + or the mayor?” + </p> + <p> + “No, uncle, it was the miller’s wife. She gave me this for you, and a + blanket for my mother.” + </p> + <p> + “What does she want of me?” + </p> + <p> + “She says the Lucchesi she hired to clear the <i>maquis</i> are asking her + five-and-thirty sous, and chestnuts as well—because of the fever in + the lower parts of Pietranera.” + </p> + <p> + “The lazy scamps! . . . I’ll see to them! . . . Will you share our dinner, + monsieur, without any ceremony? We’ve eaten worse meals together, in the + days of that poor compatriot of ours, whom they have discharged from the + army.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I thank you heartily. They have discharged me, too!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, so I heard. But I’ll wager you weren’t sorry for it. You have your + own account to settle too. . . . Come along, cure,” said the bandit to his + comrade. “Let’s dine! Signor Orso, let me introduce the cure. I’m not + quite sure he is a cure. But he knows as much as any priest, at all + events!” + </p> + <p> + “A poor student of theology, monsieur,” quoth the second bandit, “who has + been prevented from following his vocation. Who knows, Brandolaccio, I + might have been Pope!” + </p> + <p> + “What was it that deprived the Church of your learning?” inquired Orso. + </p> + <p> + “A mere nothing—a bill that had to be settled, as my friend + Brandolaccio puts it. One of my sisters had been making a fool of herself, + while I was devouring book-lore at Pisa University. I had to come home, to + get her married. But her future husband was in too great a hurry; he died + of fever three days before I arrived. Then I called, as you would have + done in my place, on the dead man’s brother. I was told he was married. + What was I to do?” + </p> + <p> + “It really was puzzling! What did you do?” + </p> + <p> + “It was one of those cases in which one has to resort to the gunflint.” + </p> + <p> + “In other words?” + </p> + <p> + “I put a bullet in his head,” said the bandit coolly. + </p> + <p> + Orso made a horrified gesture. Nevertheless, curiosity, and, it may be, + his desire to put off the moment when he must return home, induced him to + remain where he was, and continue his conversation with the two men, each + of whom had at least one murder on his conscience. + </p> + <p> + While his comrade was talking, Brandolaccio was laying bread and meat in + front of him. He helped himself—then he gave some food to this dog, + whom he introduced to Orso under the name of Brusco, as an animal + possessing a wonderful instinct for recognising a soldier, whatever might + be the disguise he had assumed. Lastly, he cut off a hunch of bread and a + slice of raw ham, and gave them to his niece. “Oh, the merry life a bandit + lives!” cried the student of theology, after he had swallowed a few + mouthfuls. “You’ll try it some day, perhaps, Signor della Rebbia, and + you’ll find out how delightful it is to acknowledge no master save one’s + own fancy!” + </p> + <p> + Hitherto the bandit had talked Italian. He now proceeded in French. + </p> + <p> + “Corsica is not a very amusing country for a young man to live in—but + for a bandit, there’s the difference! The women are all wild about us. I, + as you see me now, have three mistresses in three different villages. I am + at home in every one of them, and one of the ladies is married to a + gendarme!” + </p> + <p> + “You know many languages, monsieur!” said Orso gravely. + </p> + <p> + “If I talk French, ‘tis because, look you, <i>maxima debetur pueris + reverentia</i>! We have made up our minds, Brandolaccio and I, that the + little girl shall turn out well, and go straight.” + </p> + <p> + “When she is turned fifteen,” remarked Chilina’s uncle, “I’ll find a good + husband for her. I have one in my eye already.” + </p> + <p> + “Shall you make the proposal yourself?” said Orso. + </p> + <p> + “Of course! Do you suppose that any well-to-do man in this neighbourhood, + to whom I said, ‘I should be glad to see a marriage between your son and + Michilina Savelli,’ would require any pressing?” + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn’t advise him to!” quoth the other bandit. “Friend Brandolaccio + has rather a heavy hand!” + </p> + <p> + “If I were a rogue,” continued Brandolaccio, “a blackguard, a forger, I + should only have to hold my wallet open, and the five-franc pieces would + rain into it.” + </p> + <p> + “Then is there something inside your wallet that attracts them?” said + Orso. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing. But if I were to write to a rich man, as some people have + written, ‘I want a hundred francs,’ he would lose no time about sending + them to me. But I’m a man of honour, monsieur.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you know, Signor della Rebbia,” said the bandit whom his comrade + called the cure, “do you know that in this country, with all its simple + habits, there are some wretches who make use of the esteem our passports” + (and he touched his gun) “insure us, to draw forged bills in our + handwriting?” + </p> + <p> + “I know it,” said Orso, in a gruff tone; “but what bills?” + </p> + <p> + “Six months ago,” said the bandit, “I was taking my walks abroad near + Orezza, when a sort of lunatic came up to me, pulling off his cap to me + even in the distance, and said: ‘Oh, M. le Cure’ (they always call me + that), ‘please excuse me—give me time. I have only been able to get + fifty-five francs together! Honour bright, that’s all I’ve been able to + scrape up.’ I, in my astonishment, said, ‘Fifty-five francs! What do you + mean, you rascal!’ ‘I mean sixty-five,’ he replied; ‘but as for the + hundred francs you asked me to give you, it’s not possible.’ ‘What! you + villain! I ask you for a hundred francs? I don’t know who you are.’ Then + he showed me a letter, or rather a dirty rag of paper, whereby he was + summoned to deposit a hundred francs on a certain spot, on pain of having + his house burned and his cows killed by Giocanto Castriconi—that’s + my name. And they had been vile enough to forge my signature! What annoyed + me most was that the letter was written in <i>patois</i>, and was full of + mistakes in spelling—I who won every prize at the university! I + began by giving my rascal a cuff that made him twist round and round. + ‘Aha! You take me for a thief, blackguard that you are!’ I said, and I + gave him a hearty kick, you know where. Then feeling rather better, I went + on, ‘When are you to take the money to the spot mentioned in the letter?’ + ‘This very day.’ ‘Very good, then take it there!’ It was at the foot of a + pine-tree, and the place had been exactly described. He brought the money, + buried it at the foot of the tree, and came and joined me. I had hidden + myself close by. There I stayed, with my man, for six mortal hours, M. + della Rebbia. I’d have staid three days, if it had been necessary. At the + end of six hours a <i>Bastiaccio</i>, a vile money-lender, made his + appearance. As he bent down to take up the money, I fired, and I had aimed + so well that, as he fell, his head dropped upon the coins he was + unearthing. ‘Now, rascal,’ said I to the peasant, ‘take your money, and + never dare to suspect Giocanto Castriconi of a mean trick again!’ + </p> + <p> + “The poor devil, all of a tremble, picked up his sixty-five francs without + taking the trouble to wipe them. He thanked me, I gave him a good parting + kick, and he may be running away still, for all I know.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, cure!” said Brandolaccio, “I envy you that shot! How you must have + laughed!” + </p> + <p> + “I had hit the money-lender in the temple,” the bandit went on, “and that + reminded me of Virgil’s lines: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . “‘Liquefacto tempora plumbo + Diffidit, ac multa porrectum, extendit arena.’ +</pre> + <p> + “<i>Liquefacto!</i> Do you think, Signor Orso, that the rapidity with + which a bullet flies through the air will melt it? You who have studied + projectiles, tell me whether you think that idea is truth or fiction?” + </p> + <p> + Orso infinitely preferred discussing this question of physics to arguing + with the licentiate as to the morality of his action. Brandolaccio, who + did not find their scientific disquisition entertaining, interrupted it + with the remark that the sun was just going to set. + </p> + <p> + “As you would not dine with us, Ors’ Anton’,” he said, “I advise you not + to keep Mademoiselle Colomba waiting any longer. And then it is not always + wise to be out on the roads after sunset. Why do you come out without a + gun? There are bad folk about here—beware of them! You have nothing + to fear to-day. The Barricini are bringing the prefect home with them. + They have gone to meet him on the road, and he is to stop a day at + Pietranera, before he goes on to Corte, to lay what they call a + corner-stone—such stupid nonsense! He will sleep to-night with the + Barricini; but to-morrow they’ll be disengaged. There is Vincentello, who + is a good-for-nothing fellow, and Orlanduccio, who is not much better. . . + . Try to come on them separately, one to-day, the other to-morrow. . . . + But be on the lookout, that’s all I have to say to you!” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks for the warning,” said Orso. “But there is no quarrel between us. + Until they come to look for me, I shall have nothing to say to them.” + </p> + <p> + The bandit stuck his tongue in his cheek, and smacked it ironically, but + he made no reply. Orso got up to go away. + </p> + <p> + “By the way,” said Brandolaccio, “I haven’t thanked you for your powder. + It came just when I needed it. Now I have everything I want . . . at least + I do still want shoes . . . but I’ll make myself a pair out of the skin of + a moufflon one of these days.” + </p> + <p> + Orso slipped two five-franc pieces into the bandit’s hand. + </p> + <p> + “It was Colomba who sent you the powder. This is to buy the shoes.” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense, Lieutenant!” cried Brandolaccio, handing him back the two + coins. “D’ye take me for a beggar? I accept bread and powder, but I won’t + have anything else!” + </p> + <p> + “We are both old soldiers, so I thought we might have given each other a + lift. Well, good-bye to you!” + </p> + <p> + But before he moved away he had slipped the money into he bandit’s wallet, + unperceived by him. + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye, Ors’ Anton’,” quoth the theologian. “We shall meet again in the + <i>maquis</i>, some day, perhaps, and then we’ll continue our study of + Virgil.” + </p> + <p> + Quite a quarter of an hour after Orso had parted company with these + worthies, he heard a man running after him, as fast as he could go. It was + Brandolaccio. + </p> + <p> + “This is too bad, lieutenant!” he shouted breathlessly, “really it is too + bad! I wouldn’t overlook the trick, if any other man had played it on me. + Here are your ten francs. All my respects to Mademoiselle Colomba. You + have made me run myself quite out of breath. Good-night!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII + </h2> + <p> + Orso found Colomba in a state of considerable anxiety because of his + prolonged absence. But as soon as she saw him she recovered her usual + serene, though sad, expression. During the evening meal the conversation + turned on trivial subjects, and Orso, emboldened by his sister’s apparent + calm, related his encounter with the bandits, and even ventured on a joke + or two concerning the moral and religious education that was being + imparted to little Chilina, thanks to the care of her uncle and of his + worthy colleague Signor Castriconi. + </p> + <p> + “Brandolaccio is an upright man,” said Colomba; “but as to Castriconi, I + have heard he is quite unprincipled.” + </p> + <p> + “I think,” said Orso, “that he is as good as Brandolaccio, and + Brandolaccio is as good as he. Both of them are at open war with society. + Their first crime leads them on to fresh ones, every day, and yet they are + very likely not half so guilty as many people who don’t live in the <i>maquis</i>.” + </p> + <p> + A flash of joy shone in his sister’s eyes. “Yes,” he continued, “these + wretches have a code of honour of their own. It is a cruel prejudice, not + a mean instinct of greed, that has forced them into the life they are + leading.” + </p> + <p> + There was a silence. + </p> + <p> + “Brother,” said Colomba, as she poured out his coffee, “perhaps you have + heard that Carlo-Battista Pietri died last night. Yes, he died of the + marsh-fever.” + </p> + <p> + “Who is Pietri?” + </p> + <p> + “A man belonging to this village, the husband of Maddalena, who took the + pocket-book out of our father’s hand as he was dying. His widow has been + here to ask me to join the watchers, and sing something. You ought to + come, too. They are our neighbours, and in a small place like this we can + not do otherwise than pay them this civility.” + </p> + <p> + “Confound these wakes, Colomba! I don’t at all like my sister to perform + in public in this way.” + </p> + <p> + “Orso,” replied Colomba, “every country pays honour to its dead after its + own fashion. The <i>ballata</i> has come down to us from our forefathers, + and we must respect it as an ancient custom. Maddalena does not possess + the ‘gift,’ and old Fiordispina, the best <i>voceratrice</i> in the + country, is ill. They must have somebody for the <i>ballata</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you believe Carlo-Battista won’t find his way safely into the next + world unless somebody sings bad poetry over his bier? Go if you choose, + Colomba—I’ll go with you, if you think I ought. But don’t improvise! + It really is not fitting at your age, and—sister, I beg you not to + do it!” + </p> + <p> + “Brother, I have promised. It is the custom here, as you know, and, I tell + you again, there is nobody but me to improvise.” + </p> + <p> + “An idiotic custom it is!” + </p> + <p> + “It costs me a great deal to sing in this way. It brings back all our own + sorrows to me. I shall be ill after it, to-morrow. But I must do it. Give + me leave to do it. Brother, remember that when we were at Ajaccio, you + told me to improvise to amuse that young English lady who makes a mock of + our old customs. So why should I not do it to-day for these poor people, + who will be grateful to me, and whom it will help to bear their grief?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, well, as you will. I’ll go bail you’ve composed your <i>ballata</i> + already, and don’t want to waste it.” + </p> + <p> + “No, brother, I couldn’t compose it beforehand. I stand before the dead + person, and I think about those he has left behind him. The tears spring + into my eyes, and then I sing whatever comes into my head.” + </p> + <p> + All this was said so simply that it was quite impossible to suspect + Signorina Colomba of the smallest poetic vanity. Orso let himself be + persuaded, and went with his sister to Pietri’s house. The dead man lay on + a table in the largest room, with his face uncovered. All the doors and + windows stood open, and several tapers were burning round the table. At + the head stood the widow, and behind her a great many women, who filled + all one side of the room. On the other side were the men, in rows, + bareheaded, with their eyes fixed on the corpse, all in the deepest + silence. Each new arrival went up to the table, kissed the dead face, + bowed his or her head to the widow and her son, and joined the circle, + without uttering a word. Nevertheless, from time to time one of the + persons present would break the solemn silence with a few words, addressed + to the dead man. + </p> + <p> + “Why has thou left thy good wife?” said one old crone. “Did she not take + good care of thee? What didst thou lack? Why not have waited another + month? Thy daughter-in-law would have borne thee a grandson!” A tall young + fellow, Pietri’s son, pressed his father’s cold hand and cried: “Oh! why + hast thou not died of the <i>mala morte</i>?[*] Then we could have avenged + thee!” + </p> + <p> + [*] <i>La mala morte</i>, a violent death. + </p> + <p> + These were the first words to fall on Orso’s ear as he entered the room. + At the sight of him the circle parted, and a low murmur of curiosity + betrayed the expectation roused in the gathering by the <i>voceratrice’s</i> + presence. Colomba embraced the widow, took one of her hands, and stood for + some moments wrapped in meditation, with her eyelids dropped. Then she + threw back her <i>mezzaro</i>, gazed fixedly at the corpse, and bending + over it, her face almost as waxen as that of the dead man, she began thus: + </p> + <p> + “Carlo-Battista! May Christ receive thy soul! . . . To live is to suffer! + Thou goest to a place . . . where there is neither sun nor cold. . . . No + longer dost thou need thy pruning-hook . . . nor thy heavy pick. . . . + There is no more work for thee! . . . Henceforward all thy days are + Sundays! . . . Carlo-Battista! May Christ receive thy soul! . . . Thy son + rules in thy house. . . . I have seen the oak fall, . . . dried up by the + <i>libeccio</i>. . . . I thought it was dead indeed, . . . but when I + passed it again, its root . . . had thrown up a sapling. . . . The sapling + grew into an oak . . . of mighty shade. . . . Under its great branches, + Maddele, rest thee well! . . . And think of the oak that is no more!” + </p> + <p> + Here Maddalena began to sob aloud, and two or three men who, on occasion, + would have shot at a Christian as coolly as at a partridge, brushed big + tears off their sunburnt faces. + </p> + <p> + For some minutes Colomba continued in this strain, addressing herself + sometimes to the corpse, sometimes to the family, and sometimes, by a + personification frequently employed in the <i>ballata</i>, making the dead + man himself speak words of consolation or counsel to his kinsfolk. As she + proceeded, her face assumed a sublime expression, a delicate pink tinge + crept over her features, heightening the brilliancy of her white teeth and + the lustre of her flashing eyes. She was like a Pythoness on her tripod. + Save for a sigh here and there, or a strangled sob, not the slightest + noise rose from the assembly that crowded about her. Orso, though less + easily affected than most people by this wild kind of poetry, was soon + overcome by the general emotion. Hidden in a dark corner of the room, he + wept as heartily as Pietri’s own son. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly a slight stir was perceptible among the audience. The circle + opened, and several strangers entered. The respect shown them, and the + eagerness with which room was made for them, proved them to be people of + importance, whose advent was a great honour to the household. + Nevertheless, out of respect for the <i>ballata</i>, nobody said a word to + them. The man who had entered first seemed about forty years of age. From + his black coat, his red rosette, his confident air, and look of authority, + he was at once guessed to be the prefect. Behind him came a bent old man + with a bilious-looking complexion, whose furtive and anxious glance was + only partially concealed by his green spectacles. He wore a black coat, + too large for him, and which, though still quite new, had evidently been + made several years previously. He always kept close beside the prefect and + looked as though he would fain hide himself under his shadow. Last of all, + behind him, came two tall young men, with sunburnt faces, their cheeks + hidden by heavy whiskers, proud and arrogant-looking, and showing symptoms + of an impertinent curiosity. Orso had had time to forget the faces of his + village neighbours; but the sight of the old man in green spectacles + instantly called up old memories in his mind. His presence in attendance + on the prefect sufficed to insure his recognition. This was Barricini, the + lawyer, mayor of Pietranera, who had come, with his two sons, to show the + prefect what a <i>ballata</i> was. It would be difficult exactly to + describe what happened within Orso’s soul at that moment, but the presence + of his father’s foe filled him with a sort of horror, and more than ever + he felt inclined to yield to the suspicions with which he had been + battling for so long. + </p> + <p> + As to Colomba, when she saw the man against whom she had sworn a deadly + hatred, her mobile countenance assumed a most threatening aspect. She + turned pale, her voice grew hoarse, the line she had begun to declaim died + on her lips. But soon, taking up her <i>ballata</i> afresh, she proceeded + with still greater vehemence. + </p> + <p> + “When the hawk bemoans himself . . . beside his harried nest, . . . the + starlings flutter round him . . . insulting his distress.” + </p> + <p> + A smothered laugh was heard. The two young men who had just come in + doubtless considered the metaphor too bold. + </p> + <p> + “The falcon will rouse himself. . . . He will spread his wings. . . . He + will wash his beak in blood! . . . Now, to thee, Carlo-Battista, let thy + friends . . . bid an eternal farewell! . . . Long enough have their tears + flowed! . . . Only the poor orphan girl will not weep for thee! . . . + Wherefore should she moan? . . . Thou has fallen asleep, full of years, . + . in the midst of thine own kin . . . ready to appear . . . in the + presence of the Almighty. . . . The orphan weeps for her father . . . + overtaken by vile murderers, . . struck from behind. . . . For her father, + whose blood lies red . . . beneath the heaped-up green leaves. . . . But + she has gathered up this blood, . . this innocent and noble blood! . . . + She has poured it out over Pietranera . . . that it may become a deadly + poison. . . . And the mark shall be on Pietranera . . . until the blood of + the guilty . . . shall have wiped out the blood of the innocent man!” + </p> + <p> + As Colomba pronounced the last words, she dropped into a chair, drew her + <i>mezzaro</i> over her face, and was heard sobbing beneath it. The + weeping women crowded round the <i>improvisatrice</i>; several of the men + were casting savage glances at the mayor and his sons; some of the elders + began to protest against the scandal to which their presence had given + rise. The dead man’s son pushed his way through the throng, and was about + to beg the mayor to clear out with all possible speed. But this + functionary had not waited for the suggestion. He was on his way to the + door, and his two sons were already in the street. The prefect said a few + words of condolence to young Pietri, and followed them out, almost + immediately. Orso went to his sister’s side, took her arm, and drew her + out of the room. + </p> + <p> + “Go with them,” said young Pietri to some of his friends. “Take care no + harm comes to them!” + </p> + <p> + Hastily two or three young men slipped their stilettos up the left sleeves + of their jackets and escorted Orso and his sister to their own door. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIII + </h2> + <p> + Panting, exhausted, Colomba was utterly incapable of uttering a single + word. Her head rested on her brother’s shoulder, and she clasped one of + his hands tightly between her own. Orso, though secretly somewhat annoyed + by her peroration, was too much alarmed to reprove her, even in the + mildest fashion. He was silently waiting till the nervous attack from + which she seemed to be suffering should have passed, when there was a + knock at the door, and Saveria, very much flustered, announced the + prefect. At the words, Colomba rose, as though ashamed of her weakness, + and stood leaning on a chair, which shook visibly beneath her hand. + </p> + <p> + The prefect began with some commonplace apology for the unseasonable hour + of his visit, condoled with Mademoiselle Colomba, touched on the danger + connected with strong emotions, blamed the custom of composing funeral + dirges, which the very talent of the <i>voceratrice</i> rendered the more + harrowing to her auditors, skilfully slipped in a mild reproof concerning + the tendency of the improvisation just concluded, and then, changing his + tone— + </p> + <p> + “M. della Rebbia,” he said, “I have many messages for you from your + English friends. Miss Nevil sends her affectionate regards to your sister. + I have a letter for you from her.” + </p> + <p> + “A letter from Miss Nevil!” cried Orso. + </p> + <p> + “Unluckily I have not got it with me. But you shall have it within five + minutes. Her father has not been well. For a little while we were afraid + he had caught one of our terrible fevers. Luckily he is all right again, + as you will observe for yourself, for I fancy you will see him very soon.” + </p> + <p> + “Miss Nevil must have been very much alarmed!” + </p> + <p> + “Fortunately she did not become aware of the danger till it was quite gone + by. M. della Rebbia, Miss Nevil has talked to me a great deal about you + and about your sister.” + </p> + <p> + Orso bowed. + </p> + <p> + “She has a great affection for you both. Under her charming appearance, + and her apparent frivolity, a fund of good sense lies hidden.” + </p> + <p> + “She is a very fascinating person,” said Orso. + </p> + <p> + “I have come here, monsieur, almost at her prayer. Nobody is better + acquainted than I with a fatal story which I would fain not have to recall + to you. As M. Barricini is still the mayor of Pietranera, and as I am + prefect of the department, I need hardly tell you what weight I attach to + certain suspicions which, if I am rightly informed, some incautious + individuals have communicated to you, and which you, I know, have spurned + with the indignation your position and your character would have led me to + expect.” + </p> + <p> + “Colomba,” said Orso, moving uneasily to his chair. “You are very tired. + You had better go to bed.” + </p> + <p> + Colomba shook her head. She had recovered all her usual composure, and her + burning eyes were fixed on the prefect. + </p> + <p> + “M. Barricini,” the prefect continued, “is exceedingly anxious to put an + end to the sort of enmity . . . or rather, the condition of uncertainty, + existing between yourself and him. . . . On my part, I should be delighted + to see you both in those relations of friendly intercourse appropriate to + people who certainly ought to esteem each other.” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” replied Orso in a shaking voice, “I have never charged + Barricini with my father’s murder. But he committed an act which must + always prevent me from having anything to do with him. He forged a + threatening letter, in the name of a certain bandit, or at least he hinted + in an underhand sort of way that it was forged by my father. That letter, + monsieur, was probably the indirect cause of my father’s death.” + </p> + <p> + The prefect sat thinking for a moment. + </p> + <p> + “That your father should have believed that, when his own hasty nature led + him into a lawsuit with Signor Barricini, is excusable. But such blindness + on your part really can not be admitted. Pray consider that Barricini + could have served no interest of his own by forging the letter. I will not + talk to you about his character, for you are not acquainted with it, and + are prejudiced against it; but you can not suppose that a man conversant + with the law——” + </p> + <p> + “But, monsieur,” said Orso, rising to his feet, “be good enough to + recollect that when you tell me the letter was not Barricini’s work, you + ascribe it to my father. And my father’s honour, monsieur, is mine!” + </p> + <p> + “No man on earth, sir, is more convinced of Colonel della Rebbia’s honour + than myself! But the writer of the letter is now known.” + </p> + <p> + “Who wrote it?” exclaimed Colomba, making a step toward the prefect. + </p> + <p> + “A villain, guilty of several crimes—such crimes as you Corsicans + never pardon—a thief, one Tomaso Bianchi, at present confined in the + prison at Bastia, has acknowledged that he wrote the fatal letter.” + </p> + <p> + “I know nothing of the man,” said Orso. “What can have been his object?” + </p> + <p> + “He belongs to this neighbourhood,” said Colomba. “He is brother to a man + who was our miller—a scamp and a liar, unworthy of belief.” + </p> + <p> + “You will soon see what his interest in the matter was,” continued the + prefect. “The miller of whom your sister speaks—I think his name was + Teodoro—was the tenant of a mill belonging to the colonel, standing + on the very stream the ownership of which M. Barricini was disputing with + your father. The colonel, always a generous man, made very little profit + out of the mill. Now Tomaso thought that if Barricini got possession of + the stream there would be a heavy rent to pay, for it is well known that + Barricini is rather fond of money. In short, to oblige his brother, Tomaso + forged the letter from the bandit—and there’s the whole story. You + know that in Corsica the strength of the family tie is so great that it + does sometimes lead to crime. Please read over this letter to me from the + attorney-general. It confirms what I have just told you.” + </p> + <p> + Orso looked through the letter, which gave a detailed relation of Tomaso’s + confession, and Colomba read it over his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + When she had come to the end of it she exclaimed: + </p> + <p> + “Orlanduccio Barricini went down to Bastia a month ago, when it became + known that my brother was coming home. He must have seen Tomaso, and + bought this lie of him!” + </p> + <p> + “Signorina,” said the prefect, out of patience, “you explain everything by + odious imputations! Is that the way to find out the truth? You, sir, can + judge more coolly. Tell me what you think of the business now? Do you + believe, like this young lady, that a man who has only a slight sentence + to fear would deliberately charge himself with forgery, just to oblige a + person he doesn’t know?” + </p> + <p> + Orso read the attorney-general’s letter again, weighing every word with + the greatest care—for now that he had seen the old lawyer, he felt + it more difficult to convince himself than it would have been a few days + previously. At last he found himself obliged to admit that the explanation + seemed to him to be satisfactory. But Colomba cried out vehemently: + </p> + <p> + “Tomaso Bianchi is a knave! He’ll not be convicted, or he’ll escape from + prison! I am certain of it!” + </p> + <p> + The prefect shrugged his shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “I have laid the information I have received before you, monsieur. I will + now depart, and leave you to your own reflections. I shall wait till your + own reason has enlightened you, and I trust it may prove stronger than + your sister’s suppositions.” + </p> + <p> + Orso, after saying a few words of excuse for Colomba, repeated that he now + believed Tomaso to be the sole culprit. + </p> + <p> + The prefect had risen to take his leave. + </p> + <p> + “If it were not so late,” said he, “I would suggest your coming over with + me to fetch Miss Nevil’s letter. At the same time you might repeat to M. + Barricini what you have just said to me, and the whole thing would be + settled.” + </p> + <p> + “Orso della Rebbia will never set his foot inside the house of a + Barricini!” exclaimed Colomba impetuously. + </p> + <p> + “This young lady appears to be the <i>tintinajo</i>[*] of the family!” + remarked the prefect, with a touch of irony. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + [*] This is the name given to the ram or he-goat which wears + a bell and leads the flock, and it is applied, + metaphorically, to any member of a family who guides it in + all important matters. +</pre> + <p> + “Monsieur,” replied Colomba resolutely, “you are deceived. You do not know + the lawyer. He is the most cunning and knavish of men. I beseech you not + to make Orso do a thing that would overwhelm him with dishonour!” + </p> + <p> + “Colomba!” exclaimed Orso, “your passion has driven you out of your + senses!” + </p> + <p> + “Orso! Orso! By the casket I gave you, I beseech you to listen to me! + There is blood between you and the Barricini. You shall not go into their + house!” + </p> + <p> + “Sister!” + </p> + <p> + “No, brother, you shall not go! Or I will leave this house, and you will + never see me again! Have pity on me, Orso!” and she fell on her knees. + </p> + <p> + “I am grieved,” said the prefect, “to find Mademoiselle Colomba so + unreasonable. You will convince her, I am sure.” + </p> + <p> + He opened the door and paused, seeming to expect Orso to follow him. + </p> + <p> + “I can not leave her now,” said Orso. “To-morrow, if——” + </p> + <p> + “I shall be starting very early,” said the prefect. + </p> + <p> + “Brother,” cried Colomba, clasping her hands, “wait till to-morrow + morning, in any case. Let me look over my father’s papers. You can not + refuse me that!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you shall look them over to-night. But at all events you shall not + torment me afterward with your violent hatreds. A thousand pardons, + monsieur! I am so upset myself to-night—it had better be to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “The night brings counsel,” said the prefect, as he went out. “I hope all + your uncertainty will have disappeared by to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “Saveria,” Colomba called, “take the lantern and attend the Signor + Prefetto. He will give you a letter to bring back to my brother.” + </p> + <p> + She added a few words which reached Saveria’s ear alone. + </p> + <p> + “Colomba,” said Orso, when the prefect was gone, “you have distressed me + very much. Will no evidence convince you?” + </p> + <p> + “You have given me till to-morrow,” she replied. “I have very little time; + but I still have some hope.” + </p> + <p> + Then she took a bunch of keys and ran up to a room on the upper story. + There he could hear her pulling open drawers, and rummaging in the + writing-desk in which Colonel della Rebbia had kept his business papers. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIV + </h2> + <p> + Saveria was a long time away, and when she at last reappeared, carrying a + letter, and followed by little Chilina, rubbing her eyes, and evidently + just waked out of her beauty sleep, Orso was wound up to the highest + possible pitch of impatience. + </p> + <p> + “Chili,” said Orso, “what are you doing here at this hour?” + </p> + <p> + “The signorina sent for me,” replied Chilina. + </p> + <p> + “What the devil does she want with her?” thought Orso to himself. But he + was in a hurry to open Miss Lydia’s letter, and while he was reading it + Chilina went upstairs to his sister’s room. + </p> + <p> + “My father, dear sir, has not been well,” Miss Nevil wrote, “and he is so + indolent, besides, that I am obliged to act as his secretary. You remember + that, instead of admiring the landscape with you and me the other day, he + got his feet wet on the sea-shore—and in your delightful island, + that is quite enough to give one a fever! I can see the face you are + making! No doubt you are feeling for your dagger. But I will hope you have + none now. Well, my father had a little fever, and I had a great fright. + The prefect, whom I persist in thinking very pleasant, sent us a doctor, + also a very pleasant man, who got us over our trouble in two days. There + has been no return of the attack, and my father would like to begin to + shoot again. But I have forbidden that. How did you find matters in your + mountain home? Is your North Tower still in its old place? Are there any + ghosts about it? I ask all these questions because my father remembers you + have promised him buck and boar and moufflon—is that the right name + for those strange creatures? We intend to crave your hospitality on our + way to Bastia, where we are to embark, and I trust the della Rebbia + Castle, which you declare is so old and tumble-down, will not fall in upon + our heads! Though the prefect is so pleasant that subjects of conversation + are never lacking to us—I flatter myself, by the way, that I have + turned his head—we have been talking about your worshipful self. The + legal people at Bastia have sent him certain confessions, made by a rascal + they have under lock and key, which are calculated to destroy your last + remaining suspicions. The enmity which sometimes alarmed me for you must + therefore end at once. You have no idea what a pleasure this has been to + me! When you started hence with the fair <i>voceratrice</i>, with your gun + in hand, and your brow lowering, you struck me as being more Corsican than + ever—too Corsican indeed! <i>Basta!</i> I write you this long letter + because I am dull. The prefect, alas! is going away. We will send you a + message when we start for your mountains, and I shall take the liberty of + writing to Signorina Colomba to ask her to give me a <i>bruccio, ma + solenne</i>! Meanwhile, give her my love. I use her dagger a great deal to + cut the leaves of a novel I brought with me. But the doughty steel revolts + against such usage, and tears my book for me, after a most pitiful + fashion. Farewell, sir! My father sends you ‘his best love.’ Listen to + what the prefect says. He is a sensible man, and is turning out of his + way, I believe, on your account. He is going to lay a foundation-stone at + Corte. I should fancy the ceremony will be very imposing, and I am very + sorry not to see it. A gentleman in an embroidered coat and silk stockings + and a white scarf, wielding a trowel—and a speech! And at the end of + the performance manifold and reiterated shouts of ‘God save the King.’ I + say again, sir, it will make you very vain to think I have written you + four whole pages, and on that account I give you leave to write me a very + long letter. By the way, I think it very odd of you not to have let me + hear of your safe arrival at the Castle of Pietranera! + </p> + <p> + “LYDIA. + </p> + <p> + “P.S.—I beg you will listen to the prefect, and do as he bids you. + We have agreed that this is the course you should pursue, and I shall be + very glad if you do it.” + </p> + <p> + Orso read the letter three or four times over, making endless mental + comments each time as he read. Then he wrote a long answer, which he sent + by Saveria’s hand to a man in the village, who was to go down to Ajaccio + the very next day. Already he had almost dismissed the idea of discussing + his grievance, true or false, against the Barricini, with his sister. Miss + Lydia’s letter had cast a rose-coloured tint over everything about him. He + felt neither hatred nor suspicion now. He waited some time for his sister + to come down, and finding she did not reappear, he went to bed, with a + lighter heart than he had carried for many a day. Colomba, having + dismissed Chilina with some secret instructions, spent the greater part of + the night in reading old papers. A little before daybreak a few tiny + pebbles rattled against the window-pane. At the signal, she went down to + the garden, opened a back door, and conducted two very rough men into her + house. Her first care was to bring them into the kitchen and give them + food. My readers will shortly learn who these men were. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XV + </h2> + <p> + Toward six o’clock next morning one of the prefect’s servants came and + knocked at the door of Orso’s house. He was received by Colomba, and + informed her the prefect was about to start, and was expecting her + brother. Without a moment’s hesitation Colomba replied that her brother + had just had a fall on the stairs, and sprained his foot; and he was + unable to walk a single step, that he begged the prefect to excuse him, + and would be very grateful if he would condescend to take the trouble of + coming over to him. A few minutes after this message had been despatched, + Orso came downstairs, and asked his sister whether the prefect had not + sent for him. + </p> + <p> + With the most perfect assurance she rejoined: + </p> + <p> + “He begs you’ll wait for him here.” + </p> + <p> + Half an hour went by without the slightest perceptible stir in the + Barricini dwelling. Meanwhile Orso asked Colomba whether she had + discovered anything. She replied that she proposed to make her statement + when the prefect came. She affected an extreme composure. But her colour + and her eyes betrayed her state of feverish excitement. + </p> + <p> + At last the door of the Barricini mansion was seen to open. The prefect + came out first, in travelling garb; he was followed by the mayor and his + two sons. What was the stupefaction of the inhabitants of the village of + Pietranera, who had been on the watch since sunrise for the departure of + the chief magistrate of their department, when they saw him go straight + across the square and enter the della Rebbia dwelling, accompanied by the + three Barricini. “They are going to make peace!” exclaimed the village + politicians. + </p> + <p> + “Just as I told you,” one old man went on. “Ors’ Anton’ has lived too much + on the mainland to carry things through like a man of mettle.” + </p> + <p> + “Yet,” responded a Rebbianite, “you may notice it is the Barricini who + have gone across to him. They are suing for mercy.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s the prefect who had wheedled them all round,” answered the old + fellow. “There is no such thing as courage nowadays, and the young chaps + make no more fuss about their father’s blood than if they were all + bastards.” + </p> + <p> + The prefect was not a little astounded to find Orso up and walking about + with perfect ease. In the briefest fashion Colomba avowed her own lie, and + begged him to forgive it. + </p> + <p> + “If you had been staying anywhere else, monsieur, my brother would have + gone to pay his respects to you yesterday.” + </p> + <p> + Orso made endless apologies, vowing he had nothing to do with his sister’s + absurd stratagem, by which he appeared deeply mortified. The prefect and + the elder Barricini appeared to believe in the sincerity of his regret, + and indeed this belief was justified by his evident confusion and the + reproaches he addressed to his sister. But the mayor’s two sons did not + seem satisfied. + </p> + <p> + “We are being made to look like fools,” said Orlanduccio audibly. + </p> + <p> + “If my sister were to play me such tricks,” said Vincentello, “I’d soon + cure her fancy for beginning them again.” + </p> + <p> + The words, and the tone in which they were uttered, offended Orso, and + diminished his good-will. Glances that were anything but friendly were + exchanged between him and the two young men. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile, everybody being seated save Colomba, who remained standing + close to the kitchen door, the prefect took up his parable, and after a + few common-places as to local prejudices, he recalled the fact that the + most inveterate enmities generally have their root in some mere + misunderstanding. Next, turning to the mayor, he told him that Signor + della Rebbia had never believed the Barricini family had played any part, + direct or indirect, in the deplorable event which had bereft him of his + father; that he had, indeed, nursed some doubts as to one detail in the + lawsuit between the two families; that Signor Orso’s long absence, and the + nature of the information sent him, excused the doubt in question; that in + the light of recent revelations he felt completely satisfied, and desired + to re-open friendly and neighbourly relations with Signor Barricini and + his sons. + </p> + <p> + Orso bowed stiffly. Signor Barricini stammered a few words that nobody + could hear, and his sons stared steadily at the ceiling rafters. The + prefect was about to continue his speech, and address the counterpart of + the remarks he had made to Signor Barricini, to Orso, when Colomba stepped + gravely forward between the contracting parties, at the same time drawing + some papers from beneath her neckerchief. + </p> + <p> + “I should be happy indeed,” she said, “to see the quarrel between our two + families brought to an end. But if the reconciliation is to be sincere, + there must be a full explanation, and nothing must be left in doubt. + Signor Prefetto, Tomaso Bianchi’s declaration, coming from a man of such + vile report, seemed to me justly open to doubt. I said your sons had + possibly seen this man in the prison at Bastia.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s false!” interrupted Orlanduccio; “I didn’t see him!” + </p> + <p> + Colomba cast a scornful glance at him, and proceeded with great apparent + composure. + </p> + <p> + “You explained Tomaso’s probable interest in threatening Signor Barricini, + in the name of a dreaded bandit, by his desire to keep his brother Teodoro + in possession of the mill which my father allowed him to hire at a very + low rent.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s quite clear,” assented the prefect. + </p> + <p> + “Where was Tomaso Bianchi’s interest?” exclaimed Colomba triumphantly. + “His brother’s lease had run out. My father had given him notice on the + 1st of July. Here is my father’s account-book; here is his note of warning + given to Teodoro, and the letter from a business man at Ajaccio suggesting + a new tenant.” + </p> + <p> + As she spoke she gave the prefect the papers she had been holding in her + hand. + </p> + <p> + There was an astonished pause. The mayor turned visibly pale. Orso, + knitting his brows, leaned forward to look at the papers, which the + prefect was perusing most attentively. + </p> + <p> + “We are being made to look like fools!” cried Orlanduccio again, springing + angrily to his feet. “Let us be off, father! We ought never to have come + here!” + </p> + <p> + One instant’s delay gave Signor Barricini time to recover his composure. + He asked leave to see the papers. Without a word the prefect handed them + over to him. Pushing his green spectacles up to his forehead, he looked + through them with a somewhat indifferent air, while Colomba watched him + with the eyes of a tigress who sees a buck drawing near to the lair where + she had hidden her cubs. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Signor Barricini, as he pulled down his spectacles and + returned the documents, “knowing the late colonel’s kind heart, Tomaso + thought—most likely he thought—that the colonel would change + his mind about the notice. As a matter of fact, Bianchi is still at the + mill, so—” + </p> + <p> + “It was I,” said Colomba, and there was scorn in her voice, “who left him + there. My father was dead, and situated as I was, I was obliged to treat + my brother’s dependents with consideration.” + </p> + <p> + “Yet,” quoth the prefect, “this man Tomaso acknowledges that he wrote the + letter. That much is clear.” + </p> + <p> + “The thing that is clear to me,” broke in Orso, “is that there is some + vile infamy underneath this whole business.” + </p> + <p> + “I have to contradict another assertion made by these gentlemen,” said + Colomba. + </p> + <p> + She threw open the door into the kitchen and instantly Brandolaccio, the + licentiate in theology, and Brusco, the dog, marched into the room. The + two bandits were unarmed—apparently, at all events; they wore their + cartridge belts, but the pistols, which are their necessary complement, + were absent. As they entered the room they doffed their caps respectfully. + </p> + <p> + The effect produced by their sudden appearance may be conceived. The mayor + almost fell backward. His sons threw themselves boldly in front of him, + each one feeling for his dagger in his coat pocket. The prefect made a + step toward the door, and Orso, seizing Brandolaccio by the collar, + shouted: + </p> + <p> + “What have you come here for, you villain?” + </p> + <p> + “This is a trap!” cried the mayor, trying to get the door open. But, by + the bandits’ orders, as was afterward discovered, Saveria had locked it on + the outside. + </p> + <p> + “Good people,” said Brandolaccio, “don’t be afraid of me. I’m not such a + devil as I look. We mean no harm at all. Signor Prefetto, I’m your very + humble servant. Gently, lieutenant! You’re strangling me! We’re here as + witnesses! Now then, Padre, speak up! Your tongue’s glib enough!” + </p> + <p> + “Signor Prefetto,” quoth the licentiate, “I have not the honour of being + known to you. My name is Giocanto Castriconi, better known as the Padre. + Aha, it’s coming back to you! The signorina here, whom I have not the + pleasure of knowing either, has sent to ask me to supply some information + about a fellow of the name of Tomaso Bianchi, with whom I chanced to be + shut up, about three weeks ago, in the prison at Bastia. This is what I + have to tell you.” + </p> + <p> + “Spare yourself the trouble,” said the prefect. “I can not listen to + anything from such a man as you. Signor della Rebbia, I am willing to + believe you have had nothing to do with this detestable plot. But are you + master in your own house? Will you have the door opened? Your sister may + have to give an account of the strange relations in which she lives with a + set of bandits.” + </p> + <p> + “Signor Prefetto!” cried Colomba, “I beseech you to listen to what this + man has to say! You are here to do justice to everybody, and it is your + duty to search out the truth. Speak, Giocanto Castriconi!” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t listen to him,” chorused the three Barricini. + </p> + <p> + “If everybody talks at once,” remarked the bandit, with a smile, “nobody + can contrive to hear what anybody says. Well, in the prison at Bastia I + had as my companion—not as my friend—this very man, Tomaso. He + received frequent visits from Signor Orlanduccio.” + </p> + <p> + “You lie!” shouted the two brothers together. + </p> + <p> + “Two negatives make an affirmative,” pursued Castriconi coolly. “Tomaso + had money, he ate and drank of the best. I have always been fond of good + cheer (that’s the least of my failings), and in spite of my repugnance to + rubbing shoulders with such a wretch, I let myself be tempted, several + times over, into dining with him. Out of gratitude, I proposed he should + escape with me. A young person—to whom I had shown some kindness—had + provided me with the necessary means. I don’t intend to compromise + anybody. Tomaso refused my offer, telling me he was certain to be all + right, as lawyer Barricini had spoken to all the judges for him, and he + was sure to get out of prison with a character as white as snow, and with + money in his pocket, too. As for me, I thought it better to get into the + fresh air. <i>Dixi</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “Everything that fellow has said is a heap of lies,” reiterated + Orlanduccio stoutly. “If we were in the open country, and each of us had + his gun, he wouldn’t talk in that way.” + </p> + <p> + “Here’s a pretty folly!” cried Brandolaccio. “Don’t you quarrel with the + Padre, Orlanduccio!” + </p> + <p> + “Will you be good enough to allow me to leave this room, Signor della + Rebbia,” said the prefect, and he stamped his foot in his impatience. + </p> + <p> + “Saveria! Saveria!” shouted Orso, “open the door, in the devil’s name!” + </p> + <p> + “One moment,” said Brandolaccio. “We have to slip away first, on our side. + Signor Prefetto, the custom, when people meet in the house of a mutual + friend, is to allow each other half an hour’s law, after departure.” + </p> + <p> + The prefect cast a scornful glance at him. + </p> + <p> + “Your servant, signorina, and gentlemen all!” said Brandolaccio. Then + stretching out his arm, “Hi, Brusco,” he cried to his dog, “jump for the + Signor Prefetto!” + </p> + <p> + The dog jumped; the bandits swiftly snatched up their arms in the kitchen, + fled across the garden, and at a shrill whistle the door of the room flew + open as though by magic. + </p> + <p> + “Signor Barricini,” said Orso, and suppressed fury vibrated in his voice, + “I hold you to be a forger! This very day I shall charge you before the + public prosecutor with forgery and complicity with Bianchi. I may perhaps + have a still more terrible accusation to bring against you!” + </p> + <p> + “And I, Signor della Rebbia,” replied the mayor, “shall lay my charge + against you for conspiracy and complicity with bandits. Meanwhile the + prefect will desire the gendarmes to keep an eye upon you.” + </p> + <p> + “The prefect will do his duty,” said that gentleman sternly. “He will see + the public order is not disturbed at Pietranera; he will take care justice + is done. I say this to you all, gentlemen!” + </p> + <p> + The mayor and Vincentello were outside the room already, and Orlanduccio + was following them, stepping backward, when Orso said to him in an + undertone: + </p> + <p> + “Your father is an old man. One cuff from me would kill him. It is with + you and with your brother that I intend to deal.” + </p> + <p> + Orlanduccio’s only response was to draw his dagger and fly like a madman + at Orso. But before he could use his weapon Colomba caught hold of his arm + and twisted it violently, while Orso gave him a blow in the face with his + fist, which made him stagger several paces back, and come into violent + collision with the door frame. Orlanduccio’s dagger dropped from his hand. + But Vincentello had his ready, and was rushing back into the room, when + Colomba, snatching up a gun convinced him that the struggle must be + unequal. At the same time the prefect threw himself between the + combatants. + </p> + <p> + “We shall soon meet, Ors’ Anton’!” shouted Orlanduccio, and slamming the + door of the room violently, he turned the key in the lock, so as to insure + himself time to retreat. + </p> + <p> + For a full quarter of an hour Orso and the prefect kept their places in + dead silence, at opposite ends of the room. Colomba, the pride of triumph + shining on her brow, gazed first at one and then at the other, as she + leaned on the gun that had turned the scale of victory. + </p> + <p> + “What a country! Oh, what a country!” cried the prefect at last, rising + hastily from his chair. “Signor della Rebbia, you did wrong! You must give + me your word of honour to abstain from all violence, and to wait till the + law settles this cursed business.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Signor Prefetto, I was wrong to strike that villain. But I did + strike him, after all, and I can’t refuse him the satisfaction he has + demanded of me.” + </p> + <p> + “Pooh! no! He doesn’t want to fight you! But supposing he murders you? + You’ve done everything you could to insure it.” + </p> + <p> + “We’ll protect ourselves,” said Colomba. + </p> + <p> + “Orlanduccio,” said Orso, “strikes me as being a plucky fellow, and I + think better of him than that, monsieur. He was very quick about drawing + his dagger. But perhaps I should have done the same thing in his place, + and I’m glad my sister has not an ordinary fine lady’s wrist.” + </p> + <p> + “You are not to fight,” exclaimed the prefect. “I forbid it!” + </p> + <p> + “Allow me to say, monsieur, that in matters that affect my honour the only + authority I acknowledge is that of my own conscience.” + </p> + <p> + “You sha’n’t fight, I tell you!” + </p> + <p> + “You can put me under arrest, monsieur—that is, if I let you catch + me. But if you were to do that, you would only delay a thing that has now + become inevitable. You are a man of honour yourself, monsieur; you know + there can be no other course.” + </p> + <p> + “If you were to have my brother arrested,” added Colomba, “half the + village would take his part, and we should have a fine fusillade.” + </p> + <p> + “I give you fair notice, monsieur, and I entreat you not to think I am + talking mere bravado. I warn you that if Signor Barricini abuses his + authority as mayor, to have me arrested, I shall defend myself.” + </p> + <p> + “From this very day,” said the prefect, “Signor Barricini is suspended. I + trust he will exculpate himself. Listen to me, my young gentleman, I have + a liking for you. What I ask of you is nothing to speak of. Just to stay + quietly at home till I get back from Corte. I shall only be three days + away. I’ll bring back the public prosecutor with me, and then we’ll sift + this wretched business to the bottom. Will you promise me you will abstain + from all hostilities till then?” + </p> + <p> + “I can not promise that, monsieur, if, as I expect, Orlanduccio asks me to + meet him.” + </p> + <p> + “What, Signor della Rebbia! Would you—a French officer—think + of going out with a man you suspect of being a forger?” + </p> + <p> + “I struck him, monsieur!” + </p> + <p> + “But supposing you struck a convict, and he demanded satisfaction of you, + would you fight him? Come, come, Signor Orso! But I’ll ask you to do even + less, do nothing to seek out Orlanduccio. I’ll consent to your fighting + him if he asks you for a meeting.” + </p> + <p> + “He will ask for it, I haven’t a doubt of that. But I’ll promise I won’t + give him fresh cuffs to induce him to do it.” + </p> + <p> + “What a country!” cried the prefect once more, as he strode to and fro. + “Shall I never get back to France?” + </p> + <p> + “Signor Prefetto,” said Colomba in her most dulcet tones, “it is growing + very late. Would you do us the honour of breakfasting here?” + </p> + <p> + The prefect could not help laughing. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve been here too long already—it may look like partiality. And + there is that cursed foundation-stone. I must be off. Signorina della + Rebbia! what calamities you may have prepared this day!” + </p> + <p> + “At all events, Signor Prefetto, you will do my sister the justice of + believing her convictions are deeply rooted—and I am sure, now, that + you yourself believe them to be well-founded.” + </p> + <p> + “Farewell, sir!” said the prefect, waving his hand. “I warn you that the + sergeant of gendarmes will have orders to watch everything you do.” + </p> + <p> + When the prefect had departed— + </p> + <p> + “Orso,” said Colomba, “this isn’t the Continent. Orlanduccio knows nothing + about your duels, and besides, that wretch must not die the death of a + brave man.” + </p> + <p> + “Colomba, my dear, you are a clever woman. I owe you a great deal from + having saved me from a hearty knife-thrust. Give me your little hand to + kiss! But, hark ye, let me have my way. There are certain matters that you + don’t understand. Give me my breakfast. And as soon as the prefect had + started off send for little Chilina, who seems to perform all the + commissions she is given in the most wonderful fashion. I shall want her + to take a letter for me.” + </p> + <p> + While Colomba was superintending the preparation of his breakfast, Orso + went up to his own room and wrote the following note: + </p> + <p> + “You must be in a hurry to meet me, and I am no less eager. We can meet at + six o’clock to-morrow morning in the valley of Acquaviva. I am a skilful + pistol-shot, so I do not suggest that weapon to you. I hear you are a good + shot with a gun. Let us each take a double-barrelled gun. I shall be + accompanied by a man from this village. If your brother wishes to go with + you, take a second witness, and let me know. In that case only, I should + bring two with me. + </p> + <p> + “ORSO ANTONIO DELLA REBBIA.” + </p> + <p> + After spending an hour with the deputy-mayor, and going into the Barricini + house for a few minutes, the prefect, attended by a single gendarme, + started for Corte. A quarter of an hour later, Chilina carried over the + letter my readers have just perused, and delivered it into Orlanduccio’s + own hands. + </p> + <p> + The answer was not prompt, and did not arrive till evening. It bore the + signature of the elder Barricini, and informed Orso that he was laying the + threatening letter sent to his son before the public prosecutor. His + missive concluded thus: “Strong in the sense of a clear conscience, I + patiently wait till the law has pronounced on your calumnies.” + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile five or six herdsmen, summoned by Colomba, arrived to garrison + the della Rebbia Tower. In spite of Orso’s protests, <i>archere</i> were + arranged in the windows looking onto the square, and all through the + evening offers of service kept coming in from various persons belonging to + the village. There was even a letter from the bandit-theologian, + undertaking, for himself and Brandolaccio, that in the event of the + mayor’s calling on the gendarmes, they themselves would straightway + intervene. The following postscript closed the letter: + </p> + <p> + “Dare I ask you what the Signor Prefetto thinks of the excellent education + bestowed by my friend on Brusco, the dog? Next to Chilina, he is the most + docile and promising pupil I have ever come across.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVI + </h2> + <p> + The following day went by without any hostile demonstration. Both sides + kept on the defensive. Orso did not leave his house, and the door of the + Barricini dwelling remained closely shut. The five gendarmes who had been + left to garrison Pietranera were to be seen walking about the square and + the outskirts of the village, in company with the village constable, the + sole representative of the urban police force. The deputy-mayor never put + off his sash. But there was no actual symptom of war, except the loopholes + in the two opponents’ houses. Nobody but a Corsican would have noticed + that the group round the evergreen oak in the middle of the square + consisted solely of women. + </p> + <p> + At supper-time Colomba gleefully showed her brother a letter she had just + received from Miss Nevil. + </p> + <p> + “My dear Signorina Colomba,” it ran, “I learn with great pleasure, through + a letter from your brother, that your enmities are all at an end. I + congratulate you heartily. My father can not endure Ajaccio now your + brother is not there to talk about war and go out shooting with him. We + are starting to-day, and shall sleep at the house of your kinswoman, to + whom we have a letter. The day after to-morrow, somewhere about eleven + o’clock, I shall come and ask you to let me taste that mountain <i>bruccio</i> + of yours, which you say is so vastly superior to what we get in the town. + </p> + <p> + “Farewell, dear Signorina Colomba. + </p> + <p> + “Your affectionate + </p> + <p> + “LYDIA NEVIL.” + </p> + <p> + “Then she hasn’t received my second letter!” exclaimed Orso. + </p> + <p> + “You see by the date of this one that Miss Lydia must have already started + when your letter reached Ajaccio. But did you tell her not to come?” + </p> + <p> + “I told her we were in a state of siege. That does not seem to me a + condition that permits of our receiving company.” + </p> + <p> + “Bah! These English people are so odd. The very last night I slept in her + room she told me she would be sorry to leave Corsica without having seen a + good <i>vendetta</i>. If you choose, Orso, you might let her see an + assault on our enemies’ house.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you know, Colomba,” said Orso, “Nature blundered when she made you a + woman. You’d have made a first-rate soldier.” + </p> + <p> + “Maybe. Anyhow, I’m going to make my <i>bruccio</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t waste your time. We must send somebody down to warn them and stop + them before they start.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean to say you would send a messenger out in such weather, to + have him and your letter both swept away by a torrent? How I pity those + poor bandits in this storm! Luckily they have good <i>piloni</i> (thick + cloth cloaks with hoods). Do you know what you ought to do, Orso. If the + storm clears you should start off very early to-morrow morning, and get to + our kinswoman’s house before they leave it. That will be easy enough, for + Miss Lydia always gets up so late. You can tell them everything that has + happened here, and if they still persist in coming, why! we shall be very + glad to welcome them.” + </p> + <p> + Orso lost no time in assenting to this plan, and after a few moments’ + silence, Colomba continued: + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps, Orso, you think I was joking when I talked of an assault on the + Barricini’s house. Do you know we are in force—two to one at the + very least? Now that the prefect has suspended the mayor, every man in the + place is on our side. We might cut them to pieces. It would be quite easy + to bring it about. If you liked, I could go over to the fountain and begin + to jeer at their women folk. They would come out. Perhaps—they are + such cowards!—they would fire at me through their loopholes. They + wouldn’t hit me. Then the thing would be done. They would have begun the + attack, and the beaten party must take its chance. How is anybody to know + which person’s aim has been true, in a scuffle? Listen to your own sister, + Orso! These lawyers who are coming will blacken lots of paper, and talk a + great deal of useless stuff. Nothing will come of it all. That old fox + will contrive to make them think they see stars in broad midday. Ah! if + the prefect hadn’t thrown himself in front of Vincentello, we should have + had one less to deal with.” + </p> + <p> + All this was said with the same calm air as that with which she had + spoken, an instant previously, of her preparations for making the <i>bruccio</i>. + </p> + <p> + Orso, quite dumfounded, gazed at his sister with an admiration not unmixed + with alarm. + </p> + <p> + “My sweet Colomba,” he said, as he rose from the table, “I really am + afraid you are the very devil. But make your mind easy. If I don’t succeed + in getting the Barricini hanged, I’ll contrive to get the better of them + in some other fashion. ‘Hot bullet or cold steel’—you see I haven’t + forgotten my Corsican.” + </p> + <p> + “The sooner the better,” said Colomba, with a sigh. “What horse will you + ride to-morrow, Ors’ Anton’?” + </p> + <p> + “The black. Why do you ask?” + </p> + <p> + “So as to make sure he has some barley.” + </p> + <p> + When Orso went up to his room, Colomba sent Saveria and the herdsmen to + their beds, and sat on alone in the kitchen, where the <i>bruccio</i> was + simmering. Now and then she seemed to listen, and was apparently waiting + very anxiously for her brother to go to bed. At last, when she thought he + was asleep, she took a knife, made sure it was sharp, slipped her little + feet into thick shoes, and passed noiselessly out into the garden. + </p> + <p> + This garden, which was inclosed by walls, lay next to a good-sized piece + of hedged ground, into which the horses were turned—for Corsican + horses do not know what a stable means. They are generally turned loose + into a field, and left to themselves, to find pasture and shelter from + cold winds, as best they may. + </p> + <p> + Colomba opened the garden gate with the same precaution, entered the + inclosure, and whistling gently, soon attracted the horses, to whom she + had often brought bread and salt. As soon as the black horse came within + reach, she caught him firmly by the mane, and split his ear open with her + knife. The horse gave a violent leap, and tore off with that shrill cry + which sharp pain occasionally extorts from his kind. Quite satisfied, + Colomba was making her way back into the garden, when Orso threw open his + window and shouted, “Who goes there?” At the same time she heard him cock + his gun. Luckily for her the garden-door lay in the blackest shadow, and + was partly screened by a large fig-tree. She very soon gathered, from the + light she saw glancing up and down in her brother’s room, that he was + trying to light his lamp. She lost no time about closing the garden-door, + and slipping along the wall, so that the outline of her black garments was + lost against the dark foliage of the fruit-trees, and succeeded in getting + back into the kitchen a few moments before Orso entered it. + </p> + <p> + “What’s the matter?” she inquired. + </p> + <p> + “I fancied I heard somebody opening the garden-door,” said Orso. + </p> + <p> + “Impossible! The dog would have barked. But let us go and see!” + </p> + <p> + Orso went round the garden, and having made sure that the outer door was + safely secured, he was going back to his room, rather ashamed of his false + alarm. + </p> + <p> + “I am glad, brother,” remarked Colomba, “that you are learning to be + prudent, as a man in your position ought to be.” + </p> + <p> + “You are training me well,” said Orso. “Good-night!” + </p> + <p> + By dawn the next morning Orso was up and ready to start. His style of + dress betrayed the desire for smartness felt by every man bound for the + presence of the lady he would fain please, combined with the caution of a + Corsican <i>in vendetta</i>. Over a blue coat, that sat closely to his + figure, he wore a small tin case full of cartridges, slung across his + shoulder by a green silk cord. His dagger lay in his side pocket, and in + his hand he carried his handsome Manton, ready loaded. While he was + hastily swallowing the cup of coffee Colomba had poured out for him, one + of the herdsmen went out to put the bridle and saddle on the black horse. + Orso and his sister followed close on his heels and entered the field. The + man had caught the horse, but he had dropped both saddle and bridle, and + seemed quite paralyzed with horror, while the horse, remembering the wound + it had received during the night, and trembling for its other ear, was + rearing, kicking, and neighing like twenty fiends. + </p> + <p> + “Now then! Make haste!” shouted Orso. + </p> + <p> + “Ho, Ors’ Anton’! Ho, Ors’ Anton’!” yelled the herdsman. “Holy Madonna!” + and he poured out a string of imprecations, numberless, endless, and most + of them quite untranslatable. + </p> + <p> + “What can be the matter?” inquired Colomba. They all drew near to the + horse, and at the sight of the creature’s bleeding head and split ear + there was a general outcry of surprise and indignation. My readers must + know that among the Corsicans to mutilate an enemy’s horse is at once a + vengeance, a challenge, and a mortal threat. “Nothing but a bullet-wound + can expiate such a crime.” + </p> + <p> + Though Orso, having lived so long on the mainland, was not so sensitive as + other Corsicans to the enormity of the insult, still, if any supporter of + the Barricini had appeared in his sight at that moment, he would probably + have taken vengeance on him for the outrage he ascribed to his enemies. + </p> + <p> + “The cowardly wretches!” he cried. “To avenge themselves on a poor brute, + when they dare not meet me face to face!” + </p> + <p> + “What are we waiting for?” exclaimed Colomba vehemently. “They come here + and brave us! They mutilate our horses! and we are not to make any + response? Are you men?” + </p> + <p> + “Vengeance!” shouted the herdsmen. “Let us lead the horse through the + village, and attack their house!” + </p> + <p> + “There’s a thatched barn that touches their Tower,” said old Polo Griffo; + “I’d set fire to it in a trice.” + </p> + <p> + Another man wanted to fetch the ladders out of the church steeple. A third + proposed they should break in the doors of the house with a heavy beam + intended for some house in course of building, which had been left lying + in the square. Amid all the angry voices Colomba was heard telling her + satellites that before they went to work she would give each man of them a + large glass of anisette. + </p> + <p> + Unluckily, or rather luckily, the impression she had expected to produce + by her own cruel treatment of the poor horse was largely lost on Orso. He + felt no doubt that the savage mutilation was due to one of his foes, and + he specially suspected Orlanduccio; but he did not believe that the young + man, whom he himself had provoked and struck, had wiped out his shame by + slitting a horse’s ear. On the contrary, this mean and ridiculous piece of + vengeance had increased Orso’s scorn for his opponents, and he now felt, + with the prefect, that such people were not worthy to try conclusions with + himself. As soon as he was able to make himself heard, he informed his + astonished partisans that they would have to relinquish all their + bellicose intentions, and that the power of the law, which would shortly + be on the spot, would amply suffice to avenge the hurt done to a horse’s + ear. + </p> + <p> + “I’m master here!” he added sternly; “and I insist on being obeyed. The + first man who dares to say anything more about killing or burning, will + quite possibly get a scorching at my hands! Be off! Saddle me the gray + horse!” + </p> + <p> + “What’s this, Orso?” said Colomba, drawing him apart. “You allow these + people to insult us? No Barricini would have dared to mutilate any beast + of ours in my father’s time.” + </p> + <p> + “I promise you they shall have reason to repent it. But it is gendarme’s + and jailer’s work to punish wretches who only venture to raise their hands + against brute beasts. I’ve told you already, the law will punish them; and + if not, you will not need to remind me whose son I am.” + </p> + <p> + “Patience!” answered Colomba, with a sigh. + </p> + <p> + “Remember this, sister,” continued Orso; “if I find, when I come back, + that any demonstration whatever has been made against the Barricini I + shall never forgive you.” Then, in a gentler tone, he added, “Very + possibly—very probably—I shall bring the colonel and his + daughter back with me. See that their rooms are well prepared, and that + the breakfast is good. In fact, let us make our guests as comfortable as + we can. It’s a very good thing to be brave, Colomba, but a woman must know + how to manage her household, as well. Come, kiss me, and be good! Here’s + the gray, ready saddled.” + </p> + <p> + “Orso,” said Colomba, “you mustn’t go alone.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t need anybody,” replied Orso; “and I’ll promise you nobody shall + slit my ear.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I’ll never consent to your going alone, while there is a feud. Here! + Polo Griffo! Gian’ Franco! Memmo! Take your guns; you must go with my + brother.” + </p> + <p> + After a somewhat lively argument, Orso had to give in, and accept an + escort. From the most excited of the herdsmen he chose out those who had + been loudest in their desire to commence hostilities; then, after laying + fresh injunctions on his sister and the men he was leaving behind, he + started, making a detour, this time, so as to avoid the Barricinis’ + dwelling. + </p> + <p> + They were a long way from Pietranera, and were travelling along at a great + pace, when, as they crossed a streamlet that ran into a marsh, Polo Griffo + noticed several porkers wallowing comfortably in the mud, in full + enjoyment at once of the warmth of the sun and the coolness of the water. + Instantly he took aim at the biggest, fired at its head, and shot it dead. + The dead creature’s comrades rose and fled with astonishing swiftness, and + though another herdsman fired at them they reached a thicket and + disappeared into it, safe and sound. + </p> + <p> + “Idiots!” cried Orso. “You’ve been taking pigs for wild boars!” + </p> + <p> + “Not a bit, Ors’ Anton’,” replied Polo Griffo. “But that herd belongs to + the lawyer, and I’ve taught him, now, to mutilate our horses.” + </p> + <p> + “What! you rascal!” shouted Orso, in a perfect fury. “You ape the vile + behaviour of our enemies! Be off, villains! I don’t want you! You’re only + fit to fight with pigs. I swear to God that if you dare follow me I’ll + blow your brains out!” + </p> + <p> + The herdsmen stared at each other, struck quite dumb. Orso spurred his + horse, galloped off, and was soon out of sight. + </p> + <p> + “Well, well!” said Polo Griffo. “Here’s a pretty thing. You devote + yourself to people, and then this is how they treat you. His father, the + colonel, was angry with you long ago, because you levelled your gun at the + lawyer. Great idiot you were, not to shoot. And now here is his son. You + saw what I did for him. And he talks about cracking my skull, just as he + would crack a gourd that lets the wine leak out. That’s what people learn + on the mainland, Memmo!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and if any one finds out it was you who killed that pig there’ll be + a suit against you, and Ors’ Anton’ won’t speak to the judges, nor buy off + the lawyer for you. Luckily nobody saw, and you have Saint Nega to help + you out.” + </p> + <p> + After a hasty conclave, the two herdsmen concluded their wisest plan was + to throw the dead pig into a bog, and this project they carefully + executed, after each had duly carved himself several slices out of the + body of this innocent victim of the feud between the Barricini and the + della Rebbia. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVII + </h2> + <p> + Once rid of his unruly escort, Orso proceeded calmly on his way, far more + absorbed by the prospective pleasure of seeing Miss Nevil than stirred by + any fear of coming across his enemies. + </p> + <p> + “The lawsuit I must bring against these Barricini villains,” he mused, + “will necessitate my going down to Bastia. Why should I not go there with + Miss Nevil? And once at Bastia, why shouldn’t we all go together to the + springs of Orezza?” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly his childish recollections of that picturesque spot rose up + before him. He fancied himself on the verdant lawn that spreads beneath + the ancient chestnut-trees. On the lustrous green sward, studded with blue + flowers like eyes that smiled upon him, he saw Miss Lydia seated at his + side. She had taken off her hat, and her fair hair, softer and finer than + any silk, shone like gold in the sunlight that glinted through the + foliage. Her clear blue eyes looked to him bluer than the sky itself. With + her cheek resting on one hand, she was listening thoughtfully to the words + of love he poured tremblingly into her ear. She wore the muslin gown in + which she had been dressed that last day at Ajaccio. From beneath its + folds peeped out a tiny foot, shod with black satin. Orso told himself + that he would be happy indeed if he might dare to kiss that little foot—but + one of Miss Lydia’s hands was bare and held a daisy. He took the daisy + from her, and Lydia’s hand pressed his, and then he kissed the daisy, and + then he kissed her hand, and yet she did not chide him . . . and all these + thoughts prevented him from paying any attention to the road he was + travelling, and meanwhile he trotted steadily onward. For the second time, + in his fancy, he was about to kiss Miss Nevil’s snow-white hand, when, as + his horse stopped short, he very nearly kissed its head, in stern reality. + Little Chilina had barred his way, and seized his bridle. + </p> + <p> + “Where are you going to, Ors’ Anton’?” she said. “Don’t you know your + enemy is close by?” + </p> + <p> + “My enemy!” cried Orso, furious at being interrupted at such a delightful + moment. “Where is he?” + </p> + <p> + “Orlanduccio is close by, he’s waiting for you! Go back, go back!” + </p> + <p> + “Ho! Ho! So he’s waiting for me! Did you see him?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Ors’ Anton’! I was lying down in the heather when he passed by. He + was looking round everywhere through his glass.” + </p> + <p> + “And which way did he go?” + </p> + <p> + “He went down there. Just where you were going!” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you!” + </p> + <p> + “Ors’ Anton’, hadn’t you better wait for my uncle? He must be here soon—and + with him you would be safe.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t be frightened, Chili. I don’t need your uncle.” + </p> + <p> + “If you would let me, I would go in front of you.” + </p> + <p> + “No, thanks! No, thanks!” + </p> + <p> + And Orso, spurring his horse, rode rapidly in the direction to which the + little girl had pointed. + </p> + <p> + His first impulse had been one of blind fury, and he had told himself that + fortune was offering him an excellent opportunity of punishing the coward + who had avenged the blow he had received by mutilating a horse. But as he + moved onward the thought of his promise to the prefect, and, above all, + his fear of missing Miss Nevil’s visit, altered his feelings, and made him + almost wish he might not come upon Orlanduccio. Soon, however, the memory + of his father, the indignity offered to his own horse, and the threats of + the Barricini, stirred his rage afresh, and incited him to seek his foe, + and to provoke and force him to a fight. Thus tossed by conflicting + feelings, he continued his progress, though now he carefully scrutinized + every thicket and hedge, and sometimes even pulled up his horse to listen + to the vague sounds to be heard in any open country. Ten minutes after he + had left little Chilina (it was then about nine o’clock in the morning) he + found himself on the edge of an exceedingly steep declivity. The road, or + rather the very slight path, which he was following, ran through a <i>maquis</i> + that had been lately burned. The ground was covered with whitish ashes, + and here and there some shrubs, and a few big trees, blackened by the + flames, and entirely stripped of their leaves, still stood erect—though + life had long since departed out of them. The sight of a burned <i>maquis</i> + is enough to make a man fancy he has been transported into midwinter in + some northern clime, and the contrast between the barrenness of the ground + over which the flames have passed, with the luxuriant vegetation round + about it, heightens this appearance of sadness and desolation. But at that + moment the only thing that struck Orso in this particular landscape was + one point—an important one, it is true, in his present + circumstances. The bareness of the ground rendered any kind of ambush + impossible, and the man who has reason to fear that at any moment he may + see a gun-barrel thrust out of a thicket straight at his own chest, looks + on a stretch of smooth ground, with nothing on it to intercept his view, + as a kind of oasis. After this burned <i>maquis</i> came a number of + cultivated fields, inclosed, according to the fashion of that country, + with breast-high walls, built of dry stones. The path ran between these + fields, producing, from a distance, the effect of a thick wood. + </p> + <p> + The steepness of the declivity made it necessary for Orso to dismount. He + was walking quickly down the hill, which was slippery with ashes (he had + thrown the bridle on his horse’s neck), and was hardly five-and-twenty + paces from one of these stone fences, when, just in front of him, on the + right-hand side of the road, he perceived first of all the barrel of a + gun, and then a head, rising over the top of the wall. The gun was + levelled, and he recognised Orlanduccio, just ready to fire. Orso swiftly + prepared for self-defence, and the two men, taking deliberate aim, stared + at each other for several seconds, with that thrill of emotion which the + bravest must feel when he knows he must either deal death or endure it. + </p> + <p> + “Vile coward!” shouted Orso. + </p> + <p> + The words were hardly out of his mouth when he saw the flash of + Orlanduccio’s gun, and almost at the same instant a second shot rang out + on his left from the other side of the path, fired by a man whom he had + not noticed, and who was aiming at him from behind another wall. Both + bullets struck him. The first, Orlanduccio’s, passed through his left arm, + which Orso had turned toward him as he aimed. The second shot struck him + in the chest, and tore his coat, but coming in contact with the blade of + his dagger, it luckily flattened against it, and only inflicted a trifling + bruise. Orso’s left arm fell helpless at his side, and the barrel of his + gun dropped for a moment, but he raised it at once, and aiming his weapon + with his right hand only, he fired at Orlanduccio. His enemy’s head, which + was only exposed to the level of the eyes, disappeared behind the wall. + Then Orso, swinging round to the left, fired the second barrel at a man in + a cloud of smoke whom he could hardly see. This face likewise disappeared. + The four shots had followed each other with incredible swiftness; no + trained soldiers ever fired their volleys in quicker succession. After + Orso’s last shot a great silence fell. The smoke from his weapon rose + slowly up into the sky. There was not a movement, not the slightest sound + from behind the wall. But for the pain in his arm, he could have fancied + the men on whom he had just fired had been phantoms of his own + imagination. + </p> + <p> + Fully expecting a second volley, Orso moved a few steps, to place himself + behind one of the burned trees that still stood upright in the <i>maquis</i>. + Thus sheltered, he put his gun between his knees, and hurriedly reloaded + it. Meanwhile his left arm began to hurt him horribly, and felt as if it + were being dragged down by a huge weight. + </p> + <p> + What had become of his adversaries? He could not understand. If they had + taken to flight, if they had been wounded, he would certainly have heard + some noise, some stir among the leaves. Were they dead, then? Or, what was + far more likely, were they not waiting behind their wall for a chance of + shooting at him again. In his uncertainty, and feeling his strength fast + failing him, he knelt down on his right knee, rested his wounded arm upon + the other, and took advantage of a branch that protruded from the trunk of + the burned tree to support his gun. With his finger on the trigger, his + eye fixed on the wall, and his ear strained to catch the slightest sound, + he knelt there, motionless, for several minutes, which seemed to him a + century. At last, behind him, in the far distance, he heard a faint shout, + and very soon a dog flew like an arrow down the slope, and stopped short, + close to him, wagging its tail. It was Brusco, the comrade and follower of + the bandits—the herald, doubtless, of his master’s approach. Never + was any honest man more impatiently awaited. With his muzzle in the air, + and turned toward the nearest fence, the dog sniffed anxiously. Suddenly + he gave vent to a low growl, sprang at a bound over the wall, and almost + instantly reappeared upon its crest, whence he gazed steadily at Orso with + eyes that spoke surprise as clearly as a dog’s may do it. Then he sniffed + again, this time toward the other inclosure, the wall of which he also + crossed. Within a second he was back on the top of that, with the same air + of astonishment and alarm, and straightway he bounded into the thicket + with his tail between his legs, still gazing at Orso, and retiring from + him slowly, and sideways, until he had put some distance between them. + Then off he started again, tearing up the slope almost as fast as he had + come down it, to meet a man, who, in spite of its steepness, was rapidly + descending. + </p> + <p> + “Help, Brando!” shouted Orso, as soon as he thought he was within hearing. + </p> + <p> + “Hallo! Ors’ Anton’! are you wounded?” inquired Brandolaccio, as he ran up + panting. “Is it in your body or your limbs?” + </p> + <p> + “In the arm.” + </p> + <p> + “The arm—oh, that’s nothing! And the other fellow?” + </p> + <p> + “I think I hit him.” + </p> + <p> + Brandolaccio ran after the dog to the nearest field and leaned over to + look at the other side of the wall, then pulling off his cap— + </p> + <p> + “Signor Orlanduccio, I salute you!” said he, then turning toward Orso, he + bowed to him, also, gravely. + </p> + <p> + “That,” he remarked, “is what I call a man who has been properly done + for.” + </p> + <p> + “Is he still alive?” asked Orso, who could hardly breathe. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! he wouldn’t wish it! he’d be too much vexed about the bullet you put + into his eye! Holy Madonna! What a hole! That’s a good gun, upon my soul! + what a weight! That spatters a man’s brains for you! Hark ye, Ors’ Anton’! + when I heard the first <i>piff, piff</i>, says I to myself: ‘Dash it, + they’re murdering my lieutenant!’ Then I heard <i>boum, boum</i>. ‘Ha, + ha!’ says I, ‘that’s the English gun beginning to talk—he’s firing + back.’ But what on earth do you want with me, Brusco?” + </p> + <p> + The dog guided him to the other field. + </p> + <p> + “Upon my word,” cried Brandolaccio, utterly astonished, “a right and left, + that’s what it is! Deuce take it! Clear enough, powder must be dear, for + you don’t waste it!” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean, for God’s sake?” asked Orso. + </p> + <p> + “Come, sir, don’t try to humbug me; you bring down the dame, and then you + want somebody to pick it up for you. Well! there’s one man who’ll have a + queer dessert to-day, and that’s Lawyer Barricini!—you want + butcher’s meat, do you? Well, here you have it. Now, who the devil will be + the heir?” + </p> + <p> + “What! is Vincentello dead too?” + </p> + <p> + “Dead as mutton. <i>Salute a noi!</i> The good point about you is that you + don’t let them suffer. Just come over and look at Vincentello; he’s + kneeling here with his head against the wall, as if he were asleep. You + may say he sleeps like lead, this time, poor devil.” + </p> + <p> + Orso turned his head in horror. + </p> + <p> + “Are you certain he’s dead?” + </p> + <p> + “You’re like Sampiero Corso, who never had to fire more than once. Look at + it there, in his chest, on the left—just where Vincileone was hit at + Waterloo. I’ll wager that bullet isn’t far from his heart—a right + and left! Ah! I’ll never talk about shooting again. Two with two shots, + and bullets at that! The two brothers! If he’d had a third shot he’d have + killed their papa. Better luck next time. What a shot! Ors’ Anton’! And to + think that an honest poor chap like me will never get the chance of a + right and a left two gendarmes!” + </p> + <p> + As he talked the bandit was scanning Orso’s arm, and splitting up his + sleeve with his dagger. + </p> + <p> + “This is nothing,” said he. “But this coat of yours will give Signorina + Colomba work to do. Ha! what’s this I see? this gash upon your chest? + Nothing went in there, surely? No! you wouldn’t be so brisk as you are! + Come, try to move your finger. Do you feel my teeth when I bite your + little finger? Not very well? Never mind! It won’t be much. Let me take + your handkerchief and your neckcloth. Well, your coat’s spoilt, anyhow! + What the devil did you make yourself so smart for? Were you going to a + wedding? There! drink a drop of wine. Why on earth don’t you carry a + flask? Does any Corsican ever go out without a flask?” + </p> + <p> + Then again he broke off the dressing of the wound to exclaim: + </p> + <p> + “A right and left! Both of them stone dead! How the Padre will laugh! A + right and left! Oh, here’s that little dawdle Chilina at last!” + </p> + <p> + Orso made no reply—he was as pale as death and shaking in every + limb. + </p> + <p> + “Chili!” shouted Brandolaccio, “go and look behind that wall!” + </p> + <p> + The child, using both hands and feet, scrambled onto the wall, and the + moment she caught sight of Orlanduccio’s corpse she crossed herself. + </p> + <p> + “That’s nothing,” proceeded the bandit; “go and look farther on, over + there!” + </p> + <p> + The child crossed herself again. + </p> + <p> + “Was it you, uncle?” she asked timidly. + </p> + <p> + “Me! Don’t you know I’ve turned into a useless old fellow! This, Chili, is + the signor’s work; offer him your compliments.” + </p> + <p> + “The signorina will be greatly rejoiced,” said Chilina, “and she will be + very much grieved to know you are wounded, Ors’ Anton’.” + </p> + <p> + “Now then, Ors’ Anton’,” said the bandit, when he had finished binding up + the wound. “Chilina, here, has caught your horse. You must get on his + back, and come with me to the Stazzona <i>maquis</i>. It would be a sly + fellow who’d lay his hand on you there. When we get to the Cross of Santa + Christina, you’ll have to dismount. You’ll give over your horse to + Chilina, who’ll go off and warn the signorina. You can say anything to the + child, Ors’ Anton’. She would let herself be cut in pieces rather than + betray her friends,” and then, fondly, he turned to the little girl, + “That’s it, you little hussy; a ban on you, a curse on you—you + jade!” For Brandolaccio, who was superstitious, like most bandits, feared + he might cast a spell on a child if he blessed it or praised it, seeing it + is a well-known fact that the mysterious powers that rule the <i>Annocchiatura</i>[*] + have a vile habit of fulfilling our wishes in the very opposite sense to + that we give them. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + [*] <i>Annocchiatura</i>, an involuntary spell cast either by the + eye or by spoken words. +</pre> + <p> + “Where am I to go, Brando?” queried Orso in a faint voice. + </p> + <p> + “Faith! you must choose; either to jail or to the <i>maquis</i>. But no + della Rebbia knows the path that leads him to the jail. To the <i>maquis</i>, + Ors’ Anton’.” + </p> + <p> + “Farewell, then, to all my hopes!” exclaimed the wounded man, sadly. + </p> + <p> + “Your hopes? Deuce take it! Did you hope to do any better with a + double-barrelled gun? How on earth did the fellows contrive to hit you? + The rascals must have been as hard to kill as cats.” + </p> + <p> + “They fired first,” said Orso. + </p> + <p> + “True, true; I’d forgotten that!—<i>piff, piff—boum, boum</i>! + A right and left, and only one hand! If any man can do better, I’ll go + hang myself. Come! now you’re safely mounted! Before we start, just give a + glance at your work. It isn’t civil to leave one’s company without saying + good-bye.” + </p> + <p> + Orso spurred his horse. He would not have looked at the two poor wretches + he had just destroyed, for anything on earth. + </p> + <p> + “Hark ye, Ors’ Anton’,” quoth the bandit, as he caught hold of the horse’s + bridle, “shall I tell you the truth? Well, no offence to you! I’m sorry + for those poor young fellows! You’ll pardon me, I hope; so good-looking, + so strong, so young. Orlanduccio, I’ve shot with him so often! Only four + days ago he gave me a bundle of cigars, and Vincentello—he was + always so cheery. Of course you’ve only done what you had to do, and + indeed the shot was such a splendid one, nobody could regret it. But I, + you see, had nothing to do with your vengeance. I know you’re perfectly in + the right. When one has an enemy one must get rid of him. But the + Barricini were an old family. Here’s another of them wiped out, and by a + right and left too! It’s striking.” + </p> + <p> + As he thus spoke his funeral oration over the Barricini, Brandolaccio + hastily guided Orso, Chilina, and Brusco, the dog, toward the Stazzona <i>maquis</i>. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVIII + </h2> + <p> + Meanwhile, very shortly after Orso’s departure, Colomba’s spies had warned + her that the Barricini were out on the warpath, and from that moment she + was racked by the most intense anxiety. She was to be seen moving hither + and thither all over the house, between the kitchen and the rooms that + were being made ready for her guests, doing nothing, yet always busy, and + constantly stopping to look out of a window for any unusual stir in the + village. Toward eleven o’clock, a somewhat numerous cavalcade rode into + Pietranera. This was the colonel, with his daughter, their servants, and + their guide. Colomba’s first word, as she welcomed them, was “Have you + seen my brother?” Then she questioned the guide as to the road they had + taken, and the hour of their departure, and having heard his answers, she + could not understand why they had not met him. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps,” said the guide, “your brother took the higher path; we came by + the lower one.” + </p> + <p> + But Colomba only shook her head and asked more questions. In spite of her + natural firmness of character, increased as it was by her proud desire to + conceal any sign of weakness before strangers, she could not hide her + anxiety, and as soon as she had informed them of the attempted + reconciliation, and of its unfortunate issue, this was shared by the + colonel and Miss Lydia. Miss Nevil became very uneasy, and wanted to have + messengers sent off in every direction, and her father offered to remount + at once and set out with the guide in search of Orso. Her guests’ alarm + recalled Colomba to a sense of her duties as a hostess. She strove to + force a smile as she pressed the colonel to come to table, and suggested + twenty plausible reasons, which she herself demolished within an instant, + to account for her brother’s delay. The colonel, feeling it to be his + duty, as a man, to reassure the ladies, put forward his own explanation. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll wager,” he said, “that della Rebbia has come across some game or + other. He has not been able to stand out against that temptation, and we + shall soon see him come in with a heavy bag. ‘Pon my soul,” he went on, + “we did hear four shots fired on the road. Two of them were louder than + the others, and I said to my girl, ‘I’ll bet anything that’s della Rebbia + out shooting! My gun is the only one that would make that noise.’” + </p> + <p> + Colomba turned pale, and Lydia, who was watching her closely, had no + difficulty in guessing the suspicions with which the colonel’s conjecture + had inspired her. After a few minutes’ silence, Colomba eagerly inquired + whether the two louder reports had been heard before or after the others. + But neither the colonel, his daughter, nor the guide had paid much + attention to this all-important detail. + </p> + <p> + Toward one o’clock, as none of Colomba’s messengers had yet returned, she + gathered all her courage, and insisted that her guests should sit down to + table with her. But, except the colonel, none of them could eat. At the + slightest sound in the square, Colomba ran to the window. Then drearily + she returned to her place, and struggled yet more drearily to carry on a + trivial conversation, to which nobody paid the slightest attention, and + which was broken by long intervals of silence. All at once they heard a + horse’s gallop. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! That must be my brother at last!” said Colomba, rising from her + chair. But when she saw Chilina astride on Orso’s horse—“My brother + is dead!” she cried, in a heart-rending voice. + </p> + <p> + The colonel dropped his glass. Miss Lydia screamed. They all rushed to the + door of the house. Before Chilina could jump off her steed, she was + snatched up like a feather by Colomba, who held her so tight that she + almost choked her. The child understood her agonized look, and her first + words were those of the chorus in Othello: “He lives!” Colomba’s grasp + relaxed, and nimbly as a kitten Chilina dropped upon the ground. + </p> + <p> + “The others?” queried Colomba hoarsely. Chilina crossed herself with her + first and middle finger. A deep flush instantly replaced the deadly pallor + of Colomba’s face. She cast one fierce look at the Barricini dwelling, and + then, with a smile, she turned to her guests. + </p> + <p> + “Let us go in and drink our coffee,” she said. + </p> + <p> + The story the bandit’s Iris had to tell was a long one. Her narrative, + translated literally into Italian by Colomba, and then into English by + Miss Nevil, wrung more than one oath from the colonel, more than one sigh + from the fair Lydia. But Colomba heard it all unmoved. Only she twisted + her damask napkin till it seemed as if she must tear it in pieces. She + interrupted the child, five or six times over, to make her repeat again + that Brandolaccio had said the wound was not dangerous, and that he had + seen many worse. When she had finished her tale, Chilina announced that + Orso earnestly begged he might be sent writing materials, and that he + desired his sister would beseech a lady who might be staying in his house + not to depart from it, until she had received a letter from him. + </p> + <p> + “That is what was worrying him most,” the child added; “and even after I + had started he called me back, to bid me not forget the message. It was + the third time he had given it to me.” When Colomba heard of her brother’s + injunction she smiled faintly, and squeezed the fair Englishwoman’s hand. + That young lady burst into tears, and did not seem to think it advisable + to translate that particular part of the story to her father. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my dear,” cried Colomba, kissing Miss Nevil. “You shall stay with + me, and you shall help us.” + </p> + <p> + Then, taking a pile of old linen out of a cupboard, she began to cut it + up, to make lint and bandages. Any one who saw her flashing eyes, her + heightened colour, her alternate fits of anxiety and composure, would have + found it hard to say whether distress at her brother’s wound, or delight + at the extinction of her foes, were most affecting her. One moment she was + pouring out the colonel’s coffee, and telling him how well she made it, + the next she was setting Miss Lydia and Chilina to work, exhorting them to + sew bandages, and roll them up. Then, for the twentieth time, she would + ask whether Orso’s wound was very painful. She constantly broke off her + own work to exclaim to the colonel: + </p> + <p> + “Two such cunning men, such dangerous fellows! And he alone, wounded, with + only one arm! He killed the two of them! What courage, colonel! Isn’t he a + hero? Ah, Miss Nevil! How good it is to live in a peaceful country like + yours! I’m sure you did not really know my brother till now! I said it—‘The + falcon will spread his wings!’ You were deceived by his gentle look! + That’s because with you, Miss Nevil—Ah! if he could see you working + for him now! My poor Orso!” + </p> + <p> + Miss Lydia was doing hardly any work, and could not find a single word to + say. Her father kept asking why nobody went to lay a complaint before a + magistrate. He talked about a coroner’s inquest, and all sorts of other + proceedings quite unknown to Corsican economy. And then he begged to be + told whether the country house owned by that worthy Signor Brandolaccio, + who had brought succour to the wounded man, was very far away from + Pietranera, and whether he could not go there himself, to see his friend. + </p> + <p> + And Colomba replied, with her usual composure, that Orso was in the <i>maquis</i>; + that he was being taken care of by a bandit; that it would be a great risk + for him to show himself until he was sure of the line the prefect and the + judges were likely to take; and, finally, that she would manage to have + him secretly attended by a skilful surgeon. + </p> + <p> + “Above all things, colonel,” she added, “remember that you heard the four + shots, and that you told me Orso fired last.” + </p> + <p> + The colonel could make neither head nor tail of the business, and his + daughter did nothing but heave sighs and dry her eyes. + </p> + <p> + The day was far advanced, when a gloomy procession wended its way into the + village. The bodies of his two sons were brought home to Lawyer Barricini, + each corpse thrown across a mule, which was led by a peasant. A crowd of + dependents and idlers followed the dreary <i>cortege</i>. With it appeared + the gendarmes, who always came in too late, and the deputy-mayor, throwing + up his hands, and incessantly repeating, “What will Signor Prefetto say!” + Some of the women, among them Orlanduccio’s foster-mother, were tearing + their hair and shrieking wildly. But their clamorous grief was less + impressive than the dumb despair of one man, on whom all eyes were fixed. + This was the wretched father, who passed from one corpse to the other, + lifting up the earth-soiled heads, kissing the blackened lips, supporting + the limbs that were stiff already, as if he would save them from the + jolting of the road. Now and then he opened his mouth as though about to + speak, but not a cry came, not a word. His eyes never left the dead + bodies, and as he walked, he knocked himself against the stones, against + the trees, against every obstacle that chanced to lie in his path. + </p> + <p> + The women’s lamentations grew louder, and the men’s curses deeper, when + Orso’s house appeared in sight. When some shepherds of the della Rebbia + party ventured on a triumphant shout, their enemy’s indignation became + ungovernable. “Vengeance! Vengeance!” exclaimed several voices. Stones + were thrown, and two shots, fired at the windows of the room in which + Colomba and her guests were sitting, pierced the outside shutters, and + carried splinters of wood on to the table at which the two ladies were + working. Miss Lydia screamed violently, the colonel snatched up a gun, and + Colomba, before he could stop her, rushed to the door of the house and + threw it violently open. There, standing high on the threshold, with her + two hands outstretched to curse her enemies: + </p> + <p> + “Cowards!” she cried. “You fire on women and on foreigners! Are you + Corsicans? Are you men? Wretches, who can only murder a man from behind. + Come on! I defy you! I am alone! My brother is far away! Come! kill me, + kill my guests! It would be worthy of you! . . . But you dare not, cowards + that you are! You know we avenge our wrongs! Away with you! Go, weep like + women, and be thankful we do not ask you for more blood!” + </p> + <p> + There was something terrible and imposing in Colomba’s voice and mien. At + the sight of her the crowd recoiled as though it beheld one of those evil + fairies of which so many tales are told on long winter evenings, in + Corsica. The deputy-mayor, the gendarmes, and a few women seized the + opportunity, and threw themselves between the two factions; for the della + Rebbia herdsmen were already loading their guns, and for a moment a + general fight in the middle of the square had appeared imminent. But the + two parties were both leaderless, and Corsicans, whose rage is always + subject to discipline, seldom come to blows unless the chief authors of + their internecine quarrels are present. Besides, Colomba, who had learned + prudence from victory, restrained her little garrison. + </p> + <p> + “Let the poor folks weep in peace,” she said. “Let the old man carry his + own flesh home. What is the good of killing an old fox who has no teeth + left to bite with, . . . Giudice Barricini! Remember the 2d of August! + Remember the blood-stained pocket-book in which you wrote with your + forger’s hand! My father had written down your debt! Your sons have paid + it. You may go free, old Barricini!” + </p> + <p> + With folded arms and a scornful smile upon her lips, Colomba watched the + bearers carry the corpses of her enemies into their home, and the crowd + without it melt gradually away. Then she closed her own door, and, going + back into the dining-room, she said to the colonel: + </p> + <p> + “I beg, sir, you will forgive my fellow-countrymen! I never could have + believed that any Corsican would have fired on a house that sheltered + strangers, and I am ashamed of my country.” + </p> + <p> + That night, when Miss Lydia had gone up to her room, the colonel followed + her, and inquired whether they had not better get out of a village where + they ran incessant risk of having a bullet through their heads, the very + next morning, and leave this country, seething with treachery and murder, + as soon as possible. + </p> + <p> + Miss Nevil did not answer for some time, and her father’s suggestion + evidently caused her considerable perplexity. At last she said: + </p> + <p> + “How can we leave this poor young creature, just when she is so much in + need of consolation? Don’t you think that would be cruel, father?” + </p> + <p> + “I only spoke on your account, child,” said the colonel. “And I assure you + that if I once felt you were safe in the hotel at Ajaccio, I should be + very sorry to leave this cursed island myself, without shaking that plucky + fellow della Rebbia’s hand again.” + </p> + <p> + “Well then, father, let us wait a while, and before we start let us make + quite sure we can not be of any use to them.” + </p> + <p> + “Kind soul!” said the colonel, as he kissed his daughter’s forehead. “It + is a pleasure to see you sacrifice yourself for the sake of softening + other people’s suffering. Let us stay on. We shall never have to repent + having done right.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Lydia tossed sleeplessly to and fro in her bed. Sometimes she took + the vague night sounds for preparations for an attack on the house. + Sometimes, less alarmed on her own account, she thought of poor wounded + Orso, who was probably lying on the cold earth, with no help beyond what + she might expect from a bandit’s charity. She fancied him covered with + blood, and writhing in hideous suffering; and the extraordinary thing was + that whenever Orso’s image rose up before her mind’s eye, she always + beheld him as she had seen him when he rode away, pressing the talisman + she had bestowed upon him to his lips. Then she mused over his courage. + She told herself he had exposed himself to the frightful danger he had + just escaped on her account, just for the sake of seeing her a little + sooner. A very little more, and she would have persuaded herself that Orso + had earned his broken arm in her defence! She reproached herself with + being the cause of his wound. But she admired him for it all the more, and + if that celebrated right and left was not so splendid a feat in her sight + as in Brandolaccio’s or Colomba’s, still she was convinced few heroes of + romance could ever had behaved with such intrepidity and coolness, in so + dangerous a pinch. + </p> + <p> + Her room was that usually occupied by Colomba. Above a kind of oaken <i>prie-dieu</i>, + and beside a sprig of blessed palm, a little miniature of Orso, in his + sub-lieutenant’s uniform, hung on the wall. Miss Nevil took the portrait + down, looked at it for a long time, and laid it at last on the table by + her bed, instead of hanging it up again in its place. She did not fall + asleep till daybreak, and when she woke the sun had travelled high above + the horizon. In front of her bed she beheld Colomba, waiting, motionless, + till she should open her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Well, dear lady, are you not very uncomfortable in this poor house of + ours?” said Colomba to her. “I fear you have hardly slept at all.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you any news, dear friend?” cried Miss Nevil, sitting up in bed. + </p> + <p> + Her eye fell on Orso’s picture, and she hastily tossed her handkerchief + upon it. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I have news,” said Colomba, with a smile. + </p> + <p> + Then she took up the picture. + </p> + <p> + “Do you think it like him? He is better looking than that!” + </p> + <p> + “Really,” stammered Miss Nevil, quite confused, “I took down that picture + in a fit of absence! I have a horrid habit of touching everything and + never putting anything back! How is your brother?” + </p> + <p> + “Fairly well. Giocanto came here before four o’clock this morning. He + brought me a letter for you, Miss Lydia. Orso hasn’t written anything to + me! It is addressed to Colomba, indeed, but underneath that he has written + ‘For Miss N.’ But sisters are never jealous! Giocanto says it hurt him + dreadfully to write. Giocanto, who writes a splendid hand, offered to do + it at his dictation. But he would not let him. He wrote it with a pencil, + lying on his back. Brandolaccio held the paper for him. My brother kept + trying to raise himself, and then the very slightest movement gave him the + most dreadful agony in his arm. Giocanto says it was pitiful. Here is his + letter.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Nevil read the letter, which, as an extra precaution, no doubt, was + written in English. Its contents were as follows: + </p> + <p> + “MADEMOISELLE: An unhappy fate has driven me on. I know not what my + enemies will say, what slanders they will invent. I care little, so long + as you, mademoiselle, give them no credence! Ever since I first saw you I + have been nursing wild dreams. I needed this catastrophe to show me my own + folly. + </p> + <p> + “I have come back to my senses now. I know the future that lies before me, + and I shall face it with resignation. I dare not keep this ring you gave + me, and which I believed to be a lucky talisman. I fear, Miss Nevil, you + may regret your gift has been so ill-bestowed. Or rather, I fear it may + remind me of the days of my own madness. Colomba will give it to you. + Farewell, mademoiselle! You are about to leave Corsica, and I shall never + see you again. But tell my sister, at least, that I still possess your + esteem—and I tell you, confidently, that I am still worthy of it. + </p> + <p> + “O.D.R.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Lydia had turned away while she read the letter, and Colomba, who was + watching her closely, gave her the Egyptian ring, with an inquiring glance + as to what it all meant. But Miss Lydia dared not raise her head, and + looked dejectedly at the ring, alternately putting it on her finger and + pulling it off again. + </p> + <p> + “Dear Miss Nevil,” said Colomba, “may I not know what my brother says to + you? Does he say anything about his health?” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed,” said Miss Lydia, colouring, “he doesn’t mention it. His letter + is in English. He desires me to tell my father—He hopes the prefect + will be able to arrange——” + </p> + <p> + With a mischievous smile, Colomba sat down on the bed, took hold of both + Miss Nevil’s hands, and, looking at her with her piercing eyes— + </p> + <p> + “Will you be kind?” she said. “Won’t you answer my brother’s letter? You + would do him so much good! For a moment I thought of waking you when his + letter came, and then I didn’t dare!” + </p> + <p> + “You did very wrong,” replied Miss Nevil. “If a word from me could—” + </p> + <p> + “I can’t send him any letter now. The prefect has arrived, and Pietranera + is full of his policemen. Later on, we’ll see what we can do. Oh, Miss + Nevil, if you only knew my brother, you would love him as dearly as I do. + He’s so good! He’s so brave! Just think of what he has done! One man + against two, and wounded as well!” + </p> + <p> + The prefect had returned. Warned by an express messenger sent by the + deputy-mayor, he had brought over the public prosecutor, the registrar, + and all their myrmidons, to investigate the fresh and terrible catastrophe + which had just complicated, or it may be ended, the warfare between the + chief families of Pietranera. Shortly after his arrival, he saw the + colonel and his daughter, and did not conceal his fear that the business + might take on an ugly aspect. + </p> + <p> + “You know,” he said, “that the fight took place without witnesses, and the + reputation of these two unhappy men stood so high, both for bravery and + cunning, that nobody will believe Signor della Rebbia can have killed them + without the help of the bandits with whom he is now supposed to have taken + refuge.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s not possible,” said the colonel. “Orso della Rebbia is a most + honourable fellow. I’ll stake my life on that.” + </p> + <p> + “I believe you,” said the prefect. “But the public prosecutor (those + gentry always are suspicious) does not strike me as being particularly + well disposed toward him. He holds one bit of evidence which goes rather + against our friend—a threatening letter to Orlanduccio, in which he + suggests a meeting, and is inclined to think that meeting was a trap.” + </p> + <p> + “That fellow Orlanduccio refused to fight it out like a gentleman.” + </p> + <p> + “That is not the custom here. In this country, people lie in ambush, and + kill each other from behind. There is one deposition in his favour—that + of a child, who declares she heard four reports, two of which were louder + than the others, and produced by a heavy weapon, such as Signor della + Rebbia’s gun. Unluckily, the child is the niece of one of the bandits + suspected of being his accomplices, and has probably been taught her + lesson.” + </p> + <p> + “Sir,” broke in Miss Lydia, reddening to the roots of her hair, “we were + on the road when those shots were fired, and we heard the same thing.” + </p> + <p> + “Really? That’s most important! And you, colonel, no doubt you remarked + the very same thing?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” responded Miss Lydia quickly. “It was my father, who is so + accustomed to firearms, who said to me, ‘There’s Signor della Rebbia + shooting with my gun!’” + </p> + <p> + “And you are sure those shots you recognised were the last?” + </p> + <p> + “The two last, weren’t they, papa?” + </p> + <p> + Memory was not the colonel’s strong point, but as a standing rule, he knew + better than to contradict his daughter. + </p> + <p> + “I must mention this to the public prosecutor at once, colonel. And + besides, we expect a surgeon this evening, who will make an examination of + the two bodies, and find out whether the wounds were caused by that + particular weapon.” + </p> + <p> + “I gave it to Orso,” said the colonel, “and I wish I knew it was at the + bottom of the sea. At least——Plucky boy! I’m heartily glad he + had it with him, for I don’t quite know how he would have got off if it + hadn’t been for my Manton.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIX + </h2> + <p> + It was rather late when the surgeon put in an appearance. On his road up + he had met with an adventure of his own. He had been stopped by Giocanto + Castriconi, who, with the most scrupulous politeness, called on him to + come and attend a wounded man. He had been conducted to Orso’s retreat, + and had applied the first dressings to his wound. The bandit had then + accompanied the doctor some distance on his way, and had greatly edified + him by his talk concerning the most celebrated professors at Pisa, whom he + described as his intimate friends. + </p> + <p> + “Doctor,” said the theologian, as they parted, “you have inspired me with + such a feeling of respect that I think it hardly necessary to remind you + that a physician should be as discreet as a confessor.” And as he said the + words he clicked the trigger of his gun. “You have quite forgotten the + spot at which we have had the honour of meeting. Fare you well! I’m + delighted to have made your acquaintance.” + </p> + <p> + Colomba besought the colonel to be present at the post-mortem examination. + </p> + <p> + “You know my brother’s gun better than anybody,” she said, “and your + presence will be most valuable. Besides there are so many wicked people + here that we should run a great risk if there were nobody present to + protect our interests.” + </p> + <p> + When she was left alone with Miss Lydia, she complained that her head + ached terribly, and proposed that they should take a walk just outside the + village. + </p> + <p> + “The fresh air will do me good,” she said. “It is so long since I’ve been + out of doors.” + </p> + <p> + As they walked along she talked about her brother, and Miss Lydia, who + found the subject tolerably interesting, did not notice that they had + travelled a long way from Pietranera. The sun was setting when she became + aware of this fact, and she begged Colomba to return. Colomba said she + knew a cross-cut which would greatly shorten the walk back, and turning + out of the path, she took another, which seemed much less frequented. Soon + she began to climb a hill, so steep that to keep her balance she was + continually obliged to catch hold of branches with one hand, while she + pulled her companion up after her with the other. After about twenty + minutes of this trying ascent, they found themselves on a small plateau, + clothed with arbutus and myrtle, growing round great granite boulders that + jutted above the soil in every direction. Miss Lydia was very tired, there + was no sign of the village, and it was almost quite dark. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know, Colomba, my dear,” she said, “I’m afraid we’ve lost our + way!” + </p> + <p> + “No fear!” answered Colomba. “Let us get on. You follow me.” + </p> + <p> + “But I assure you we’re going wrong. The village can’t be over there. I’m + certain we’re turning our backs on it. Why, look at those lights, far + away. Pietranera must be in that direction.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear soul,” said Colomba, and she looked very much agitated, “you’re + perfectly right. But in the <i>maquis</i>—less than a hundred yards + from here—” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “My brother is lying. If you choose, I might see him, and give him one + kiss.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Nevil made a gesture of astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “I got out of Pietranera without being noticed,” continued Colomba, + “because I was with you, otherwise I should have been followed. To be so + close to him, and not to see him! Why shouldn’t you come with me to see my + poor brother? You would make him so happy!” + </p> + <p> + “But, Colomba—That wouldn’t be at all proper on my part——” + </p> + <p> + “I see. With you women who live in towns, your great anxiety is to be + proper. We village women only think of what is kind.” + </p> + <p> + “But it’s so late! And then what will your brother think of me?” + </p> + <p> + “He’ll think his friends have not forsaken him, and that will give him + courage to bear his sufferings.” + </p> + <p> + “And my father? He’ll be so anxious!” + </p> + <p> + “He knows you are with me. Come! Make up your mind. You were looking at + his picture this morning,” she added, with a sly smile. + </p> + <p> + “No! Really and truly, I don’t dare, Colomba! Think of the bandits who are + there.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, what matter? The bandits don’t know you. And you were longing to + see some.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, dear!” + </p> + <p> + “Come, signorina, settle something. I can’t leave you alone here. I don’t + know what might happen to you. Let us go on to see Orso, or else let us go + back to the village together. I shall see my brother again. God knows when—never, + perhaps!” + </p> + <p> + “What’s that you are saying, Colomba? Well, well, let us go! But only for + a minute, and then we’ll get home at once.” + </p> + <p> + Colomba squeezed her hand, and without making any reply walked on so + quickly that Miss Lydia could hardly keep up with her. She soon halted, + luckily, and said to her companion: + </p> + <p> + “We won’t go any farther without warning them. We might have a bullet + flying at our heads.” + </p> + <p> + She began to whistle through her fingers. Soon they heard a dog bark, and + the bandits’ advanced sentry shortly came in sight. This was our old + acquaintance Brusco, who recognised Colomba at once and undertook to be + her guide. After many windings through the narrow paths in the <i>maquis</i> + they were met by two men, armed to the teeth. + </p> + <p> + “Is that you, Brandolaccio?” inquired Colomba. “Where is my brother?” + </p> + <p> + “Just over there,” replied the bandit. “But go quietly. He’s asleep, and + for the first time since his accident. Zounds, it’s clear that where the + devil gets through, a woman will get through too!” + </p> + <p> + The two girls moved forward cautiously, and beside a fire, the blaze of + which was carefully concealed by a little wall of stones built round it, + they beheld Orso, lying on a pile of heather, and covered with a <i>pilone</i>. + He was very pale, and they could hear his laboured breathing. Colomba sat + down near him, and gazed at him silently, with her hands clasped, as + though she were praying in her heart. Miss Lydia hid her face in her + handkerchief, and nestled close against her friend, but every now and then + she lifted her head to take a look at the wounded man over Colomba’s + shoulder. Thus a quarter of an hour passed by without a word being said by + anybody. At a sign from the theologian, Brandolaccio had plunged with him + into the <i>maquis</i>, to the great relief of Miss Lydia, who for the + first time fancied the local colour of the bandits’ wild beards and + warlike equipment was a trifle too strong. + </p> + <p> + At last Orso stirred. Instantly, Colomba bent over him, and kissed him + again and again, pouring out questions anent his wound, his suffering, and + his needs. After having answered that he was doing as well as possible, + Orso inquired, in his turn, whether Miss Nevil was still at Pietranera, + and whether she had written to him. Colomba, bending over her brother, + completely hid her companion from his sight, and indeed the darkness would + have made any recognition difficult. She was holding one of Miss Nevil’s + hands. With the other she slightly raised her wounded brother’s head. + </p> + <p> + “No, brother,” she replied. “She did not give me any letter for you. But + are you still thinking about Miss Nevil? You must love her very much!” + </p> + <p> + “Love her, Colomba!—But—but now she may despise me!” + </p> + <p> + At this point Miss Nevil made a struggle to withdraw her fingers. But it + was no easy matter to get Colomba to slacken her grasp. Small and + well-shaped though her hand was, it possessed a strength of which we have + already noticed certain proofs. + </p> + <p> + “Despise you!” cried Colomba. “After what you’ve done? No, indeed! She + praises you! Oh, Orso, I could tell you so many things about her!” + </p> + <p> + Lydia’s hand was still struggling for its freedom, but Colomba kept + drawing it closer to Orso. + </p> + <p> + “But after all,” said the wounded man, “why didn’t she answer me? If she + had sent me a single line, I should have been happy.” + </p> + <p> + By dint of pulling at Miss Nevil’s hand, Colomba contrived at last to put + it into her brother’s. Then, moving suddenly aside, she burst out + laughing. + </p> + <p> + “Orso,” she cried, “mind you don’t speak evil of Miss Lydia—she + understands Corsican quite well.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Lydia took back her hand at once and stammered some unintelligible + words. Orso thought he must be dreaming. + </p> + <p> + “You here, Miss Nevil? Good heavens! how did you dare? Oh, how happy you + have made me!” + </p> + <p> + And raising himself painfully, he strove to get closer to her. + </p> + <p> + “I came with your sister,” said Miss Lydia, “so that nobody might suspect + where she was going. And then I—I wanted to make sure for myself. + Alas! how uncomfortable you are here!” + </p> + <p> + Colomba had seated herself behind Orso. She raised him carefully so that + his head might rest on her lap. She put her arms round his neck and signed + to Miss Lydia to come near him. + </p> + <p> + “Closer! closer!” she said. “A sick man mustn’t talk too loud.” And when + Miss Lydia hesitated, she caught her hand and forced her to sit down so + close to Orso that her dress touched him, and her hand, still in Colomba’s + grasp, lay on the wounded man’s shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Now he’s very comfortable!” said Colomba cheerily. “Isn’t it good to lie + out in the <i>maquis</i> on such a lovely night? Eh, Orso?” + </p> + <p> + “How you must be suffering!” exclaimed Miss Lydia. + </p> + <p> + “My suffering is all gone now,” said Orso, “and I should like to die + here!” And his right hand crept up toward Miss Lydia’s, which Colomba + still held captive. + </p> + <p> + “You really must be taken to some place where you can be properly cared + for, Signor della Rebbia,” said Miss Nevil. “I shall never be able to + sleep in my bed, now that I have seen you lying here, so uncomfortable, in + the open air.” + </p> + <p> + “If I had not been afraid of meeting you, Miss Nevil, I should have tried + to get back to Pietranera, and I should have given myself up to the + authorities.” + </p> + <p> + “And why were you afraid of meeting her, Orso?” inquired Colomba. + </p> + <p> + “I had disobeyed you, Miss Nevil, and I should not have dared to look at + you just then.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you know you make my brother do everything you choose, Miss Lydia?” + said Colomba, laughing. “I won’t let you see him any more.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope this unlucky business will soon be cleared up, and that you will + have nothing more to fear,” said Miss Nevil. “I shall be so happy, when we + go away, to know justice has been done you, and that both your loyalty and + your bravery have been acknowledged.” + </p> + <p> + “Going away, Miss Nevil! Don’t say that word yet!” + </p> + <p> + “What are we to do? My father can not spend his whole life shooting. He + wants to go.” + </p> + <p> + Orso’s hand, which had been touching Miss Lydia’s, dropped away, and there + was silence for a moment. + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense!” said Colomba. “We won’t let you go yet. We have plenty of + things to show you still at Pietranera. Besides, you have promised to + paint my picture, and you haven’t even begun it so far. And then I’ve + promised to compose you a <i>serenata</i>, with seventy-five verses. And + then—but what can Brusco be growling about? And here’s Brandolaccio + running after him. I must go and see what’s amiss.” + </p> + <p> + She rose at once, and laying Orso’s head, without further ceremony, on + Miss Lydia’s lap, she ran after the bandits. + </p> + <p> + Miss Nevil, somewhat startled at finding herself thus left in sole charge + of a handsome young Corsican gentleman in the middle of a <i>maquis</i>, + was rather puzzled what to do next. + </p> + <p> + For she was afraid that any sudden movement on her part might hurt the + wounded man. But Orso himself resigned the exquisite pillow on which his + sister had just laid his head, and raising himself on his right arm, he + said: + </p> + <p> + “So you will soon be gone, Miss Lydia? I never expected your stay in this + unhappy country would have been a long one. And yet since you have come to + me here, the thought that I must bid you farewell has grown a hundred + times more bitter to me. I am only a poor lieutenant. I had no future—and + now I am an outlaw. What a moment in which to tell you that I love you, + Miss Lydia! But no doubt this is my only chance of saying it. And I think + I feel less wretched now I have unburdened my heart to you.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Lydia turned away her head, as if the darkness were not dark enough + to hide her blushes. + </p> + <p> + “Signor della Rebbia,” she said, and her voice shook, “should I have come + here at all if——” and as she spoke she laid the Egyptian + talisman in Orso’s hand. Then, with a mighty effort to recover her usual + bantering tone—“It’s very wrong of you, Signor Orso, to say such + things! You know very well that here, in the middle of the <i>maquis</i>, + and with your bandits all about me, I should never dare to be angry with + you.” + </p> + <p> + Orso made an attempt to kiss the hand that held out the talisman. Miss + Lydia drew it quickly back; he lost his balance, and fell on his wounded + arm. He could not stifle a moan of pain. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, dear, you’ve hurt yourself, and it was my fault!” she cried, as she + raised him up. “Forgive me!” They talked for some time longer, very low, + and very close together. + </p> + <p> + Colomba, running hastily up, found them in the very same position in which + she had left them. + </p> + <p> + “The soldiers!” she cried. “Orso! try to get up and walk! I’ll help you!” + </p> + <p> + “Leave me!” said Orso. “Tell the bandits to escape. What do I care if I am + taken? But take away Miss Lydia. For God’s sake, don’t let anybody see her + here!” + </p> + <p> + “I won’t leave you,” said Brandolaccio, who had come up on Colomba’s + heels. + </p> + <p> + “The sergeant in charge is the lawyer’s godson. He’ll shoot you instead of + arresting you, and then he’ll say he didn’t do it on purpose.” + </p> + <p> + Orso tried to rise; he even took a few steps. But he soon halted. “I can’t + walk,” he said. “Fly, all of you! Good-bye, Miss Nevil! Give me your hand! + Farewell!” + </p> + <p> + “We won’t leave you!” cried the two girls. + </p> + <p> + “If you can’t walk,” said Brandolaccio, “I must carry you. Come, sir, a + little courage! We shall have time to slip away by the ravine. The Signor + Padre will keep them busy.” + </p> + <p> + “No, leave me!” said Orso, lying down on the ground. “Colomba, take Miss + Nevil away!—for God’s sake!” + </p> + <p> + “You’re strong, Signorina Colomba,” said Brandolaccio. “Catch hold of his + shoulders; I’ll take his feet. That’s it! Now, then march!” + </p> + <p> + In spite of his protests, they began to carry him rapidly along. Miss + Lydia was following them, in a terrible fright, when a gun was fired, and + five or six other reports instantly responded. Miss Lydia screamed and + Brandolaccio swore an oath, but he doubled his pace, and Colomba, + imitating him, tore through the thicket without paying the slightest heed + to the branches that slashed her face and tore her dress. + </p> + <p> + “Bend down, bend down, dear!” she called out to her companion. “You may be + hit by some stray bullet!” + </p> + <p> + They had walked, or rather run, some five hundred paces in this fashion + when Brandolaccio vowed he could go no further, and dropped on the ground, + regardless of all Colomba’s exhortations and reproaches. + </p> + <p> + “Where is Miss Nevil?” was Orso’s one inquiry. + </p> + <p> + Terrified by the firing, checked at every step by the thick growth of the + <i>maquis</i>, Miss Nevil had soon lost sight of the fugitives, and been + left all alone in a state of the most cruel alarm. + </p> + <p> + “She has been left behind,” said Brandolaccio, “but she’ll not be lost—women + always turn up again. Do listen to the row the Padre is making with your + gun, Ors’ Anton’! Unluckily, it’s as black as pitch, and nobody takes much + harm from being shot at in the dark.” + </p> + <p> + “Hush!” cried Colomba. “I hear a horse. We’re saved!” + </p> + <p> + Startled by the firing, a horse which had been wandering through the <i>maquis</i>, + was really coming close up to them. + </p> + <p> + “Saved, indeed!” repeated Brandolaccio. It did not take the bandit more + than an instant to rush up to the creature, catch hold of his mane, and + with Colomba’s assistance, bridle him with a bit of knotted rope. + </p> + <p> + “Now we must warn the Padre,” he said. He whistled twice; another distant + whistle answered the signal, and the loud voice of the Manton gun was + hushed. Then Brandolaccio sprang on the horse’s back. Colomba lifted her + brother up in front of the bandit, who held him close with one hand and + managed his bridle with the other. + </p> + <p> + In spite of the double load, the animal, urged by a brace of hearty kicks, + started off nimbly, and galloped headlong down a steep declivity on which + anything but a Corsican steed would have broken its neck a dozen times. + </p> + <p> + Then Colomba retraced her steps, calling Miss Nevil at the top of her + voice; but no answering cry was heard. + </p> + <p> + After walking hither and thither for some time, trying to recover the + path, she stumbled on two riflemen, who shouted, “Who goes there?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, gentlemen,” cried Colomba jeeringly, “here’s a pretty racket! How + many of you are killed?” + </p> + <p> + “You were with the bandits!” said one of the soldiers. “You must come with + us.” + </p> + <p> + “With pleasure!” she replied. “But there’s a friend of mine somewhere + close by, and we must find her first.” + </p> + <p> + “You friend is caught already, and both of you will sleep in jail + to-night!” + </p> + <p> + “In jail, you say? Well, that remains to be seen. But take me to her, + meanwhile.” + </p> + <p> + The soldiers led her to the bandits’ camp, where they had collected the + trophies of their raid—to wit, the cloak which had covered Orso, an + old cooking-pot, and a pitcher of cold water. On the same spot she found + Miss Nevil, who had fallen among the soldiers, and, being half dead with + terror, did nothing but sob in answer to their questions as to the number + of the bandits, and the direction in which they had gone. + </p> + <p> + Colomba threw herself into her arms and whispered in her ear, “They are + safe!” Then, turning to the sergeant, she said: “Sir, you can see this + young lady knows none of the things you are trying to find out from her. + Give us leave to go back to the village, where we are anxiously expected.” + </p> + <p> + “You’ll be taken there, and faster than you like, my beauty,” rejoined the + sergeant. “And you’ll have to explain what you were after at this time of + night with the ruffians who have just got away. I don’t know what + witchcraft those villains practise, but they certainly do bewitch the + women—for wherever there are bandits about, you are dead certain to + find pretty girls.” + </p> + <p> + “You’re very flattering, sergeant!” said Colomba, “but you’ll do well to + be careful what you say. This young lady is related to the prefect, and + you’d better be careful of your language before her.” + </p> + <p> + “A relation of the prefect’s,” whispered one of the soldiers to his chief. + “Why, she does wear a hat!” + </p> + <p> + “Hats have nothing to do with it,” said the sergeant. “They were both of + them with the Padre—the greatest woman-wheedler in the whole + country, so it’s my business to march them off. And, indeed, there’s + nothing more for us to do here. But for that d——d Corporal + Taupin—the drunken Frenchman showed himself before I’d surrounded + the <i>maquis</i>—we should have had them all like fish in a net.” + </p> + <p> + “Are there only seven of you here?” inquired Colomba. “It strikes me, + gentlemen, that if the three Poli brothers—Gambini, Sarocchi, and + Teodoro—should happen to be at the Cross of Santa Christina, with + Brandolaccio and the Padre, they might give you a good deal of corn to + grind. If you mean to have a talk with the Commandante della Campagna, I’d + just as soon not be there. In the dark, bullets don’t show any respect for + persons.” + </p> + <p> + The idea of coming face to face with the dreaded bandits mentioned by + Colomba made an evident impression on the soldiers. The sergeant, still + cursing Corporal Taupin—“that dog of a Frenchman”—gave the + order to retire, and his little party moved toward Pietranera, carrying + the <i>pilone</i> and the cooking-pot; as for the pitcher, its fate was + settled with a kick. + </p> + <p> + One of the men would have laid hold of Miss Lydia’s arm, but Colomba + instantly pushed him away. + </p> + <p> + “Let none of you dare to lay a finger on her!” she said. “Do you fancy we + want to run away? Come, Lydia, my dear, lean on me, and don’t cry like a + baby. We’ve had an adventure, but it will end all right. In half an hour + we shall be at our supper, and for my part I’m dying to get to it.” + </p> + <p> + “What will they think of me!” Miss Nevil whispered. + </p> + <p> + “They’ll think you lost your way in the <i>maquis</i>, that’s all.” + </p> + <p> + “What will the prefect say? Above all, what will my father say?” + </p> + <p> + “The prefect? You can tell him to mind his own business! Your father? I + should have thought, from the way you and Orso were talking, that you had + something to say to your father.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Nevil squeezed her arm, and answered nothing. + </p> + <p> + “Doesn’t my brother deserve to be loved?” whispered Colomba in her ear. + “Don’t you love him a little?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Colomba!” answered Miss Nevil, smiling in spite of her blushes, + “you’ve betrayed me! And I trusted you so!” + </p> + <p> + Colomba slipped her arm round her, and kissed her forehead. + </p> + <p> + “Little sister,” she whispered very low, “will you forgive me?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, I suppose I must, my masterful sister,” answered Lydia, as she + kissed her back. + </p> + <p> + The prefect and the public prosecutor were staying with the deputy-mayor, + and the colonel, who was very uneasy about his daughter, was paying them + his twentieth call, to ask if they had heard of her, when a rifleman, whom + the sergeant had sent on in advance, arrived with the full story of the + great fight with the brigands—a fight in which nobody had been + either killed or wounded, but which had resulted in the capture of a + cooking-pot, a <i>pilone</i>, and two girls, whom the man described as the + mistresses, or the spies, of the two bandits. + </p> + <p> + Thus heralded, the two prisoners appeared, surrounded by their armed + escort. + </p> + <p> + My readers will imagine Colomba’s radiant face, her companion’s confusion, + the prefect’s surprise, the colonel’s astonishment and joy. The public + prosecutor permitted himself the mischievous entertainment of obliging + poor Lydia to undergo a kind of cross-examination, which did not conclude + until he had quite put her out of countenance. + </p> + <p> + “It seems to me,” said the prefect, “that we may release everybody. These + young ladies went out for a walk—nothing is more natural in fine + weather. They happened to meet a charming young man, who has been lately + wounded—nothing could be more natural, again.” Then, taking Colomba + aside— + </p> + <p> + “Signorina,” he said, “you can send word to your brother that this + business promises to turn out better than I had expected. The post-mortem + examination and the colonel’s deposition both prove that he only defended + himself, and that he was alone when the fight took place. Everything will + be settled—only he must leave the <i>maquis</i> and give himself up + to the authorities.” + </p> + <p> + It was almost eleven o’clock when the colonel, his daughter, and Colomba + sat down at last to their supper, which had grown cold. Colomba ate + heartily, and made great fun of the prefect, the public prosecutor, and + the soldiers. The colonel ate too, but never said a word, and gazed + steadily at his daughter, who would not lift her eyes from her plate. At + last, gently but seriously, he said in English: + </p> + <p> + “Lydia, I suppose you are engaged to della Rebbia?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, father, to-day,” she answered, steadily, though she blushed. Then + she raised her eyes, and reading no sign of anger in her father’s face, + she threw herself into his arms and kissed him, as all well-brought-up + young ladies do on such occasions. + </p> + <p> + “With all my heart!” said the colonel. “He’s a fine fellow. But, by G—d, + we won’t live in this d—-d country of his, or I’ll refuse my + consent.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know English,” said Colomba, who was watching them with an air of + the greatest curiosity, “but I’ll wager I’ve guessed what you are saying!” + </p> + <p> + “We are saying,” quoth the colonel, “that we are going to take you for a + trip to Ireland.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, with pleasure; and I’ll be the Surella Colomba. Is it settled, + colonel? Shall we shake hands on it?” + </p> + <p> + “In such a case,” remarked the colonel, “people exchanges kisses!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XX + </h2> + <p> + One afternoon, a few months after the double shot which, as the newspapers + said, “plunged the village of Pietranera into a state of consternation,” a + young man with his left arm in a sling, rode out of Bastia, toward the + village of Cardo, celebrated for its spring, which in summer supplies the + more fastidious inhabitants of the town with delicious water. He was + accompanied by a young lady, tall and remarkably handsome, mounted on a + small black horse, the strength and shape of which would have attracted + the admiration of a connoisseur, although, by some strange accident, one + of its ears had been lacerated. On reaching the village, the girl sprang + nimbly to the ground, and, having helped her comrade to dismount, she + unfastened the somewhat heavy wallets strapped to his saddle-bow. The + horses were left in charge of a peasant. The girl, laden with the wallets, + which she had concealed under her <i>mezzaro</i>, and the young man, + carrying a double-barrelled gun, took their way toward the mountain, along + a very steep path that did not appear to lead to any dwelling. When they + had climbed to one of the lower ridges of the Monte Querico, they halted, + and sat down on the grass. They were evidently expecting somebody, for + they kept perpetually looking toward the mountain, and the young lady + often consulted a pretty gold watch—as much, it may be, for the + pleasure of admiring what appeared a somewhat newly acquired trinket, as + in order to know whether the hour appointed for some meeting or other had + come. They had not long to wait. A dog ran out of the <i>maquis</i>, and + when the girl called out “Brusco!” it approached at once, and fawned upon + them. Presently two bearded men appeared, with guns under their arms, + cartridge-belts round their waists, and pistols hanging at their sides. + Their torn and patched garments contrasted oddly with their weapons, which + were brilliantly polished, and came from a famous Continental factory. In + spite of the apparent inequality of their positions, the four actors in + this scene greeted one another in terms of old and familiar friendship. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Ors’ Anton’,” said the elder bandit to the young man, “so your + business is settled—the indictment against you has fallen through? I + congratulate you. I’m sorry the lawyer has left the island. I’d like to + see his rage. And how’s your arm?” + </p> + <p> + “They tell me I shall get rid of my sling in a fortnight,” said the young + man. “Brando, my good friend, I’m going to Italy to-morrow—I wanted + to say good-bye to you and to the cure. That’s why I asked you to come + here.” + </p> + <p> + “You’re in a fine hurry,” said Brandolaccio. “Only acquitted yesterday, + and you’re off to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “Business must be attended to,” said the young lady merrily. “Gentlemen, + I’ve brought some supper. Fall to, if you please, and don’t you forget my + friend Brusco.” + </p> + <p> + “You spoil Brusco, Mademoiselle Colomba. But he’s a grateful dog. You + shall see. Here, Brusco,” and he held out his gun horizontally, “jump for + the Barricini!” + </p> + <p> + The dog stood motionless, licking his chops, and staring at his master. + </p> + <p> + “Jump for the della Rebbia!” And he leaped two feet higher than he need + have done. + </p> + <p> + “Look here, my friends,” said Orso, “you’re plying a bad trade; and even + if you don’t end your career on that square below us,[*] the best you can + look for is to die in the <i>maquis</i> by some gendarme’s bullet.” + </p> + <p> + [*] The square at Bastia on which executions take place. + </p> + <p> + “Well, well,” said Castriconi, “that’s no more than death, anyhow; and + it’s better than being killed in your bed by a fever, with your heirs + snivelling more or less honestly all round you. To men who are accustomed + to the open air like us, there’s nothing so good as to die ‘in your + shoes,’ as the village folk say.” + </p> + <p> + “I should like to see you get out of this country,” said Orso, “and lead a + quieter life. For instance, why shouldn’t you settle in Sardinia, as + several of your comrades have done? I could make the matter easy for you.” + </p> + <p> + “In Sardinia!” cried Brandolaccio. “<i>Istos Sardos!</i> Devil take them + and their lingo! We couldn’t live in such bad company.” + </p> + <p> + “Sardinia’s a country without resources,” added the theologian. “For my + part, I despise the Sardinians. They keep mounted men to hunt their + bandits. That’s a stigma on both the bandits and the country.[*] Out upon + Sardinia, say I! The thing that astounds me, Signor della Rebbia, is that + you, who are a man of taste and understanding, should not have taken to + our life in the <i>maquis</i>, after having once tried it, as you did.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + [*] I owe this criticism of Sardinia to an ex-bandit of my + acquaintance, and he alone must bear the responsibility of + it. He means that bandits who let themselves be caught by + horse soldiers are idiots, and that soldiers who try to + catch bandits on horseback have very little chance of + getting at them. +</pre> + <p> + “Well,” said Orso, with a smile, “when I was lucky enough to be your + guest, I wasn’t in very good case for enjoying the charms of your + position, and my ribs still ache when I think of the ride I took one + lovely night, thrown like a bundle across an unsaddled horse that my good + friend Brandolaccio guided.” + </p> + <p> + “And the delight of escaping from your pursuers,” rejoined Castriconi; “is + that nothing to you? How can you fail to realize the charm of absolute + freedom in such a beautiful climate as ours? With this to insure respect,” + and he held up his gun, “we are kings of everything within its range. We + can give orders, we can redress wrongs. That’s a highly moral + entertainment, monsieur, and a very pleasant one, which we don’t deny + ourselves. What can be more beautiful than a knight-errant’s life, when he + has good weapons, and more common sense than Don Quixote had? Listen! The + other day I was told that little Lilla Luigi’s uncle—old miser that + he is—wouldn’t give her a dowry. So I wrote to him. I didn’t use + threats—that’s not my way. Well, well, in one moment the man was + convinced. He married his niece, and I made two people happy. Believe me, + Orso, there’s no life like the bandit’s life! Pshaw! You’d have joined us, + perhaps, if it hadn’t been for a certain young Englishwoman whom I have + scarcely seen myself, but about whose beauty every one in Bastia is + talking.” + </p> + <p> + “My future sister-in-law doesn’t like the <i>maquis</i>,” laughed Colomba. + “She got too great a fright in one of them.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Orso, “you are resolved to stay here? So be it! But tell me + whether there is anything I can do for you?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing,” said Brandolaccio. “You’ve heaped kindnesses upon us. Here’s + little Chilina with her dowry ready, so that there’ll be no necessity for + my friend the cure to write one of his persuasive letters to insure her + marrying well. We know the man on your farm will give us bread and powder + whenever we need them. So fare you well! I hope we shall see you back in + Corsica one of these days.” + </p> + <p> + “In case of pressing need,” said Orso, “a few gold coins are very useful. + Now we are such old friends, you won’t refuse this little <i>cartouche</i>.[*] + It will help you to provide cartridges of another kind.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + [*] <i>Cartouche</i> means a collection of gold pieces as well as + a cartridge. +</pre> + <p> + “No money between you and me, sir,” said Brandolaccio resolutely. + </p> + <p> + “In the world money is everything,” remarked Castriconi, “but in the <i>maquis</i>, + all a man need care for is a brave heart, and a gun that carries true.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t want to leave you without giving you something to remember me + by,” persisted Orso. “Come, Brandolaccio, what can I leave with you?” + </p> + <p> + The bandit scratched his head and cast a sidelong glance at Orso’s gun. + </p> + <p> + “By my faith, if I dared—but no! you’re too fond of it.” + </p> + <p> + “What would you like?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing! ‘Tisn’t anything at all. It’s knowing how to use it as well. I + keep thinking of that devil of a double-shot of yours—and with only + one hand, too! Oh! that never could happen twice over!” + </p> + <p> + “Is it the gun you fancy? I bought it for you. But see you don’t use it + more than you are obliged.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I won’t promise to make as good use of it as you. But make your mind + easy. When any other man has it, you may be certain it’s all over with + Brando Savelli.” + </p> + <p> + “And you, Castriconi—what am I to give you?” + </p> + <p> + “Since you really insist on giving me some tangible keepsake, I’ll simply + ask you to send me the smallest Horace you can get. It will amuse me, and + prevent me from forgetting all my Latin. There’s a little woman who sells + cigars on the jetty at Bastia. If you give it to her, she’ll see I get + it.” + </p> + <p> + “You shall have an Elzevir, my erudite friend. There just happens to be + one among some books I was going to take away with me. Well, good friends, + we must part! Give me your hands. If you should ever think of Sardinia + write to me. Signor N., the notary, will give you my address on the + mainland.” + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow, lieutenant,” said Brando, “when you get out in the harbour, + look up to this spot on the mountain-side. We shall be here, and we’ll + wave our handkerchiefs to you.” + </p> + <p> + And so they parted. Orso and his sister took their way back to Cardo, and + the bandits departed up the mountain. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXI + </h2> + <p> + One lovely April morning, Sir Thomas Nevil, his daughter, a newly made + bride—Orso, and Colomba, drove out of Pisa to see a lately + discovered Etruscan vault to which all strangers who came to that part of + the country paid a visit. + </p> + <p> + Orso and his wife went down into the ancient building, pulled out their + pencils, and began to sketch the mural paintings. But the colonel and + Colomba, who neither of them cared much for archaeology, left them to + themselves, and walked about in the neighbourhood. + </p> + <p> + “My dear Colomba,” said the colonel, “we shall never get back to Pisa in + time for lunch. Aren’t you hungry? There are Orso and his wife buried in + their antiquities; when once they begin sketching together, it lasts + forever!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” remarked Colomba. “And yet they never bring the smallest sketch + home with them.” + </p> + <p> + “I think,” proceeded the colonel, “our best plan would be to make our way + to that little farm-house yonder. We should find bread there, and perhaps + some <i>aleatico</i>. Who knows, we might even find strawberries and + cream! And then we should be able to wait patiently for our artists.” + </p> + <p> + “You are quite right, colonel. You and I are the reasonable members of + this family. We should be very foolish if we let ourselves by martyrized + by that pair of lovers, who live on poetry! Give me your arm! Don’t you + think I’m improving? I lean on people’s arms, wear fashionable hats and + gowns and trinkets—I’m learning I don’t know how many fine things—I’m + not at all a young savage any more. Just observe the grace with which I + wear this shawl. That fair-haired spark—that officer belonging to + your regiment who came to the wedding—oh, dear! I can’t recollect + his name!—a tall, curly-headed man, whom I could knock over with one + hand——” + </p> + <p> + “Chatsworth?” suggested the colonel. + </p> + <p> + “That’s it!—but I never shall be able to say it!—Well, you + know he’s over head and ears in love with me!” + </p> + <p> + “O Colomba, you’re growing a terrible flirt! We shall have another wedding + before long.” + </p> + <p> + “I! Marry! And then who will there be to bring up my nephew—when + Orso provides me with a nephew? And who’ll teach him to talk Corsican? + Yes, he shall talk Corsican, and I’ll make him a peaked cap, just to vex + you.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, well, wait till you have your nephew, and then you shall teach him + to use a dagger, if you choose.” + </p> + <p> + “Farewell to daggers!” said Colomba merrily. “I have a fan now, to rap + your fingers with when you speak ill of my country.” + </p> + <p> + Chatting thus, they reached the farm-house, where they found wine, + strawberries, and cream. Colomba helped the farmer’s wife to gather the + strawberries, while the colonel drank his <i>aleatico</i>. At the turning + of a path she caught sight of an old man, sitting in the sun, on a straw + chair. He seemed ill, his cheeks were fallen in, his eyes were hollow, he + was frightfully thin; as he sat there, motionless, pallid, staring fixedly + in front of him, he looked more like a corpse than like a living creature. + Colomba watched him for some minutes, and with a curiosity so great that + it attracted the woman’s attention. + </p> + <p> + “That poor old fellow is a countryman of yours,” she said. “For I know you + are from Corsica by the way you talk, signorina! He has had great trouble + in his own country. His children met with some terrible death. They say—you’ll + excuse me, signorina—that when they quarrel, your compatriots don’t + show each other very much mercy. Then the poor old gentleman, being left + all alone, came over to Pisa, to a distant relation of his, who owns this + farm. Between his misfortunes and his sorrow, the good man is a little + cracked. . . . The lady found him troublesome—for she sees a great + deal of company. So she sent him out here. He’s very gentle—no worry + at all. He doesn’t speak three words the whole day long. In fact, his + brain’s quite gone. The doctor comes to see him every week. He says he + won’t live long.” + </p> + <p> + “There’s no hope for him, then!” said Colomba. “In such a case, death will + be a mercy.” + </p> + <p> + “You might say a word to him in Corsican, signorina. Perhaps it would + cheer him up to hear the speech of his own country.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll see!” said Colomba, and her smile was mysterious. + </p> + <p> + She drew nearer to the old man, till her shadow fell across his chair. + Then the poor idiot lifted his head and stared at Colomba, while she + looked at him, smiling still. After a moment, the old man passed his hand + across his forehead, and closed his eyes, as though he would have shut out + the sight of Colomba. He opened them again, desperately wide this time. + His lips began to work, he tried to stretch out his hands, but, fascinated + by Colomba’s glance, he sat, nailed, as it were, to his chair, unable to + move or utter a word. At last great tears dropped from his eyes, and a few + sobs escaped from his heaving chest. + </p> + <p> + “‘Tis the first time I’ve seen him like this,” said the good woman. “This + signorina belongs to your own country; she has come to see you,” said she + to the old man. + </p> + <p> + “Mercy!” he cried in a hoarse voice. “Mercy! Are you not content? The leaf + I burned. How did you read it? But why did you take them both? + Orlanduccio! You can’t have read anything against him! You should have + left me one, only one! Orlanduccio—you didn’t read <i>his</i> name!” + </p> + <p> + “I had to have them both!” answered Colomba, speaking low and in the + Corsican dialect. “The branches are topped off! If the stem had not been + rotten, I would have torn it up! Come! make no moan. You will not suffer + long! <i>I</i> suffered for two years!” + </p> + <p> + The old man cried out, and then his head dropped on his breast. Colomba + turned her back on him, and went slowly into the house, humming some + meaningless lines out of a <i>ballata</i>: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “I must have the hand + that fired, the eye that aimed, the heart + that planned.” + </pre> + <p> + While the farmer’s wife ran to attend on the old man, Colomba, with + blazing eyes and brilliant cheeks, sat down to luncheon opposite the + colonel. + </p> + <p> + “What’s the matter with you?” he said. “You look just as you did that day + at Pietranera, when they fired at us while we were at dinner.” + </p> + <p> + “Old Corsican memories had come back to me. But all that’s done with. I + shall be godmother, sha’n’t I? Oh! what fine names I’ll give him! + Ghilfuccio—Tomaso—Orso—Leone!” + </p> + <p> + The farmer’s wife came back into the room. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” inquired Colomba, with the most perfect composure. “Is he dead, or + had he only fainted?” + </p> + <p> + “It was nothing, signorina. But it’s curious what an effect the sight of + you had on him.” + </p> + <p> + “And the doctor says he won’t last long?” + </p> + <p> + “Not two months, very likely.” + </p> + <p> + “He’ll be no great loss!” remarked Colomba. + </p> + <p> + “What the devil are you talking about?” inquired the colonel. + </p> + <p> + “About an idiot from my own country, who is boarded out here. I’ll send + from time to time to find out how he is. Why, Colonel Nevil, aren’t you + going to leave any strawberries for Lydia and my brother?” + </p> + <p> + When Colomba left the farm-house and got into the carriage, the farmer’s + wife looked after her for a while. Then, turning to her daughter: + </p> + <p> + “Dost see that pretty young lady yonder?” she said. “Well, I’m certain she + has the evil eye!” + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Columba, by Prosper Merimee + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK COLUMBA *** + +***** This file should be named 2708-h.htm or 2708-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/7/0/2708/ + +Produced by Dagny; Emma Dudding; John Bickers; David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END* + + + + + +Etext prepared by Dagny, dagnyj@hotmail.com +Emma Dudding, emma_302@hotmail.com +and John Bickers, jbickers@ihug.co.nz + + + + + +COLOMBA + +by PROSPER MERIMEE + + + + +Translated By +The Lady Mary Loyd + + + + +CHAPTER I + + + + "Pe far la to vendetta, + Sta sigur', vasta anche ella." + +--Vocero du Niolo. + + +Early in the month of October, 181-, Colonel Sir Thomas Nevil, a +distinguished Irish officer of the English army, alighted with his +daughter at the Hotel Beauveau, Marseilles, on their return from a +tour in Italy. The perpetual and universal admiration of enthusiastic +travellers has produced a sort of reaction, and many tourists, in +their desire to appear singular, now take the /nil admirari/ of Horace +for their motto. To this dissatisfied class the colonel's only +daughter, Miss Lydia, belonged. "The Transfiguration" has seemed to +her mediocre, and Vesuvius in eruption an effect not greatly superior +to that produced by the Birmingham factory chimneys. Her great +objection to Italy, on the whole, was its lack of local colour and +character. My readers must discover the sense of these expressions as +best they may. A few years ago I understood them very well myself, but +at the present time I can make nothing of them. At first, Miss Lydia +had flattered herself she had found things on the other side of the +Alps which nobody had ever before seen, about which she could converse +/avec les honnetes gens/, as M. Jourdain calls them. But soon, +anticipated in every direction by her countrymen, she despaired of +making any fresh discoveries, and went over to the party of the +opposition. It is really very tiresome not to be able to talk abut the +wonders of Italy without hearing somebody say "Of course you know the +Raphael in the Palazzo---- at ----? It is the finest thing in Italy!" +and just the thing /you/ happen to have overlooked! As it would take +too long to see everything, the simplest course is to resort to +deliberate and universal censure. + +At the Hotel Beauveau Miss Lydia met with a bitter disappointment. She +had brought back a pretty sketch of the Pelasgic or Cyclopean Gate at +Segni, which, as she believed, all other artists had completely +overlooked. Now, at Marseilles, she met Lady Frances Fenwick, who +showed her her album, in which appeared, between a sonnet and a dried +flower, the very gate in question, brilliantly touched in with sienna. +Miss Lydia gave her drawing to her maid--and lost all admiration for +Pelasgic structures. + +This unhappy frame of mind was shared by Colonel Nevil, who, since the +death of his wife, looked at everything through his daughter's eyes. +In his estimation, Italy had committed the unpardonable sin of boring +his child, and was, in consequence, the most wearisome country on the +face of the earth. He had no fault to find, indeed, with the pictures +and statues, but he was in a position to assert that Italian sport was +utterly wretched, and that he had been obliged to tramp ten leagues +over the Roman Campagna, under a burning sun, to kill a few worthless +red-legged partridges. + +The morning after his arrival at Marseilles he invited Captain Ellis-- +his former adjutant, who had just been spending six weeks in Corsica-- +to dine with him. The captain told Miss Lydia a story about bandits, +which had the advantage of bearing no resemblance to the robber tales +with which she had been so frequently regaled, on the road between +Naples and Rome, and he told it well. At dessert, the two men, left +alone over their claret, talked of hunting--and the colonel learned +that nowhere is there more excellent sport, or game more varied and +abundant, than in Corsica. "There are plenty of wild boars," said +Captain Ellis. "And you have to learn to distinguish them from the +domestic pigs, which are astonishingly like them. For if you kill a +pig, you find yourself in difficulties with the swine-herds. They rush +out of the thickets (which they call /maquis/) armed to the teeth, +make you pay for their beasts, and laugh at you besides. Then there is +the mouflon, a strange animal, which you will not find anywhere else-- +splendid game, but hard to get--and stags, deer, pheasants, and +partridges--it would be impossible to enumerate all the kinds with +which Corsica swarms. If you want shooting, colonel, go to Corsica! +There, as one of my entertainers said to me, you can get a shot at +every imaginable kind of game, from a thrush to a man!" + +At tea, the captain once more delighted Lydia with the tale of a +/vendetta transversale/ (A vendetta in which vengeance falls on a more +or less distant relation of the author of the original offence.), even +more strange than his first story, and he thoroughly stirred her +enthusiasm by his descriptions of the strange wild beauty of the +country, the peculiarities of its inhabitants, and their primitive +hospitality and customs. Finally, he offered her a pretty little +stiletto, less remarkable for its shape and copper mounting than for +its origin. A famous bandit had given it to Captain Ellis, and had +assured him it had been buried in four human bodies. Miss Lydia thrust +it through her girdle, laid it on the table beside her bed, and +unsheathed it twice over before she fell asleep. Her father meanwhile +was dreaming he had slain a mouflon, and that its owner insisted on +his paying for it, a demand to which he gladly acceded, seeing it was +a most curious creature, like a boar, with stag's horns and a +pheasant's tail. + +"Ellis tells me there's splendid shooting in Corsica," said the +colonel, as he sat at breakfast, alone with his daughter. "If it +hadn't been for the distance, I should like to spend a fortnight +there." + +"Well," replied Miss Lydia, "why shouldn't we go to Corsica? While you +are hunting I can sketch--I should love to have that grotto Captain +Ellis talked about, where Napoleon used to go and study when he was a +child, in my album." + +It was the first time, probably, that any wish expressed by the +colonel had won his daughter's approbation. Delighted as he was by the +unexpected harmony on their opinions, he was nevertheless wise enough +to put forward various objections, calculated to sharpen Miss Lydia's +welcome whim. In vain did he dwell on the wildness of the country, and +the difficulties of travel there for a lady. Nothing frightened her; +she liked travelling on horseback of all things; she delighted in the +idea of bivouacking in the open; she even threatened to go as far as +Asia Minor--in short, she found an answer to everything. No +Englishwoman had ever been to Corsica; therefore she must go. What a +pleasure it would be, when she got back to St. James's Place, to +exhibit her album! "But, my dear creature, why do you pass over that +delightful drawing?" "That's only a trifle--just a sketch I made of a +famous Corsican bandit who was our guide." "What! you don't mean to +say you have been to Corsica?" + +As there were no steamboats between France and Corsica, in those days, +inquiries were made for some ship about to sail for the island Miss +Lydia proposed to discover. That very day the colonel wrote to Paris, +to countermand his order for the suite of apartments in which he was +to have made some stay, and bargained with the skipper of a Corsican +schooner, just about to set sail for Ajaccio, for two poor cabins, but +the best that could be had. Provisions were sent on board, the skipper +swore that one of his sailors was an excellent cook, and had not his +equal for /bouilleabaisse/; he promised mademoiselle should be +comfortable, and have a fair wind and a calm sea. + +The colonel further stipulated, in obedience to his daughter's wishes, +that no other passenger should be taken on board, and that the captain +should skirt the coast of the island, so that Miss Lydia might enjoy +the view of the mountains. + + + +CHAPTER II + +On the day of their departure everything was packed and sent on board +early in the morning. The schooner was to sail with the evening +breeze. Meanwhile, as the colonel and his daughter were walking on the +Canebiere, the skipper addressed them, and craved permission to take +on board one of his relations, his eldest son's godfather's second +cousin, who was going back to Corsica, his native country, on +important business, and could not find any ship to take him over. + +"He's a charming fellow," added Captain Mattei, "a soldier, an officer +in the Infantry of the Guard, and would have been a colonel already if +/the other/ (meaning Napoleon) had still been emperor!" + +"As he is a soldier," began the colonel--he was about to add, "I shall +be very glad he should come with us," when Miss Lydia exclaimed in +English: + +"An infantry officer!" (Her father had been in the cavalry, and she +consequently looked down on every other branch of the service.) "An +uneducated man, very likely, who would be sea-sick, and spoil all the +pleasure of our trip!" + +The captain did not understand a word of English, but he seemed to +catch what Miss Lydia was saying by the pursing up of her pretty +mouth, and immediately entered upon an elaborate panegyric of his +relative, which he wound up by declaring him to be a gentleman, +belonging to a family of /corporals/, and that he would not be in the +very least in the colonel's way, for that he, the skipper, would +undertake to stow him in some corner, where they should not be aware +of his presence. + +The colonel and Miss Nevil thought it peculiar that there should be +Corsican families in which the dignity of corporal was handed down +from father to son. But, as they really believed the individual in +question to be some infantry corporal, they concluded he was some poor +devil whom the skipper desired to take out of pure charity. If he had +been an officer, they would have been obliged to speak to him and live +with him; but there was no reason why they should put themselves out +for a corporal--who is a person of no consequence unless his +detachment is also at hand, with bayonets fixed, ready to convey a +person to a place to which he would rather not be taken. + +"Is your kinsman ever sea-sick?" demanded Miss Nevil sharply. + +"Never, mademoiselle, he is as steady as a rock, either on sea or +land!" + +"Very good then, you can take him," said she. + +"You can take him!" echoed the colonel, and they passed on their way. + +Toward five o'clock in the evening Captain Mattei came to escort them +on board the schooner. On the jetty, near the captain's gig, they met +a tall young man wearing a blue frock-coat, buttoned up to his chin; +his face was tanned, his eyes were black, brilliant, wide open, his +whole appearance intelligent and frank. His shoulders, well thrown +back, and his little twisted mustache clearly revealed the soldier-- +for at that period mustaches were by no means common, and the National +Guard had not carried the habits and appearance of the guard-room into +the bosom of every family. + +When the young man saw the colonel he doffed his cap, and thanked him +in excellent language, and without the slightest shyness, for the +service he was rendering him. + +"Delighted to be of use to you, my good fellow!" said the colonel, +with a friendly nod, and he stepped into the gig. + +"He's not very ceremonious, this Englishman of yours," said the young +man in Italian, and in an undertone, to the captain. + +The skipper laid his forefinger under his left eye, and pulled down +the corners of his mouth. To a man acquainted with the language of +signs, this meant that the Englishman understood Italian, and was an +oddity into the bargain. The young man smiled slightly and touched his +forehead, in answer to Mattei's sign, as though to indicate that every +Englishman had a bee in his bonnet. Then he sat down beside them, and +began to look very attentively, though not impertinently, at his +pretty fellow-traveller. + +"These French soldiers all have a good appearance," remarked the +colonel in English to his daughter, "and so it is easy to turn them +into officers." Then addressing the young man in French, he said, +"Tell me, my good man, what regiment have you served in?" The young +man nudged his second cousin's godson's father gently with his elbow, +and suppressing an ironic smile, replied that he had served in the +Infantry of the Guard, and that he had just quitted the Seventh +Regiment of Light Infantry. + +"Were you at Waterloo? You are very young!" + +"I beg your pardon, colonel, that was my only campaign." + +"It counts as two," said the colonel. + +The young Corsican bit his lips. + +"Papa," said Miss Lydia in English, "do ask him if the Corsicans are +very fond of their Buonaparte." + +Before the colonel could translate her question into French, the young +man answered in fairly good English, though with a marked accent: + +"You know, mademoiselle, that no man is ever a prophet in his own +country. We, who are Napoleon's fellow-countrymen, are perhaps less +attached to him than the French. As for myself, though my family was +formerly at enmity with his, I both love and admire him." + +"You speak English!" exclaimed the colonel. + +"Very ill, as you may perceive!" + +Miss Lydia, though somewhat shocked by the young man's easy tone, +could not help laughing at the idea of a personal enmity between a +corporal and an emperor. She took this as a foretaste of Corsican +peculiarities, and made up her mind to note it down in her journal. + +"Perhaps you were a prisoner in England?" asked the colonel. + +"No, colonel, I learned English in France, when I was very young, from +a prisoner of your nation." + +Then, addressing Miss Nevil: + +"Mattei tells me you have just come back from Italy. No doubt, +mademoiselle, you speak the purest Tuscan--I fear you'll find it +somewhat difficult to understand our dialect." + +"My daughter understands every Italian dialect," said the colonel. +"She has the gift of languages. She doesn't get it from me." + +"Would mademoiselle understand, for instance, these lines from one of +our Corsican songs in which a shepherd says to his shepherdess: + + "S'entrassi 'ndru paradisu santu, santu, + E nun truvassi a tia, mi n'escriria." + + ("If I entered the holy land of paradise + and found thee not, I would depart!") + +--/Serenata di Zicavo/. + + +Miss Lydia did understand. She thought the quotation bold, and the +look which accompanied it still bolder, and replied, with a blush, +"Capisco." + +"And are you going back to your own country on furlough?" inquired the +colonel. + +"No, colonel, they have put me on half-pay, because I was at Waterloo, +probably, and because I am Napoleon's fellow-countryman. I am going +home, as the song says, low in hope and low in purse," and he looked +up to the sky and sighed. + +The colonel slipped his hand into his pocket, and tried to think of +some civil phrase with which he might slip the gold coin he was +fingering into the palm of his unfortunate enemy. + +"And I too," he said good-humouredly, "have been put on half-pay, but +your half-pay can hardly give you enough to buy tobacco! Here, +corporal!" and he tried to force the gold coin into the young man's +closed hand, which rested on the gunwale of the gig. + +The young Corsican reddened, drew himself up, bit his lips, and +seemed, for a moment, on the brink of some angry reply. Then suddenly +his expression changed and he burst out laughing. The colonel, +grasping his gold piece still in his hand, sat staring at him. + +"Colonel," said the young man, when he had recovered his gravity, +"allow me to offer you two pieces of advice--the first is never to +offer money to a Corsican, for some of my fellow-countrymen would be +rude enough to throw it back in your face; the second is not to give +people titles they do not claim. You call me 'corporal,' and I am a +lieutenant--the difference is not very great, no doubt, still----" + +"Lieutenant! Lieutenant!" exclaimed Sir Thomas. "But the skipper told +me you were a corporal, and that your father and all your family had +been corporals before you!" + +At these words the young man threw himself back and laughed louder +than ever, so merrily that the skipper and his two sailors joined the +chorus. + +"Forgive me, colonel!" he cried at last. "The mistake is so comical, +and I have only just realized it. It is quite true that my family +glories in the fact that it can reckon many corporals among its +ancestors--but our Corsican corporals never wore stripes upon their +sleeves! Toward the year of grace 1100 certain villages revolted +against the tyranny of the great mountain nobles, and chose leaders of +their own, whom they called /corporals/. In our island we think a +great deal of being descended from these tribunes." + +"I beg your pardon, sir," exclaimed the colonel, "I beg your pardon a +thousand times! As you understand the cause of my mistake, I hope you +will do me the kindness of forgiving it!" and he held out his hand. + +"It is the just punishment of my petty pride," said the young man, +still laughing, and cordially shaking the Englishman's hand. "I am not +at all offended. As my friend Mattei has introduced me so +unsuccessfully, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Orso della +Rebbia; I am a lieutenant on half-pay; and if, as the sight of those +two fine dogs of yours leads me to believe, you are coming to Corsica +to hunt, I shall be very proud to do you the honours of our mountains +and our /maquis/--if, indeed, I have not forgotten them altogether!" +he added, with a sigh. + +At this moment the gig came alongside the schooner, the lieutenant +offered his hand to Miss Lydia, and then helped the colonel to swing +himself up on deck. Once there, Sir Thomas, who was still very much +ashamed of his blunder, and at a loss to know what he had better do to +make the man whose ancestry dated from the year 1100 forget it, +invited him to supper, without waiting for his daughter's consent, and +with many fresh apologies and handshakes. Miss Lydia frowned a little, +but, after all, she was not sorry to know what a corporal really was. +She rather liked there guest, and was even beginning to fancy there +was something aristocratic about him--only she thought him too frank +and merry for a hero of romance. + +"Lieutenant della Rebbia," said the colonel, bowing to him, English +fashion, over a glass of Madeira, "I met a great many of your +countrymen in Spain--they were splendid sharp-shooters." + +"Yes, and a great many of them have stayed in Spain," replied the +young lieutenant gravely. + +"I shall never forget the behaviour of a Corsican battalion at the +Battle of Vittoria," said the colonel; "I have good reason to remember +it, indeed," he added, rubbing his chest. "All day long they had been +skirmishing in the gardens, behind the hedges, and had killed I don't +know how many of our horses and men. When the retreat was sounded, +they rallied and made off at a great pace. We had hoped to take our +revenge on them in the open plain, but the scoundrels--I beg your +pardon, lieutenant; the brave fellows, I should have said--had formed +a square, and there was no breaking it. In the middle of the square--I +fancy I can see him still--rode an officer on a little black horse. He +kept close beside the standard, smoking his cigar as coolly as if he +had been in a caf. Every now and then their bugles played a flourish, +as if to defy us. I sent my two leading squadrons at them. Whew! +Instead of breaking the front of the square, my dragoons passed along +the sides, wheeled, and came back in great disorder, and with several +riderless horses--and all the time those cursed bugles went on +playing. When the smoke which had hung over the battalion cleared +away, I saw the officer still puffing at his cigar beside his eagle. I +was furious, and led a final charge myself. Their muskets, foul with +continual firing, would not go off, but the men had drawn up, six +deep, with their bayonets pointed at the noses of our horses; you +might have taken them for a wall. I was shouting, urging on my +dragoons, and spurring my horse forward, when the officer I have +mentioned, at length throwing away his cigar, pointed me out to one of +his men, and I heard him say something like /"Al capello bianco!"/--I +wore a white plume. Then I did not hear any more, for a bullet passed +through my chest. That was a splendid battalion, M. della Rebbia, that +first battalion of the Eighteenth--all of them Corsicans, as I was +afterward told!" + +"Yes," said Orso, whose eyes had shone as he listened to the story. +"They covered the retreat, and brought back their eagle. Two thirds of +those brave fellows are sleeping now on the plains of Vittoria!" + +"And, perhaps, you can tell me the name of the officer in command?" + +"It was my father--he was then a major in the Eighteenth, and was +promoted colonel for his conduct on that terrible day." + +"Your father! Upon my word, he was a brave man! I should be glad to +see him again, and I am certain I should recognise him. Is he still +alive?" + +"No, colonel," said the young man, turning slightly pale. + +"Was he at Waterloo?" + +"Yes, colonel; but he had not the happiness of dying on the field of +battle. He died in Corsica two years ago. How beautiful the sea is! It +is ten years since I have seen the Mediterranean! Don't you think the +Mediterranean much more beautiful than the ocean, mademoiselle?" + +"I think it too blue, and its waves lack grandeur." + +"You like wild beauty then, mademoiselle! In that case, I am sure you +will be delighted with Corsica." + +"My daughter," said the colonel, "delights in everything that is out +of the common, and for that reason she did not care much for Italy." + +"The only place in Italy that I know," said Orso, "is Pisa, where I +was at school for some time. But I can not think, without admiration, +of the Campo-Santo, the Duomo, and the Leaning Tower--especially of +the Campo-Santo. Do you remember Orcagna's 'Death'? I think I could +draw every line of it--it is so graven on my memory." + +Miss Lydia was afraid the lieutenant was going to deliver an +enthusiastic tirade. + +"It is very pretty," she said, with a yawn. "Excuse me, papa, my head +aches a little; I am going down to my cabin." + +She kissed her father on the forehead, inclined her head majestically +to Orso, and disappeared. Then the two men talked about hunting and +war. They discovered that at Waterloo they had been posted opposite +each other, and had no doubt exchanged many a bullet. This knowledge +strengthened their good understanding. Turning about, they criticised +Napoleon, Wellington, and Blucher, and then they hunted buck, boar, +and mountain sheep in company. At last, when night was far advanced, +and the last bottle of claret had been emptied, the colonel wrung the +lieutenant's hand once more and wished him good-night, expressing his +hope that an acquaintance, which had begun in such ridiculous fashion, +might be continued. They parted, and each went to bed. + + + +CHAPTER III + +It was a lovely night. The moonlight was dancing on the waves, the +ship glided smoothly on before a gentle breeze. Miss Lydia was not +sleepy, and nothing but the presence of an unpoetical person had +prevented her from enjoying those emotions which every human being +possessing a touch of poetry must experience at sea by moonlight. When +she felt sure the young lieutenant must be sound asleep, like the +prosaic creature he was, she got up, took her cloak, woke her maid, +and went on deck. Nobody was to be seen except the sailor at the helm, +who was singing a sort of dirge in the Corsican dialect, to some wild +and monotonous tune. In the silence of the night this strange music +had its charm. Unluckily Miss Lydia did not understand perfectly what +the sailor was singing. Amid a good deal that was commonplace, a +passionate line would occasionally excite her liveliest curiosity. But +just at the most important moment some words of /patois/ would occur, +the sense of which utterly escaped her. Yet she did make out that the +subject was connected with a murder. Curses against the assassin, +threats of vengeance, praise of the dead were all mingled confusedly. +She remembered some of the lines. I will endeavour to translate them +here. + + . . . "Neither cannon nor bayonets . . . + Brought pallor to his brow. . . + As serene on the battlefield . . . as a summer sky. + He was the falcon--the eagle's friend . . . + Honey of the sand to his friends . . . + To his enemies, a tempestuous sea. . . . + . . . Prouder than the sun . . . gentler than the moon + . . . He for whom the enemies of France . . . + never waited . . . Murderers in his own land + . . . struck him from behind . . . + As Vittolo slew Sampiero Corso . . . + Never would they have dared to look him in + The face . . . Set up on the wall + Before my bed . . . my well-earned cross of honour + . . . red is its ribbon . . . redder is my + shirt! . . . For my son, my son in a far country + . . . keep my cross and my blood-stained shirt! . . . + + . . . He will see two holes in it . . . For each + hole a hole in another shirt! . . . But will that accomplish + the vengeance? . . . I must have the hand + that fired, the eye that aimed . . . the heart + that planned!" . . . + +Suddenly the sailor stopped short. + +"Why don't you go on, my good man?" inquired Miss Nevil. + +The sailor, with a jerk of his head, pointed to a figure appearing +through the main hatchway of the schooner: it was Orso, coming up to +enjoy the moonlight. "Pray finish your song," said Miss Lydia. "It +interests me greatly!" + +The sailor leaned toward her, and said, in a very low tone, "I don't +give the /rimbecco/ to anybody!" + +"The what?" + +The sailor, without replying, began to whistle. + +"I have caught you admiring our Mediterranean, Miss Nevil," said Orso, +coming toward her. "You must allow you never see a moon like this +anywhere else!" + +"I was not looking at it, I was altogether occupied in studying +Corsican. That sailor, who has been singing a most tragic dirge, +stopped short at the most interesting point." + +The sailor bent down, as if to see the compass more clearly, and +tugged sharply at Miss Nevil's fur cloak. It was quite evident his +lament could not be sung before Lieutenant Orso. + +"What were you singing, Paolo France?" said Orso. "Was it a /ballata/ +or a /vocero/? Mademoiselle understands you, and would like to hear +the end." + +"I have forgotten it, Ors' Anton'," said the sailor. + +And instantly he began a hymn to the Virgin, at the top of his voice. + +Miss Lydia listened absent-mindedly to the hymn, and did not press the +singer any further--though she was quite resolved, in her own mind, to +find out the meaning of the riddle later. But her maid, who, being a +Florentine, could not understand the Corsican dialect any better than +her mistress, was as eager as Miss Lydia for information, and, turning +to Orso, before the English lady could warn her by a nudge, she said: +"Captain what does /giving the rimbecco/ mean?" + +"The rimbecco!" said Orso. "Why, it's the most deadly insult that can +be offered to a Corsican. It means reproaching him with not having +avenged his wrong. Who mentioned the rimbecco to you?" + +"Yesterday, at Marseilles," replied Miss Lydia hurriedly, "the captain +of the schooner used the word." + +"And whom was he talking about?" inquired Orso eagerly. + +"Oh, he was telling us some odd story about the time--yes, I think it +was about Vannina d'Ornano." + +"I suppose, mademoiselle, that Vannina's death has not inspired you +with any great love for our national hero, the brave Sampiero?" + +"But do you think his conduct was so very heroic?" + +"The excuse for his crime lies in the savage customs of the period. +And then Sampiero was waging deadly war against the Genoese. What +confidence could his fellow-countrymen have felt in him if he had not +punished his wife, who tried to treat with Genoa?" + +"Vannina," said the sailor, "had started off without her husband's +leave. Sampiero did quite right to wring her neck!" + +"But," said Miss Lydia, "it was to save her husband, it was out of +love for him, that she was going to ask his pardon from the Genoese." + +"To ask his pardon was to degrade him!" exclaimed Orso. + +"And then to kill her himself!" said Miss Lydia. "What a monster he +must have been!" + +"You know she begged as a favour that she might die by his hand. What +about Othello, mademoiselle, do you look on him, too, as a monster?" + +"There is a difference; he was jealous. Sampiero was only vain!" + +"And after all is not jealousy a kind of vanity? It is the vanity of +love; will you not excuse it on account of its motive?" + +Miss Lydia looked at him with an air of great dignity, and turning to +the sailor, inquired when the schooner would reach port. + +"The day after to-morrow," said he, "if the wind holds." + +"I wish Ajaccio were in sight already, for I am sick of this ship." +She rose, took her maid's arm, and walked a few paces on the deck. +Orso stood motionless beside the helm, not knowing whether he had +better walk beside her, or end a conversation which seemed displeasing +to her. + +"Blood of the Madonna, what a handsome girl!" said the sailor. "If +every flea in my bed were like her, I shouldn't complain of their +biting me!" + +Miss Lydia may possibly have overheard this artless praise of her +beauty and been startled by it; for she went below almost immediately. +Shortly after Orso also retired. As soon as he had left the deck the +maid reappeared, and, having cross-questioned the sailor, carried back +the following information to her mistress. The /ballata/ which had +been broken off on Orso's appearance had been composed on the occasion +of the death of his father, Colonel della Rebbia, who had been +murdered two years previously. The sailor had no doubt at all that +Orso was coming back to Corsica /per fare la vendetta/, such was his +expression, and he affirmed that before long there would be /fresh +meat/ to be seen in the village of Pietranera. This national +expression, being interpreted, meant that Signor Orso proposed to +murder two or three individuals suspected of having assassinated his +father--individuals who had, indeed, been prosecuted on that account, +but had come out of the trial as white as snow, for they were hand and +glove with the judges, lawyers, prefect, and gendarmes. + +"There is no justice in Corsica," added the sailor, "and I put much +more faith in a good gun than in a judge of the Royal Court. If a man +has an enemy he must choose one of the three S's." (A national +expression meaning /schioppetto/, /stiletto/, /strada/--that is, +/gun/, /dagger/, or /flight/. + +These interesting pieces of information wrought a notable change in +Miss Lydia's manner and feeling with regard to Lieutenant della +Rebbia. From that moment he became a person of importance in the +romantic Englishwoman's eyes. + +His careless air, his frank and good humour, which had at first +impressed her so unfavourably, now seemed to her an additional merit, +as being proofs of the deep dissimulation of a strong nature, which +will not allow any inner feeling to appear upon the surface. Orso +seemed to her a sort of Fieschi, who hid mighty designs under an +appearance of frivolity, and, though it is less noble to kill a few +rascals than to free one's country, still a fine deed of vengeance is +a fine thing, and besides, women are rather glad to find their hero is +not a politician. Then Miss Nevil remarked for the first time that the +young lieutenant had large eyes, white teeth, an elegant figure, that +he was well-educated, and possessed the habits of good society. During +the following day she talked to him frequently, and found his +conversation interesting. He was asked many questions about his own +country, and described it well. Corsica, which he had left when young, +to go first to college, and then to the Ecole militaire, had remained +in his imagination surrounded with poetic associations. When he talked +of its mountains, its forests, and the quaint customs of its +inhabitants he grew eager and animated. As may be imagined, the word +/vengeance/ occurred more than once in the stories he told--for it is +impossible to speak of the Corsicans without either attacking or +justifying their proverbial passion. Orso somewhat surprised Miss +Nevil by his general condemnation of the undying hatreds nursed by his +fellow-countrymen. As regarded the peasants, however, he endeavoured +to excuse them, and claimed that the /vendetta/ is the poor man's +duel. "So true is this," he said, "that no assassination takes place +till a formal challenge has been delivered. 'Be on your guard +yourself, I am on mine!' are the sacramental words exchanged, from +time immemorial, between two enemies, before they begin to lie in wait +for each other. There are more assassinations among us," he added, +"than anywhere else. But you will never discover an ignoble cause for +any of these crimes. We have many murderers, it is true, but not a +single thief." + +When he spoke about vengeance and murder Miss Lydia looked at him +closely, but she could not detect the slightest trace of emotion on +his features. As she had made up her mind, however, that he possessed +sufficient strength of mind to be able to hide his thoughts from every +eye (her own, of course, excepted), she continued in her firm belief +that Colonel della Rebbia's shade would not have to wait long for the +atonement it claimed. + +The schooner was already within sight of Corsica. The captain pointed +out the principal features of the coast, and, though all of these were +absolutely unknown to Miss Lydia, she found a certain pleasure in +hearing their names; nothing is more tiresome than an anonymous +landscape. From time to time the colonel's telescope revealed to her +the form of some islander clad in brown cloth, armed with a long gun, +bestriding a small horse, and galloping down steep slopes. In each of +these Miss Lydia believed she beheld either a brigand or a son going +forth to avenge his father's death. But Orso always declared it was +some peaceful denizen of a neighbouring village travelling on +business, and that he carried a gun less from necessity than because +it was the fashion, just as no dandy ever takes a walk without an +elegant cane. Though a gun is a less noble and poetic weapon than a +stiletto, Miss Lydia thought it much more stylish for a man than any +cane, and she remembered that all Lord Byron's heroes died by a +bullet, and not by the classic poniard. + +After three days' sailing, the ship reached Les Sanguinaires (The +Bloody Islands), and the magnificent panorama of the Gulf of Ajaccio +was unrolled before our travellers' eyes. It is compared, with +justice, to the Bay of Naples, and just as the schooner was entering +the harbour a burning /maquis/, which covered the Punta di Girato, +brought back memories of Vesuvius and heightened the resemblance. To +make it quite complete, Naples should be seen after one of Attila's +armies had devastated its suburbs--for round Ajaccio everything looks +dead and deserted. Instead of the handsome buildings observable on +every side from Castellamare to Cape Misena, nothing is to be seen in +the neighbourhood of the Gulf of Ajaccio but gloomy /maquis/ with bare +mountains rising behind them. Not a villa, not a dwelling of any kind +--only here and there, on the heights about the town, a few isolated +white structures stand out against a background of green. These are +mortuary chapels or family tombs. Everything in this landscape is +gravely and sadly beautiful. + +The appearance of the town, at that period especially, deepened the +impression caused by the loneliness of its surroundings. There was no +stir in the streets, where only a few listless idlers--always the same +--were to be seen; no women at all, except an odd peasant come in to +sell her produce; no loud talk, laughter, and singing, as in the +Italian towns. Sometimes, under the shade of a tree on the public +promenade, a dozen armed peasants will play at cards or watch each +other play; they never shout or wrangle; if they get hot over the +game, pistol shots ring out, and this always before the utterance of +any threat. The Corsican is grave and silent by nature. In the +evening, a few persons come out to enjoy the cool air, but the +promenaders on the Corso are nearly all of them foreigners; the +islanders stay in front of their own doors; each one seems on the +watch, like a falcon over its nest. + + + +CHAPTER IV + +When Miss Lydia had visited the house in which Napoleon was born, and +had procured, by means more or less moral, a fragment of the wall- +paper belonging to it, she, within two days of her landing in Corsica, +began to feel that profound melancholy which must overcome every +foreigner in a country whose unsociable inhabitants appear to condemn +him or her to a condition of utter isolation. She was already +regretting her headstrong caprice; but to go back at once would have +been to risk her reputation as an intrepid traveller, so she made up +her mind to be patient, and kill time as best she could. With this +noble resolution, she brought out her crayons and colours, sketched +views of the gulf, and did the portrait of a sunburnt peasant, who +sold melons, like any market-gardener on the Continent, but who wore a +long white beard, and looked the fiercest rascal that had ever been +seen. As all that was not enough to amuse her, she determined to turn +the head of the descendant of the corporals, and this was no difficult +matter, since, far from being in a hurry to get back to his village, +Orso seemed very happy at Ajaccio, although he knew nobody there. +Furthermore, Miss Lydia had a lofty purpose in her mind; it was +nothing less than to civilize this mountain bear, and induce him to +relinquish the sinister design which had recalled him to his island. +Since she had taken the trouble to study the young man, she had told +herself it would be a pity to let him rush upon his ruin, and that it +would be a glorious thing to convert a Corsican. + +Our travellers spent the day in the following manner: Every morning +the colonel and Orso went out shooting. Miss Lydia sketched or wrote +letters to her friends, chiefly for the sake of dating them from +Ajaccio. Toward six o'clock the gentlemen came in, laden with game. +Then followed dinner. Miss Lydia sang, the colonel went to sleep, and +the young people sat talking till very late. + +Some formality or other, connected with his passports, had made it +necessary for Colonel Nevil to call on the prefect. This gentleman, +who, like most of his colleagues, found his life very dull, had been +delighted to hear of the arrival of an Englishman who was rich, a man +of the world, and the father of a pretty daughter. He had, therefore, +given him the most friendly reception, and overwhelmed him with offers +of service; further, within a very few days, he came to return his +visit. The colonel, who had just dined, was comfortably stretched out +upon his sofa, and very nearly asleep. His daughter was singing at a +broken-down piano; Orso was turning over the leaves of her music, and +gazing at the fair singer's shoulders and golden hair. The prefect was +announced, the piano stopped, the colonel got up, rubbed his eyes, and +introduced the prefect to his daughter. + +"I do not introduce M. della Rebbia to you," said he, "for no doubt +you know him already." + +"Is this gentleman Colonel della Rebbia's son?" said the prefect, +looking a trifle embarrassed. + +"Yes, monsieur," replied Orso. + +"I had the honour of knowing your father." + +The ordinary commonplaces of conversation were soon exhausted. The +colonel, in spite of himself, yawned pretty frequently. Orso, as a +liberal, did not care to converse with a satellite of the Government. +The burden of the conversation fell on Miss Lydia. The prefect, on his +side, did not let it drop, and it was clear that he found the greatest +pleasure in talking of Paris, and of the great world, to a woman who +was acquainted with all the foremost people in European society. As he +talked, he now and then glanced at Orso, with an expression of +singular curiosity. + +"Was it on the Continent that you made M. della Rebbia's +acquaintance?" he inquired. + +Somewhat embarrassed, Miss Lydia replied that she had made his +acquaintance on the ship which had carried them to Corsica. + +"He is a very gentlemanly young fellow," said the prefect, in an +undertone; "and has he told you," he added, dropping his voice still +lower, "why he has returned to Corsica?" + +Miss Lydia put on her most majestic air and answered: + +"I have not asked him," she said. "You may do so." + +The prefect kept silence, but, an instant later, hearing Orso speak a +few words of English to the colonel, he said: + +"You seem to have travelled a great deal, monsieur. You must have +forgotten Corsica and Corsican habits." + +"It is quite true that I was very young when I went away." + +"You still belong to the army?" + +"I am on half-pay, monsieur." + +"You have been too long in the French army not to have become a +thorough Frenchman, I have no doubt?" + +The last words of the sentence were spoken with marked emphasis. + +The Corsicans are not particularly flattered at being reminded that +they belong to the "Great Nations." They claim to be a people apart, +and so well do they justify their claim that it may very well be +granted them. + +Somewhat nettled, Orso replied: "Do you think, M. le Prefet, that a +Corsican must necessarily serve in the French army to become an +honourable man?" + +"No, indeed," said the prefect, "that is not my idea at all; I am only +speaking of certain /customs/ belonging to this country, some of which +are not such as a Government official would like to see." + +He emphasized the word /customs/, and put on as grave an expression as +his features could assume. Soon after he got up and took his leave, +bearing with him Miss Lydia's promise that she would go and call on +his wife at the prefecture. + +When he had departed: "I had to come to Corsica," said Miss Lydia, "to +find out what a prefect is like. This one strikes me as rather +amiable." + +"For my part," said Orso, "I can't say as much. He strikes me as a +very queer individual, with his airs of emphasis and mystery." + +The colonel was extremely drowsy. Miss Lydia cast a glance in his +direction, and, lowering her voice: + +"And I," she said, "do not think him so mysterious as you pretend; for +I believe I understood him!" + +"Then you are clear-sighted indeed, Miss Nevil. If you have seen any +wit in what he has just said you must certainly have put it there +yourself." + +"It is the Marquis de Mascarille, I think, who says that, M. della +Rebbia. But would you like me to give you a proof of my clear- +sightedness? I am something of a witch, and I can read the thoughts of +people I have seen only twice." + +"Good heavens! you alarm me. If you really can read my thoughts I +don't know whether I should be glad or sorry." + +"M. della Rebbia," went on Miss Lydia, with a blush, "we have only +known each other for a few days. But at sea, and in savage countries +(you will excuse me, I hope)--in savage countries friendships grow +more quickly than they do in society . . . so you must not be +astonished if I speak to you, as a friend, upon private matters, with +which, perhaps, a stranger ought not to interfere." + +"Ah, do not say that word, Miss Nevil. I like the other far better." + +"Well, then, monsieur, I must tell you that without having tried to +find out your secrets, I have learned some of them, and they grieve +me. I have heard, monsieur, of the misfortune which has overtaken your +family. A great deal has been said to me about the vindictive nature +of your fellow-countrymen, and the fashion in which they take their +vengeance. Was it not to that the prefect was alluding?" + +"Miss Lydia! Can you believe it!" and Orso turned deadly pale. + +"No, M. della Rebbia," she said, interrupting him, "I know you to be a +most honourable gentleman. You have told me yourself that it was only +the common people in your country who still practised the /vendetta/-- +which you are pleased to describe as a kind of duel." + +"Do you, then, believe me capable of ever becoming a murderer?" + +"Since I have mentioned the subject at all, Monsieur Orso, you must +clearly see that I do not suspect you, and if I have spoken to you at +all," she added, dropping her eyes, "it is because I have realized +that surrounded, it may be, by barbarous prejudices on your return +home, you will be glad to know that there is somebody who esteems you +for having the courage to resist them. Come!" said she, rising to her +feet, "don't let us talk again of such horrid things, they make my +head ache, and besides it's very late. You are not angry with me, are +you? Let us say good-night in the English fashion," and she held out +her hand. + +Orso pressed it, looking grave and deeply moved. + +"Mademoiselle," he said, "do you know that there are moments when the +instincts of my country wake up within me. Sometimes, when I think of +my poor father, horrible thoughts assail me. Thanks to you, I am rid +of them forever. Thank you! thank you!" + +He would have continued, but Miss Lydia dropped a teaspoon, and the +noise woke up the colonel. + +"Della Rebbia, we'll start at five o'clock to-morrow morning. Be +punctual!" + +"Yes, colonel." + + + +CHAPTER V + +The next day, a short time before the sportsmen came back, Miss Nevil, +returning with her maid from a walk along the seashore, was just about +to enter the inn, when she noticed a young woman, dressed in black, +riding into the town on a small but strong horse. She was followed by +a sort of peasant, also on horseback, who wore a brown cloth jacket +cut at the elbows. A gourd was slung over his shoulder and a pistol +was hanging at his belt, his hand grasped a gun, the butt of which +rested in a leathern pocket fastened to his saddle-bow--in short, he +wore the complete costume of a brigand in a melodrama, or of the +middle-class Corsican on his travels. Miss Nevil's attention was first +attracted by the woman's remarkable beauty. She seemed about twenty +years of age; she was tall and pale, with dark blue eyes, red lips, +and teeth like enamel. In her expression pride, anxiety, and sadness +were all legible. On her head she wore a black silk veil called a +/mezzaro/, which the Genoese introduced into Corsica, and which is so +becoming to women. Long braids of chestnut hair formed a sort of +turban round her head. Her dress was neat, but simple in the extreme. + +Miss Nevil had plenty of time to observe her, for the lady in the +/mezzaro/ had halted in the street, and was questioning somebody on a +subject which, to judge from the expression of her eyes, must have +interested her exceedingly. Then, as soon as she received an answer, +she touched her mount with her riding-switch, and, breaking into a +quick trot, never halted till she reached the door of the hotel in +which Sir Thomas Nevil and Orso were staying. There, after exchanging +a few words with the host, the girl sprang nimbly from her saddle and +seated herself on a stone bench beside the entrance door, while her +groom led the horses away to the stable. Miss Lydia, in her Paris +gown, passed close beside the stranger, who did not raise her eyes. A +quarter of an hour later she opened her window, and saw the lady in +the /mezzaro/ still sitting in the same place and in the same +attitude. Not long afterward the colonel and Orso returned from +hunting. Then the landlord said a few words to the young lady in +mourning, and pointed to della Rebbia with his finger. She coloured +deeply, rose eagerly, went a few paces forward, and then stopped +short, apparently much confused. Orso was quite close to her, and was +looking at her curiously. + +"Are you Orso Antonio della Rebbia?" said she in a tremulous voice. "I +am Colomba." + +"Colomba!" cried Orso. + +And taking her in his arms he kissed her tenderly, somewhat to the +surprise of the colonel and his daughter--but in England people do not +kiss each other in the street. + +"Brother," said Colomba, "you must forgive me for having come without +your permission. But I heard from our friends that you had arrived, +and it is such a great consolation to me to see you." + +Again Orso kissed her. Then, turning to the colonel: + +"This is my sister," said he, "whom I never should have recognised if +she had not told me her name--Colomba--Colonel Sir Thomas Nevil-- +colonel, you will kindly excuse me, but I can not have the honour of +dining with you to-day. My sister--" + +"But, my dear fellow, where the devil do you expect to dine? You know +very well there is only one dinner in this infernal tavern, and we +have bespoken it. It will afford my daughter great pleasure if this +young lady will join us." + +Colomba looked at her brother, who did not need much pressing, and +they all passed together into the largest room in the inn, which the +colonel used as his sitting and dining room. Mademoiselle della +Rebbia, on being introduced to Miss Nevil, made her a deep courtesy, +but she did not utter a single word. It was easy to see that she was +very much frightened at finding herself, perhaps for the first time in +her life, in the company of strangers belonging to the great world. +Yet there was nothing provincial in her manners. The novelty of her +position excused her awkwardness. Miss Nevil took a liking to her at +once, and, as there was no room disengaged in the hotel, the whole of +which was occupied by the colonel and his attendants, she offered, +either out of condescension or curiosity, to have a bed prepared in +her own room for Mademoiselle della Rebbia. + +Colomba stammered a few words of thanks, and hastened after Miss +Nevil's maid, to make such changes in her toilet as were rendered +necessary by a journey on horseback in the dust and heat. + +When she re-entered the sitting-room, she paused in front of the +colonel's guns, which the hunters had left in a corner. + +"What fine weapons," said she. "Are they yours, brother?" + +"No, they are the colonel's English guns--and they are as good as they +are handsome." + +"How much I wish you had one like them!" said Colomba. + +"One of those three certainly does belong to della Rebbia," exclaimed +the colonel. "He really shoots almost too well! To-day he fired +fourteen shots, and brought down fourteen head of game." + +A friendly dispute at once ensued, in which Orso was vanquished, to +his sister's great satisfaction, as it was easy to perceive from the +childish expression of delight which illumined her face, so serious a +moment before. + +"Choose, my dear fellow," said the colonel; but Orso refused. + +"Very well, then. Your sister shall choose for you." + +Colomba did not wait for a second invitation. She took up the plainest +of the guns, but it was a first-rate Manton of large calibre. + +"This one," she said, "must carry a ball a long distance." + +Her brother was growing quite confused in his expressions of +gratitude, when dinner appeared, very opportunely, to help him out of +his embarrassment. + +Miss Lydia was delighted to notice that Colomba, who had shown +considerable reluctance to sit down with them, and had yielded only at +a glance from her brother, crossed herself, like a good Catholic, +before she began to eat. + +"Good!" said she to herself, "that is primitive!" and she anticipated +acquiring many interesting facts by observing this youthful +representative of ancient Corsican manners. As for Orso, he was +evidently a trifle uneasy, fearing, doubtless, that his sister might +say or do something which savoured too much of her native village. But +Colomba watched him constantly, and regulated all her own movements by +his. Sometimes she looked at him fixedly, with a strange expression of +sadness, and then, if Orso's eyes met hers, he was the first to turn +them away, as though he would evade some question which his sister was +mentally addressing to him, the sense of which he understood only too +well. Everybody talked French, for the colonel could only express +himself very badly in Italian. Colomba understood French, and even +pronounced the few words she was obliged to exchange with her +entertainers tolerably well. + +After dinner, the colonel, who had noticed the sort of constraint +which existed between the brother and sister, inquired of Orso, with +his customary frankness, whether he did not wish to be alone with +Mademoiselle Colomba, offering, in that case, to go into the next room +with his daughter. But Orso hastened to thank him, and to assure him +they would have plenty of time to talk at Pietranera--this was the +name of the village where he was to take up his abode. + +The colonel then resumed his customary position on the sofa, and Miss +Nevil, after attempting several subjects of conversation, gave up all +hope of inducing the fair Colomba to talk, and begged Orso to read her +a canto out of Dante, her favourite poet. Orso chose the canto of the +Inferno, containing the episode of Francesca da Rimini, and began to +read, as impressively as he was able, the glorious tiercets which so +admirably express the risk run by two young persons who venture to +read a love-story together. As he read on Colomba drew nearer to the +table, and raised her head, which she had kept lowered. Her wide-open +eyes, shone with extraordinary fire, she grew red and pale by turns, +and stirred convulsively in her chair. How admirable is the Italian +organization, which can understand poetry without needing a pedant to +explain its beauties! + +When the canto was finished: + +"How beautiful that is!" she exclaimed. "Who wrote it, brother?" + +Orso was a little disconcerted, and Miss Lydia answered with a smile +that it was written by a Florentine poet, who had been dead for +centuries. + +"You shall read Dante," said Orso, "when you are at Pietranera." + +"Good heavens, how beautiful it is!" said Colomba again, and she +repeated three or four tiercets which she had remembered, speaking at +first in an undertone; then, growing excited, she declaimed them +aloud, with far more expression than her brother had put into his +reading. + +Miss Lydia was very much astonished. + +"You seem very fond of poetry," she said. "How I envy you the delight +you will find in reading Dante for the first time!" + +"You see, Miss Nevil," said Orso, "what a power Dante's lines must +have, when they so move a wild young savage who knows nothing but her +/Pater/. But I am mistaken! I recollect now that Colomba belongs to +the guild. Even when she was quite a little child she used to try her +hand at verse-making, and my father used to write me word that she was +the best /voceratrice/ in Pietranera, and for two leagues round +about." + +Colomba cast an imploring glance at her brother. Miss Nevil had heard +of the Corsican /improvisatrici/, and was dying to hear one. She +begged Colomba, then, to give her a specimen of her powers. Very much +vexed now at having made any mention of his sister's poetic gifts, +Orso interposed. In vain did he protest that nothing was so insipid as +a Corsican /ballata/, and that to recite the Corsican verses after +those of Dante was like betraying his country. All he did was to +stimulate Miss Nevil's curiosity, and at last he was obliged to say to +his sister: + +"Well! well! improvise something--but let it be short!" + +Colomba heaved a sigh, looked fixedly for a moment, first at the +table-cloth, and then at the rafters of the ceiling; at last, covering +her eyes with her hand like those birds that gather courage, and fancy +they are not seen when they no longer see themselves, she sang, or +rather declaimed, in an unsteady voice, the following /serenata/: + + + +"THE MAIDEN AND THE TURTLE-DOVE + +"In the valley, far away among the mountains, the sun only shines for +an hour every day. In the valley there stands a gloomy house, and +grass grows on its threshold. Doors and windows are always shut. No +smoke rises from the roof. But at noon, when the sunshine falls, a +window opens, and the orphan girl sits spinning at her wheel. She +spins, and as she works, she sings--a song of sadness. But no other +song comes to answer hers! One day--a day in spring-time--a turtle- +dove settled on a tree hard by, and heard the maiden's song. 'Maiden,' +it said, 'thou art not the only mourner! A cruel hawk has snatched my +mate from me!' 'Turtle-dove, show me that cruel hawk; were it to soar +higher than the clouds I would soon bring it down to earth! But who +will restore to me, unhappy that I am, my brother, now in a far +country?' 'Maiden, tell me, where thy brother is, and my wings shall +bear me to him.' " + + + +"A well-bred turtle-dove, indeed!" exclaimed Orso, and the emotion +with which he kissed his sister contrasted strongly with the jesting +tone in which he spoke. + +"Your song is delightful," said Miss Lydia. "You must write it in my +album; I'll translate it into English, and have it set to music." + +The worthy colonel, who had not understood a single word, added his +compliments to his daughter's and added: "Is this dove you speak of +the bird we ate broiled at dinner to-day?" + +Miss Nevil fetched her album, and was not a little surprised to see +the /improvisatrice/ write down her song, with so much care in the +matter of economizing space. + +The lines, instead of being separate, were all run together, as far as +the breadth of the paper would permit, so that they did not agree with +the accepted definition of poetic composition--"short lines of unequal +length, with a margin on each side of them." Mademoiselle Colomba's +somewhat fanciful spelling might also have excited comment. More than +once Miss Nevil was seen to smile, and Orso's fraternal vanity +suffered tortures. + +Bedtime came, and the two young girls retired to their room. There, +while Miss Lydia unclasped her necklace, ear-rings, and bracelets, she +watched her companion draw something out of her gown--something as +long as a stay-busk, but very different in shape. Carefully, almost +stealthily, Colomba slipped this object under her /mezzaro/, which she +laid on the table. Then she knelt down, and said her prayers devoutly. +Two minutes afterward she was in her bed. Miss Lydia, naturally very +inquisitive, and as slow as every Englishwoman is about undressing +herself, moved over to the table, pretended she was looking for a pin, +lifted up the /mezzaro/, and saw a long stiletto--curiously mounted in +silver and mother-of-pearl. The workmanship was remarkably fine. It +was an ancient weapon, and just the sort of one an amateur would have +prized very highly. + +"Is it the custom here," inquired Miss Nevil, with a smile, "for young +ladies to wear such little instruments as these in their bodices?" + +"It is," answered Colomba, with a sigh. "There are so many wicked +people about!" + +"And would you really have the courage to strike with it, like this?" +And Miss Nevil, dagger in hand, made a gesture of stabbing from above, +as actors do on the stage. + +Yes," said Colomba, in her soft, musical voice, "if I had to do it to +protect myself or my friends. But you must not hold it like that, you +might wound yourself if the person you were going to stab were to draw +back." Then, sitting up in bed, "See," she added, "you must strike +like this--upward! If you do so, the thrust is sure to kill, they say. +Happy are they who never need such weapons." + +She sighed, dropped her head back on the pillow, and closed her eyes. +A more noble, beautiful, virginal head it would be impossible to +imagine. Phidias would have asked no other model for Minerva. + + + +CHAPTER VI + +It is in obedience to the precept of Horace that I have begun by +plunging /in media res/. Now that every one is asleep--the beautiful +Colomba, the colonel, and his daughter--I will seize the opportunity +to acquaint my reader with certain details of which he must not be +ignorant, if he desires to follow the further course of this veracious +history. He is already aware that Colonel della Rebbia, Orso's father, +had been assassinated. Now, in Corsica, people are not murdered, as +they are in France, by the first escaped convict who can devise no +better means of relieving a man of his silver-plate. In Corsica a man +is murdered by his enemies--but the reason he has enemies is often +very difficult to discover. Many families hate each other because it +has been an old-standing habit of theirs to hate each other; but the +tradition of the original cause of their hatred may have completely +disappeared. + +The family to which Colonel della Rebbia belonged hated several other +families, but that of the Barricini particularly. Some people asserted +that in the sixteenth century a della Rebbia had seduced a lady of the +Barricini family, and had afterward been poniarded by a relative of +the outraged damsel. Others, indeed, told the story in a different +fashion, declaring that it was a della Rebbia who had been seduced, +and a Barricini who had been poniarded. However that may be, there +was, to use the time-honoured expression, "blood between the two +houses." Nevertheless, and contrary to custom, this murder had not +resulted in others; for the della Rebbia and the Barricini had been +equally persecuted by the Genoese Government, and as the young men had +all left the country, the two families were deprived, during several +generations, of their more energetic representatives. At the close of +the last century, one of the della Rebbias, an officer in the +Neapolitan service, quarrelled, in a gambling hell, with some +soldiers, who called him a Corsican goatherd, and other insulting +names. He drew his sword, but being only one against three, he would +have fared very ill if a stranger, who was playing in the same room, +had not exclaimed, "I, too, am a Corsican," and come to his rescue. +This stranger was one of the Barricini, who, for that matter, was not +acquainted with his countryman. After mutual explanations, they +interchanged courtesies and vowed eternal friendship. For on the +Continent, quite contrary to their practice in their own island, +Corsicans quickly become friends. This fact was clearly exemplified on +the present occasion. As long as della Rebbia and Barricini remained +in Italy they were close friends. Once they were back in Corsica, they +saw each other but very seldom, although they both lived in the same +village; and when they died, it was reported that they had not spoken +to each other for five or six years. Their sons lived in the same +fashion--"on ceremony," as they say in the island; one of them +Ghilfuccio, Orso's father, was a soldier; the other Giudice Barricini, +was a lawyer. Having both become heads of families, and being +separated by their professions, they scarcely ever had an opportunity +of seeing or hearing of each other. + +One day, however, about the year 1809, Giudice read in a newspaper at +Bastia that Captain Ghilfuccio had just been decorated, and remarked, +before witnesses, that he was not at all surprised, considering that +the family enjoyed the protection of General -----. This remark was +reported at Vienna to Ghilfuccio, who told one of his countrymen that, +when he got back to Corsica, he would find Giudice a very rich man, +because he made more money out of the suits he lost than out of those +he won. It was never known whether he meant this as an insinuation +that the lawyer cheated his clients, or as a mere allusion to the +commonplace truth that a bad cause often brings a lawyer more profit +than a good one. However that may have been, the lawyer Barricini +heard of the epigram, and never forgot it. In 1812 he applied for the +post of mayor of his commune, and had every hope of being appointed, +when General ----- wrote to the prefect, to recommend one of +Ghilfuccio's wife's relations. The prefect lost no time in carrying +out the general's wish, and Barricini felt no doubt that he owed his +failure to the intrigues of Ghilfuccio. In 1814, after the emperor's +fall, the general's protg was denounced as a Bonapartist, and his +place was taken by Barricini. He, in his turn, was dismissed during +the Hundred Days, but when the storm had blown over, he again took +possession, with great pomp, of the mayoral seal and the municipal +registers. + +From this moment his star shone brighter than ever. Colonel della +Rebbia, now living on half-pay at Pietranera, had to defend himself +against covert and repeated attacks due to the pettifogging malignity +of his enemy. At one time he was summoned to pay for the damage his +horse had done to the mayor's fences, at another, the latter, under +pretence of repairing the floor of the church, ordered the removal of +a broken flagstone bearing the della Rebbia arms, which covered the +grave of some member of the family. If the village goats ate the +colonel's young plants, the mayor always protected their owners. The +grocer who kept the post-office at Pietranera, and the old maimed +soldier who had been the village policeman--both of them attached to +the della Rebbia family--were turned adrift, and their places filled +by Barricini's creatures. + +The colonel's wife died, and her last wish was that she might be +buried in the middle of the little wood in which she had been fond of +walking. Forthwith the mayor declared she should be buried in the +village cemetery, because he had no authority to permit burial in any +other spot. The colonel, in a fury, declared that until the permit +came, his wife would be interred in the spot she had chosen. He had +her grave dug there. The mayor, on his side, had another grave dug in +the cemetery, and sent for the police, that the law, so he declared, +might be duly enforced. On the day of the funeral, the two parties +came face to face, and, for a moment, there was reason to fear a +struggle might ensue for the possession of Signora della Rebbia's +corpse. Some forty well-armed peasants, mustered by the dead woman's +relatives, forced the priest, when he issued from the church, to take +the road to the wood. On the other hand, the mayor, at the head of his +two sons, his dependents, and the gendarmes, advanced to oppose their +march. When he appeared, and called on the procession to turn back, he +was greeted with howls and threats. The advantage of numbers was with +his opponents, and they seemed thoroughly determined. At sight of him +several guns were loaded, and one shepherd is even said to have +levelled his musket at him, but the colonel knocked up the barrel, and +said, "Let no man fire without my orders!" The mayor, who, like +Panurge, had "a natural fear of blows," refused to give battle, and +retired, with his escort. Then the funeral procession started, +carefully choosing the longest way, so as to pass in front of the +mayor's house. As it was filing by, an idiot, who had joined its +ranks, took it into his head to shout, "Vive l'Empereur!" Two or three +voices answered him, and the Rebbianites, growing hotter, proposed +killing one of the mayor's oxen, which chanced to bar their way. +Fortunately the colonel stopped this act of violence. + +It is hardly necessary to mention that an official statement was at +once drawn up, or that the mayor sent the prefect a report, in his +sublimest style, describing the manner in which all laws, human and +divine, had been trodden under foot--how the majesty of himself, the +mayor, and of the priest had been flouted and insulted, and how +Colonel della Rebbia had put himself at the head of a Bonapartist +plot, to change the order of succession to the throne, and to excite +peaceful citizens to take arms against one another--crimes provided +against by Articles 86 and 91 of the Penal Code. + +The exaggerated tone of this complaint diminished its effect. The +colonel wrote to the prefect and to the public prosecutor. One of his +wife's kinsmen was related to one of the deputies of the island, +another was cousin to the president of the Royal Court. Thanks to this +interest, the plot faded out of sight, Signora della Rebbia was left +quiet in the wood, and the idiot alone was sentenced to a fortnight's +imprisonment. + +Lawyer Barricini, dissatisfied with the result of this affair, turned +his batteries in a different direction. He dug out some old claim, +whereby he undertook to contest the colonel's ownership of a certain +water-course which turned a mill-wheel. A lawsuit began and dragged +slowly along. At the end of twelve months, the court was about to give +its decision, and according to all appearances in favour of the +colonel, when Barricini placed in the hands of the public prosecutor a +letter, signed by a certain Agostini, a well-known bandit, threatening +him, the mayor, with fire and sword if he did not relinquish his +pretensions. It is well known that in Corsica the protection of these +brigands is much sought after, and that, to oblige their friends, they +frequently intervene in private quarrels. The mayor was deriving +considerable advantage from this letter, when the business was further +complicated by a fresh incident. Agostini, the bandit, wrote to the +public prosecutor, to complain that his handwriting had been +counterfeited, and his character aspersed, by some one who desired to +represent him as a man who made a traffic of his influence. "If I can +discover the forger," he said at the end of his letter, "I will make a +striking example of him." + +It was quite clear that Agostini did not write the threatening letter +to the mayor. The della Rebbia accused the Barricini of it and /vice +versa/. Both parties broke into open threats, and the authorities did +not know where to find the culprit. + +In the midst of all this Colonel Ghilfuccio was murdered. Here are the +facts, as they were elicited at the official inquiry. On the 2d of +August, 18--, toward nightfall, a woman named Maddalena Pietri, who +was carrying corn to Pietranera, heard two shots fired, very close +together, the reports, as it seemed to her, coming from the deep lane +leading to the village, about a hundred and fifty paces from the spot +on which she stood. Almost immediately afterward she saw a man +running, crouching along a footpath among the vines, and making for +the village. The man stopped for a minute, and turned round, but the +distance prevented the woman Pietri from seeing his features, and +besides, he had a vine-leaf in his mouth, which hid almost the whole +of his face. He made a signal with his head to some comrade, whom the +witness could not see, and then disappeared among the vines. + +The woman Pietri dropped her burden, ran up the path, and found +Colonel della Rebbia, bathed in his own blood from two bullet wounds, +but still breathing. Close beside him lay his gun, loaded and cocked, +as if he had been defending himself against a person who had attacked +him in front, just when another had struck him from behind. Although +the rattle was in his throat, he struggled against the grip of death, +but he could not utter a word--this the doctors explained by the +nature of the wounds, which had cut through his lungs: the blood was +choking him, it flowed slowly, like red froth. In vain did the woman +lift him up, and ask him several questions. She saw plainly enough +that he desired to speak, but he could not make himself understood. +Noticing that he was trying to get his hand to his pocket, she quickly +drew out of it a little note-book, which she opened and gave to him. + +The wounded man took the pencil out of the note-book and tried to +write. In fact, the witness saw him form several letters, but with +great difficulty. As she could not read, however, she was unable to +understand their meaning. Exhausted by the effort, the colonel left +the note-book in the woman's hand, which he squeezed tightly, looking +at her strangely, as if he wanted to say (these are the witness's own +words): "It is important--it is my murderer's name!" + +Maddalena Pietri was going up to the village, when she met Barricini, +the mayor, with his son Vincentello. It was then almost dark. She told +them what she had seen. The mayor took the note-book, hurried up to +his house, put on his sash, and fetched his secretary and the +gendarmes. Left alone with young Vincentello, Maddalena Pietri +suggested that he should go to the colonel's assistance, in case he +was still alive, but Vincentello replied that if he were to go near a +man who had been the bitter enemy of his family, he would certainly be +accused of having killed him. A very short time afterward the mayor +arrived, found the colonel dead, had the corpse carried away, and drew +up his report. + +In spite of the agitation so natural on such an occasion, Monsieur +Barricini had hastened to place the colonel's note-book under seal, +and to make all the inquiries in his power, but none of them resulted +in any discovery of importance. + +When the examining magistrate arrived the note-book was opened, and on +a blood-stained page were seen letters written in a trembling hand, +but still quite legible; the sheet bore the word /Agosti/--and the +judge did not doubt that the colonel had intended to point out +Agostini as his murderer. Nevertheless, Colomba della Rebbia, who had +been summoned by the magistrate, asked leave to examine the note-book. +After turning the leaves for a few moments, she stretched out her hand +toward the mayor and cried, "There stands the murderer!" Then with a +precision and a clearness which were astonishing, considering the +passion of sorrow that shook her, she related that, a few days +previously, her father had received a letter from his son, which he +had burned, but that before doing so he had written Orso's address (he +had just changed his garrison) in the note-book with his pencil. Now, +his address was no longer in the note-book, and Colomba concluded that +the mayor had torn out the leaf on which it was written, which +probably was that on which her father had traced the murderer's name, +and for that name the mayor, according to Colomba, had substituted +Agostini's. The magistrate, in fact, noticed that one sheet was +missing from the quire on which the name was written, but he remarked +also that leaves were likewise missing from other quires in the same +note-book, and certain witnesses testified that the colonel had a +habit of tearing out pages when he wanted to light a cigar--therefore +nothing was more probable than that, by an oversight, he had burned +the address he had copied. Further, it was shown that the mayor could +not have read the note-book on receiving it from Maddalena Pietri, on +account of the darkness, and it was proved that he had not stopped an +instant before he went into his house, that the sergeant of the +gendarmes had gone there with him, and had seen him light a lamp and +put the note-book into an envelope which he had sealed before his +eyes. + +When this officer had concluded his deposition, Colomba, half- +distracted, cast herself at his feet, and besought him, by all he held +most sacred, to say whether he had not left the mayor alone for a +single moment. After a certain amount of hesitation, the man, who was +evidently affected by the young girl's excitement, admitted that he +had gone into the next room to fetch a sheet of foolscap, but that he +had not been away a minute, and that the mayor had talked to him all +the time he was groping for the paper in a drawer. Moreover, he +deposed that when he came back the blood-stained note-book was still +on the table, in the very place where the mayor had thrown it when he +first came in. + +Monsieur Barricini gave his evidence with the utmost coolness. He made +allowances, he said, for Mademoiselle della Rebbia's excitement, and +was ready to condescend to justify himself. He proved that he had +spent his whole evening in the village, that his son Vincentello had +been with him in front of the house at the moment when the crime was +committed, and that his son Orlanduccio, who had had an attack of +fever that very day, had never left his bed. He produced every gun in +his house, and not one of them had been recently discharged. He added, +that, as regarded the note-book, he had at once realized its +importance; that he had sealed it up, and placed it in the hands of +his deputy, foreseeing that he himself might be suspected, on account +of his quarrel with the colonel. Finally, he reminded the court that +Agostini had threatened to kill the man who had written a letter in +his name, and he insinuated that this ruffian had probably suspected +the colonel, and murdered him. Such a vengeance, for a similar reason, +is by no means unprecedented in the history of brigandage. + +Five days after Colonel della Rebbia's death, Agostini was surprised +by a detachment of riflemen, and killed, fighting desperately to the +last. On his person was found a letter from Colomba, beseeching him to +declare whether he was guilty of the murder imputed to him, or not. As +the bandit had sent no answer, it was pretty generally concluded that +he had not the courage to tell a daughter he had murdered her father. +Yet those who claimed to know Agostini's nature thoroughly, whispered +that if he had killed the colonel, he would have boasted of the deed. +Another bandit, known by the name of Brandolaccio, sent Colomba a +declaration in which he bore witness "on his honour" to his comrade's +innocence--but the only proof he put forward was that Agostini had +never told him that he suspected the colonel. + +The upshot was that the Barricini suffered no inconvenience, the +examining magistrate was loud in his praise of the mayor, and the +mayor, on his side, crowned his handsome behaviour by relinquishing +all his claims over the stream, concerning which he had brought the +lawsuit against Colonel della Rebbia. + +According to the custom of her country, Colomba improvised a /ballata/ +in presence of her father's corpse, and before his assembled friends. +In it she poured out all her hatred against the Barricini, formally +charged them with the murder, and threatened them with her brother's +vengeance. It was this same /ballata/, which had grown very popular, +that the sailor had sung before Miss Lydia. When Orso, who was in the +north of France, heard of his father's death, he applied for leave, +but failed to obtain it. A letter from his sister led him to believe +at first in the guilt of the Barricini, but he soon received copies of +all the documents connected with the inquiry and a private letter from +the judge, which almost convinced him that the bandit Agostini was the +only culprit. Every three months Colomba had written to him, +reiterating her suspicions, which she called her "proofs." In spite of +himself, these accusations made his Corsican blood boil, and sometimes +he was very near sharing his sister's prejudices. Nevertheless, every +time he wrote to her he repeated his conviction that her allegations +possessed no solid foundation, and were quite unworthy of belief. He +even forbade her, but always vainly, to mention them to him again. + +Thus two years went by. At the end of that time Orso was placed on +half-pay, and then it occurred to him to go back to his own country-- +not at all for the purpose of taking vengeance on people whom he +believed innocent, but to arrange a marriage for his sister, and the +sale of his own small property--if its value should prove sufficient +to enable him to live on the Continent. + + + +CHAPTER VII + +Whether it was that the arrival of his sister had reminded Orso +forcibly of his paternal home, or that Colomba's unconventional dress +and manners made him feel shy before his civilized friends, he +announced, the very next day, his determination to leave Ajaccio, and +to return to Pietranera. But he made the colonel promise that when he +went to Bastia he would come and stay in his modest manor-house, and +undertook, in return, to provide him with plenty of buck, pheasant, +boar, and other game. + +On the day before that of his departure Orso proposed that, instead of +going out shooting, they should all take a walk along the shores of +the gulf. With Miss Lydia on his arm he was able to talk in perfect +freedom--for Colomba had stayed in the town to do her shopping, and +the colonel was perpetually leaving the young people to fire shots at +sea-gulls and gannets, greatly to the astonishment of the passers-by, +who could not conceive why any man should waste his powder on such +paltry game. + +They were walking along the path leading to the Greek Chapel, which +commands the finest view to be had of the bay, but they paid no +attention to it. + +"Miss Lydia," said Orso, after a silence which had lasted long enough +to become embarrassing, "tell me frankly, what do you think of my +sister?" + +"I like her very much," answered Miss Nevil. "Better than you," she +added, with a smile; "for she is a true Corsican, and you are rather +too civilized a savage!" + +"Too civilized! Well, in spite of myself, I feel that I am growing a +savage again, since I have set my foot on the island! A thousand +horrid thoughts disturb and torment me, and I wanted to talk with you +a little before I plunge into my desert!" + +"You must be brave, monsieur! Look at your sister's resignation; she +sets you an example!" + +"Ah! do not be deceived! Do not believe in her resignation. She has +not said a word to me as yet, but every look of hers tells me what she +expects of me." + +"What does she expect of you, then?" + +"Oh, nothing! Except that I should try whether your father's gun will +kill a man as surely as it kills a partridge." + +"What an idea! You can actually believe that, when you have just +acknowledged that she has said nothing to you yet? It really is too +dreadful of you!" + +"If her thoughts were not fixed on vengeance, she would have spoken to +me at once about our father; she has never done it. She would have +mentioned the names of those she considers--wrongly, I know--to be his +murderers. But no; not a word! That is because we Corsicans, you see, +are a cunning race. My sister realizes that she does not hold me +completely in her power, and she does not choose to startle me while I +may still escape her. Once she has led me to the edge of the +precipice, and once I turn giddy there, she will thrust me into the +abyss." + +Then Orso gave Miss Nevil some details of his father's death, and +recounted the principal proofs which had culminated in his belief that +Agostini was the assassin. + +"Nothing," he added, "has been able to convince Colomba. I saw that by +her last letter. She has sworn the Barricini shall die, and--you see, +Miss Nevil, what confidence I have in you!--they would not be alive +now, perhaps, if one of the prejudices for which her uncivilized +education must be the excuse had not convinced her that the execution +of this vengeance belongs to me, as head of her family, and that my +honour depends upon it!" + +"Really and truly, Monsieur della Rebbia!" said Miss Nevil, "you +slander your sister!" + +"No. As you have said it yourself, she is a Corsican; she thinks as +they all think. Do you know why I was so sad yesterday?" + +"No. But for some time past you have been subject to these fits of +sadness. You were much pleasanter in the earlier days of our +acquaintance." + +"Yesterday, on the contrary, I was more cheery and happy than I +generally am. I had seen how kind, how indulgent, you were to my +sister. The colonel and I were coming home in a boat. Do you know what +one of the boatmen said to me in his infernal /patois/? 'You've killed +a deal of game, Ors' Anton', but you'll find Orlanduccio Barricini a +better shot than you!' " + +"Well, what was there so very dreadful in that remark? Are you so very +much set upon being considered a skilful sportsman?" + +"But don't you see the ruffian was telling me I shouldn't have courage +to kill Orlanduccio!" + +"Do you know, M. della Rebbia, you frighten me! The air of this island +of yours seems not only to give people fevers, but to drive them mad. +Luckily we shall be leaving it soon!" + +"Not without coming to Pietranera--you have promised my sister that." + +"And if we were to fail in that promise, we should bring down some +terrible vengeance on our heads, no doubt!" + +"Do you remember that story your father was telling us, the other day, +about the Indians who threatened the company's agents that, if they +would not grant their prayer, they would starve themselves to death?" + +"That means that you would starve yourself to death! I doubt it very +much! You would go hungry for one day and then Mademoiselle Colomba +would bring you such a tempting /bruccio/[*] that you would quite +relinquish your plan." + +[*] A sort of baked cream cheese, a national dish in Corsica. + +"Your jests are cruel, Miss Nevil. You might spare me. Listen, I am +alone here; I have no one but you to prevent me from going mad, as you +call it. You have been my guardian angel, and now----!" + +"Now," said Miss Lydia gravely, "to steady this reason of yours, which +is so easily shaken, you have the honour of a soldier and a man, and," +she added, turning away to pluck a flower, "if that will be any help +to you, you have the memory of your guardian angel, too!" + +"Ah, Miss Nevil, if I could only think you really take some interest!" + +"Listen, M. della Rebbia," said Miss Nevil, with some emotion. "As you +are a child, I will treat you as I would treat a child. When I was a +little girl my mother gave me a beautiful necklace, which I had longed +for greatly; but she said to me, 'Every time you put on this necklace, +remember you do not know French yet.' The necklace lost some of its +value in my eyes, it was a source of constant self-reproach. But I +wore it, and in the end I knew French. Do you see this ring? It is an +Egyptian scarabaeus, found, if you please, in a pyramid. That strange +figure, which you may perhaps take for a bottle, stands for '/human +life/.' There are certain people in my country to whom this +hieroglyphic should appear exceedingly appropriate. This, which comes +after it, is a shield upon an arm, holding a lance; that means +'/struggle/, /battle/.' Thus the two characters, together, form this +motto, which strikes me as a fine one, '/Life is a battle/.' Pray do +not fancy I can translate hieroglyphics at sight! It was a man learned +in such matters who explained these to me. Here, I will give you my +scarabaeus. Whenever you feel some wicked Corsican thought stir in +you, look at my talisman, and tell yourself you must win the battle +our evil passions wage against us. Why, really, I don't preach at all +badly!" + +"I shall think of you, Miss Nevil, and I shall say to myself----" + +"Say to yourself you have a friend who would be in despair at the idea +of your being hanged--and besides it would be too distressing for your +ancestors the corporals!" + +With these words she dropped Orso's arm, laughing and running to her +father. + +"Papa," she said, "do leave those poor birds alone, and come and make +up poetry with us, in Napoleon's grotto!" + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +There is always a certain solemnity about a departure, even when the +separation is only to be a short one. Orso and his sister were to +start very early in the morning, and he had taken his leave of Miss +Lydia the night before--for he had no hope that she would disturb her +indolent habits on his account. Their farewells had been cold and +grave. Since that conversation on the sea-shore, Miss Lydia had been +afraid she had perhaps shown too strong an interest in Orso, and on +the other hand, her jests, and more especially her careless tone, lay +heavy on Orso's heart. At one moment he had thought the young +Englishwoman's manner betrayed a budding feeling of affection, but +now, put out of countenance by her jests, he told himself she only +looked on him as a mere acquaintance, who would be soon forgotten. +Great, therefore, was his surprise, next morning, when, as he sat at +coffee with the colonel, he saw Miss Lydia come into the room, +followed by his sister. She had risen at five o'clock, and for an +Englishwoman, and especially for Miss Nevil, the effort was so great +that it could not but give him some cause for vanity. + +"I am so sorry you should have disturbed yourself so early," said +Orso. "No doubt my sister woke you up in spite of my injunctions, and +you must hate us heartily! Perhaps you wish I was hanged already!" + +"No," said Miss Lydia, very low and in Italian, evidently so that her +father might not hear her, "but you were somewhat sulky with me +yesterday, because of my innocent jokes, and I would not have you +carry away an unpleasant recollection of your humble servant. What +terrible people you are, you Corsicans! Well, good-bye! We shall meet +soon, I hope." + +And she held out her hand. + +A sigh was the only answer Orso could find. Colomba came to his side, +led him into a window, and spoke to him for a moment in an undertone, +showing him something she held under her /mezzaro/. + +"Mademoiselle," said Orso to Miss Nevil, "my sister is anxious to give +you a very odd present, but we Corsicans have not much to offer-- +except our affection--which time never wipes out. My sister tells me +you have looked with some curiosity at this dagger. It is an ancient +possession in our family. It probably hung, once upon a time, at the +belt of one of those corporals, to whom I owe the honour of your +acquaintance. Colomba thinks it so precious that she has asked my +leave to give it to you, and I hardly know if I ought to grant it, for +I am afraid you'll laugh at us!" + +"The dagger is beautiful," said Miss Lydia. "But it is a family +weapon, I can not accept it!" + +"It's not my father's dagger," exclaimed Colomba eagerly; "it was +given to one of mother's ancestors by King Theodore. If the signorina +will accept it, she will give us great pleasure." + +"Come, Miss Lydia," said Orso, "don't scorn a king's dagger!" + +To a collector, relics of King Theodore are infinitely more precious +than those of the most powerful of monarchs. The temptation was a +strong one, and already Miss Lydia could see the effect the weapon +would produce laid out on a lacquered table in her room at St. James's +Place. + +"But," said she, taking the dagger with the hesitating air of one who +longs to accept, and casting one of her most delightful smiles on +Colomba, "dear Signorina Colomba . . . I can not . . . I should not +dare to let you depart thus, unarmed." + +"My brother is with me," said Colomba proudly, "and we have the good +gun your father has given us. Orso, have you put a bullet in it?" + +Miss Nevil kept the dagger, and to avert the danger consequent on +/giving/ instruments that cut or pierce to a friend, Colomba insisted +on receiving a soldo in payment. + +A start had to be made at last. Yet once again Orso pressed Miss +Nevil's hand, Colomba kissed her, and then held up her rosy lips to +the colonel, who was enchanted with this Corsican politeness. From the +window of the drawing-room Miss Lydia watched the brother and sister +mount their horses. Colomba's eyes shone with a malignant joy which +she had never remarked in them before. The sight of this tall strong +creature, with her fanatical ideas of savage honour, pride written on +her forehead, and curled in a sardonic smile upon her lips, carrying +off the young man with his weapons, as though on some death-dealing +errand, recalled Orso's fears to her, and she fancied she beheld his +evil genius dragging him to his ruin. Orso, who was already in the +saddle, raised his head and caught sight of her. Either because he had +guessed her thought, or desired to send her a last farewell, he took +the Egyptian ring, which he had hung upon a ribbon, and carried it to +his lips. Blushing, Miss Lydia stepped back from the window, then +returning to it almost at once, she saw the two Corsicans cantering +their little ponies rapidly toward the mountains. Half an hour later +the colonel showed them to her, through his glasses, riding along the +end of the bay, and she noticed that Orso constantly turned his head +toward the town. At last he disappeared behind the marshes, the site +of which is now filled by a flourishing nursery garden. + +Miss Lydia glanced at herself in the glass, and thought she looked +pale. + +"What must that young man think of me," said she, "and what did I +think of him? And why did I think about him? . . . A travelling +acquaintance! . . . What have I come to Corsica for? . . . Oh! I don't +care for him! . . . No! no! and besides the thing is impossible . . . +And Colomba . . . Fancy me sister-in-law to a /voceratrice/, who wears +a big dagger!" + +And she noticed she was still holding King Theodore's dagger in her +hand. She tossed it on to her toilette table. "Colomba, in London, +dancing at Almacks! . . . Good heavens! what a lion[*] that would be, +to show off! . . . Perhaps she'd make a great sensation! . . . He +loves me, I'm certain of it! He is the hero of a novel, and I have +interrupted his adventurous career. . . . But did he really long to +avenge his father in true Corsican fashion? . . . He was something +between a Conrad and a dandy . . . I've turned him into nothing but a +dandy! . . . And a dandy with a Corsican tailor! . . . " + +[*] At this period this name was used in England for people who were + the fashion because they had something extraordinary about them. + +She threw herself on her bed, and tried to sleep--but that proved an +impossibility, and I will not undertake to continue her soliloquy, +during which she declared, more than a hundred times over, that Signor +della Rebbia had not been, was not, and never should be, anything to +her. + + + +CHAPTER IX + +Meanwhile Orso was riding along beside his sister. At first the speed +at which their horses moved prevented all conversation, but when the +hills grew so steep that they were obliged to go at a foot's pace, +they began to exchange a few words about the friends from whom they +had just parted. Colomba spoke with admiration of Miss Nevil's beauty, +of her golden hair, and charming ways. Then she asked whether the +colonel was really as rich as he appeared, and whether Miss Lydia was +his only child. + +"She would be a good match," said she. "Her father seems to have a +great liking for you----" + +And as Orso made no response, she added: "Our family was rich, in days +gone by. It is still one of the most respected in the island. All +these /signori/ about us are bastards. The only noble blood left is in +the families of the corporals, and as you know, Orso, your ancestors +were the chief corporals in the island. You know our family came from +beyond the hills, and it was the civil wars that forced us over to +this side. If I were you, Orso, I shouldn't hesitate--I should ask +Colonel Nevil for his daughter's hand." Orso shrugged his shoulders. +"With her fortune, you might buy the Falsetta woods, and the vineyards +below ours. I would build a fine stone house, and add a story to the +old tower in which Sambucuccio killed so many Moors in the days of +Count Henry, /il bel Missere/." + +"Colomba, you're talking nonsense," said Orso, cantering forward. + +"You are a man, Ors' Anton', and of course you know what you ought to +do better than any woman. But I should very much like to know what +objection that Englishman could have to the marriage. Are there any +corporals in England?" + +After a somewhat lengthy ride, spent in talking in this fashion, the +brother and sister reached a little village, not far from Bocognano, +where they halted to dine and sleep at a friend's house. They were +welcomed with a hospitality which must be experienced before it can be +appreciated. The next morning, their host, who had stood godfather to +a child to whom Madame della Rebbia had been godmother, accompanied +them a league beyond his house. + +"Do you see those woods and thickets?" said he to Orso, just as they +were parting. "A man who had met with a misfortune might live there +peacefully for ten years, and no gendarme or soldier would ever come +to look for him. The woods run into the Vizzavona forest, and anybody +who had friends at Bocognano or in the neighbourhood would want for +nothing. That's a good gun you have there. It must carry a long way. +Blood of the Madonna! What calibre! You might kill better game than +boars with it!" + +Orso answered, coldly, that his gun was of English make, and carried +"the lead" a long distance. The friends embraced, and took their +different ways. + +Our travellers were drawing quite close to Pietranera, when, at the +entrance of a little gorge, through which they had to pass, they +beheld seven or eight men, armed with guns, some sitting on stones, +others lying on the grass, others standing up, and seemingly on the +lookout. Their horses were grazing a little way off. Colomba looked at +them for a moment, through a spy-glass which she took out of one of +the large leathern pockets all Corsicans wear when on a journey. + +"Those are our men!" she cried, with a well-pleased air. "Pieruccio +had done his errand well!" + +"What men?" inquired Orso. + +"Our herdsmen," she replied. "I sent Pieruccio off yesterday evening +to call the good fellows together, so that they may attend you home. +It would not do for you to enter Pietranera without an escort, and +besides, you must know the Barricini are capable of anything!" + +"Colomba," said Orso, and his tone was severe, "I have asked you, over +and over again, not to mention the Barricini and your groundless +suspicions to me. I shall certainly not make myself ridiculous by +riding home with all these loafers behind me, and I am very angry with +you for having sent for them without telling me." + +"Brother, you have forgotten the ways of your own country. It is my +business to protect you, when your own imprudence exposes you to +danger. It was my duty to do what I have done." + +Just at that moment the herdsmen, who had caught sight of them, +hastened to their horses, and galloped down the hill to meet them. + +"Evvviva Ors' Anton'!" shouted a brawny, white-bearded old fellow, +wrapped, despite the heat, in a hooded cloak of Corsican cloth, +thicker than the skins of his own goats. "The image of his father, +only taller and stronger! What a splendid gun! There'll be talk about +that gun, Ors' Anton'!" + +"Evvviva Ors' Anton'!" chorused the herdsmen. "We were sure you'd come +back, at last!" + +"Ah! Ors' Anton'!" cried a tall fellow, with a skin tanned brick red. +"How happy your father would be, if he were here to welcome you! The +dear, good man! You would have seen him now, if he would have listened +to me--if he would have let me settle Guidice's business! . . . But he +wouldn't listen to me, poor fellow! He knows I was right, now!" + +"Well, well!" said the old man. "Guidice will lose nothing by +waiting." + +"Evvviva Ors' Anton'!" And the reports of a dozen guns capped the +plaudit. + +Very much put out, Orso sat in the midst of the group of mounted men, +all talking at once, and crowding round to shake hands with him. For +some time he could not make himself heard. At last, with the air he +put on when he used to reprimand the men of his company, or send one +of them to the guard-room, he said: + +"I thank you, friends, for the affection you show for me, and for that +which you felt for my father! But I do not want advice from any of +you, and you must not offer it. I know my own duty." + +"He's right! He's right!" cried the herdsmen. "You know you may reckon +on us!" + +"Yes, I do reckon on you. But at this moment I need no help, and no +personal danger threatens me. Now face round at once, and be off with +you to your goats. I know my way to Pietranera, and I want no guides." + +"Fear nothing, Ors' Anton'," said the old man. "They would never dare +to show their noses to-day. The mouse runs back to its hole when the +tom-cat comes out!" + +"Tom-cat yourself, old gray-beard!" said Orso. "What's your name?" + +"What! don't you remember me, Ors' Anton'? I who have so often taken +you up behind me on that biting mule of mine! You don't remember Polo +Griffo? I'm an honest fellow, though, and with the della Rebbia, body +and soul. Say but the word, and when that big gun of yours speaks, +this old musket of mine, as old as its master, shall not be dumb. Be +sure of that, Ors' Anton'!" + +"Well, well! But be off with you now, in the devil's name, and let us +go on our way!" + +At last the herdsmen departed, trotting rapidly off toward the +village, but they stopped every here and there, at all the highest +spots on the road, as though they were looking out for some hidden +ambuscade, always keeping near enough to Orso and his sister to be +able to come to their assistance if necessary. And old Polo Griffo +said to his comrades: + +"I understand him! I understand him! He'll not say what he means to +do, but he'll do it! He's the born image of his father. Ah! you may +say you have no spite against any one, my boy! But you've made your +vow to Saint Nega.[*] Bravo! I wouldn't give a fig for the mayor's +hide--there won't be the makings of a wineskin in it before the month +is out!" + +[*] This saint is not mentioned in the calendar. To make a vow to + Saint Nega means to deny everything deliberately. + +Preceded by this troop of skirmishers, the last descendant of the +della Rebbia entered the village, and proceeded to the old mansion of +his forefathers, the corporals. The Rebbianites, who had long been +leaderless, had gathered to welcome him, and those dwellers in the +village who observed a neutral line of conduct all came to their +doorsteps to see him pass by. The adherents of the Barricini remained +inside their houses, and peeped out of the slits in their shutters. + +The village of Pietranera is very irregularly built, like most +Corsican villages--for indeed, to see a street, the traveller must +betake himself to Cargese, which was built by Monsieur de Marboeuf. +The houses, scattered irregularly about, without the least attempt at +orderly arrangement, cover the top of a small plateau, or rather of a +ridge of the mountain. Toward the centre of the village stands a great +evergreen oak, and close beside it may be seen a granite trough, into +which the water of a neighbouring spring is conveyed by a wooden pipe. +This monument of public utility was constructed at the common expense +of the della Rebbia and Barricini families. But the man who imagined +this to be a sign of former friendship between the two families would +be sorely mistaken. On the contrary, it is the outcome of their mutual +jealousy. Once upon a time, Colonel della Rebbia sent a small sum of +money to the Municipal Council of his commune to help to provide a +fountain. The lawyer Barricini hastened to forward a similar gift, and +to this generous strife Pietranera owes its water supply. Round about +the evergreen oak and the fountain there is a clear space, known as +"the Square," on which the local idlers gather every night. Sometimes +they play at cards, and once a year, in Carnival-time, they dance. At +the two ends of the square stands two edifices, of greater height than +breadth, built of a mixture of granite and schist. These are the +/Towers/ of the two opposing families, the Barricini and the della +Rebbia. Their architecture is exactly alike, their height is similar, +and it is quite evident that the rivalry of the two families has never +been absolutely decided by any stroke of fortune in favor of either. + +It may perhaps be well to explain what should be understood by this +word, "Tower." It is a square building, some forty feet in height, +which in any other country would be simply described as a pigeon- +house. A narrow entrance-door, eight feet above the level of the +ground, is reached by a very steep flight of steps. Above the door is +a window, in front of which runs a sort of balcony, the floor of which +is pierced with openings, like a machicolation, through which the +inhabitants may destroy an unwelcome visitor without any danger to +themselves. Between the window and the door are two escutcheons, +roughly carved. One of these bears what was originally a Genoese +cross, now so battered that nobody but an antiquary could recognise +it. On the other are chiselled the arms of the family to whom the +Tower belongs. If the reader will complete this scheme of decoration +by imagining several bullet marks on the escutcheons and on the window +frames, he will have a fair idea of a Corsican mansion, dating from +the middle ages. I had forgotten to add that the dwelling-house +adjoins the tower, and is frequently connected with it by some +interior passage. + +The della Rebbia house and tower stand on the northern side of the +square at Pietranera. The Barricini house and tower are on the +southern side. Since the colonel's wife had been buried, no member of +either family had ever been seen on any side of the square, save that +assigned by tacit agreement to its own party. Orso was about to ride +past the mayor's house when his sister checked him, and suggested his +turning down a lane that would take them to their own dwelling without +crossing the square at all. + +"Why should we go out of our way?" said Orso. "Doesn't the square +belong to everybody?" and he rode on. + +"Brave heart"! murmured Colomba. ". . . My father! you will be +avenged!" + +When they reached the square, Colomba put herself between her brother +and the Barricini mansion, and her eyes never left her enemy's +windows. She noticed that they had been lately barricaded and provided +with /archere/. /Archere/ is the name given to narrow openings like +loopholes, made between the big logs of wood used to close up the +lower parts of the windows. When an onslaught is expected, this sort +of barricade is used, and from behind the logs the attacked party can +fire at its assailants with ease and safety. + +"The cowards!" said Colomba. "Look, brother, they have begun to +protect themselves! They have put up barricades! But some day or other +they'll have to come out." + +Orso's presence on the southern side of the square made a great +sensation at Pietranera, and was taken to be a proof of boldness +savouring of temerity. It was subject of endless comment on the part +of the neutrals, when they gathered around the evergreen oak, that +night. + +"It is a good thing," they said, "that Barricini's sons are not back +yet, for they are not so patient as the lawyer, and very likely they +would not have let their enemy set his foot on their ground without +making him pay for his bravado." + +"Remember what I am telling you, neighbour," said an old man, the +village oracle. "I watched Colomba's face to-day. She had some idea in +her head. I smell powder in the air. Before long, butcher's meat will +be cheap in Pietranera!" + + + +CHAPTER X + +Orso had been parted from his father at so early an age that he had +scarcely had time to know him. He had left Pietranera to pursue his +studies at Pisa when he was only fifteen. Thence he had passed into +the military school, and Ghilfuccio, meanwhile, was bearing the +Imperial Eagles all over Europe. On the mainland, Orso only saw his +father at rare intervals, and it was not until 1815 that he found +himself in the regiment he commanded. But the colonel, who was an +inflexible disciplinarian, treated his son just like any other sub- +lieutenant--in other words, with great severity. Orso's memories of +him were of two kinds: He recollected him, at Pietranera, as the +father who would trust him with his sword, and would let him fire off +his gun when he came in from a shooting expedition, or who made him +sit down, for the first time, tiny urchin as he was, at the family +dinner-table. Then he remembered the Colonel della Rebbia who would +put him under arrest for some blunder, and who never called him +anything but Lieutenant della Rebbia. + +"Lieutenant della Rebbia, you are not in your right place on parade. +You will be confined to barracks three days." + +"Your skirmishers are five yards too far from your main body--five +days in barracks." + +"It is five minutes past noon, and you are still in your forage-cap--a +week in barracks." + +Only once, at Quatre-Bras, he had said to him, "Well done, Orso! But +be cautious!" + +But, after all, these later memories were not connected in his mind +with Pietranera. The sight of the places so familiar to him in his +childish days, of the furniture he had seen used by his mother, to +whom he had been fondly attached, filled his soul with a host of +tender and painful emotions. Then the gloomy future that lay before +him, the vague anxiety he felt about his sister, and, above all other +things, the thought that Miss Nevil was coming to his house, which now +struck him as being so small, so poor, so unsuited to a person +accustomed to luxury--the idea that she might possibly despise it--all +these feelings made his brain a chaos, and filled him with a sense of +deep discouragement. + +At supper he sat in the great oaken chair, blackened with age, in +which his father had always presided at the head of the family table, +and he smiled when he saw that Colomba hesitated to sit down with him. +But he was grateful to her for her silence during the meal, and for +her speedy retirement afterward. For he felt he was too deeply moved +to be able to resist the attack she was no doubt preparing to make +upon him. Colomba, however, was dealing warily with him, and meant to +give him time to collect himself. He sat for a long time motionless, +with his head on his hand, thinking over the scenes of the last +fortnight of his life. He saw, with alarm, how every one seemed to be +watching what would be his behaviour to the Barricini. Already he +began to perceive that the opinion of Pietranera was beginning to be +the opinion of all the world to him. He would have to avenge himself, +or be taken for a coward! But on whom was he to take vengeance? He +could not believe the Barricini to be guilty of murder. They were his +family enemies, certainly, but only the vulgar prejudice of his +fellow-countrymen could accuse them of being murderers. Sometimes he +would look at Miss Nevil's talisman, and whisper the motto "Life is a +battle!" over to himself. At last, in a resolute voice, he said, "I +will win it!" Strong in that thought, he rose to his feet, took up the +lamp, and was just going up to his room, when he heard a knock at the +door of the house. It was a very unusual hour for any visitor to +appear. Colomba instantly made her appearance, followed by the woman +who acted as their servant. + +"It's nothing!" she said, hurrying to the door. + +Yet before she opened it she inquired who knocked. A gentle voice +answered, "It is I." + +Instantly the wooden bar across the door was withdrawn, and Colomba +reappeared in the dining-room, followed by a little ragged, bare- +footed girl of about ten years old, her head bound with a shabby +kerchief, from which escaped long locks of hair, as black as the +raven's wing. The child was thin and pale, her skin was sunburnt, but +her eyes shone with intelligence. When she saw Orso she stopped shyly, +and courtesied to him, peasant fashion--then she said something in an +undertone to Colomba, and gave her a freshly killed pheasant. + +"Thanks, Chili," said Colomba. "Thank your uncle for me. Is he well?" + +"Very well, signorina, at your service. I couldn't come sooner because +he was late. I waited for him in the /maquis/ for three hours." + +"And you've had no supper?" + +"Why no, signorina! I've not had time." + +"You shall have some supper here. Has your uncle any bread left?" + +"Very little, signorina. But what he is most short of is powder. Now +the chestnuts are in, the only other thing he wants is powder." + +"I will give you a loaf for him, and some powder, too. Tell him to use +it sparingly--it is very dear." + +"Colomba," said Orso in French, "on whom are you bestowing your +charity?" + +"On a poor bandit belonging to this village," replied Colomba in the +same language. "This little girl is his niece." + +"It strikes me you might place your gifts better. Why should you send +powder to a ruffian who will use it to commit crimes? But for the +deplorable weakness every one here seems to have for the bandits, they +would have disappeared out of Corsica long ago." + +"The worst men in our country are not those who are 'in the +country.' " + +"Give them bread, if it so please you. But I will not have you supply +them with ammunition." + +"Brother," said Colomba, in a serious voice, "you are master here, and +everything in this house belongs to you. But I warn you that I will +give this little girl my /mezzaro/, so that she may sell it; rather +than refuse powder to a bandit. Refuse to give him powder! I might +just as well make him over to the gendarmes! What has he to protect +him against them, except his cartridges?" + +All this while the little girl was ravenously devouring a bit of +bread, and carefully watching Colomba and her brother, turn about, +trying to read the meaning of what they were saying in their eyes. + +"And what has this bandit of yours done? What crime has driven him +into the /maquis/?" + +"Brandolaccio has not committed any crime," exclaimed Colomba. "He +killed Giovan' Oppizo, who murdered his father while he was away +serving in the army!" + +Orso turned away his head, took up the lamp, and, without a word, +departed to his bedroom. Then Colomba gave the child food and +gunpowder, and went with her as far as the house-door, saying over and +over again: + +"Mind your uncle takes good care of Orso!" + + + +CHAPTER XI + +It was long before Orso fell asleep, and as a consequence he woke late +--late for a Corsican, at all events. When he left his bed, the first +object that struck his gaze was the house of his enemies, and the +/archere/ with which they had furnished it. He went downstairs and +asked for his sister. + +"She is in the kitchen, melting bullets," answered Saveria, the woman- +servant. + +So he could not take a step without being pursued by the image of war. + +He found Colomba sitting on a stool, surrounded by freshly cast +bullets, and cutting up strips of lead. + +"What the devil are you doing?" inquired her brother. + +"You had no bullets for the colonel's gun," she answered, in her soft +voice. "I found I had a mould for that calibre, and you shall have +four-and-twenty cartridges to-day, brother." + +"I don't need them, thank God!" + +"You mustn't be taken at a disadvantage, Ors' Anton'. You have +forgotten your country, and the people who are about you." + +"If I had forgotten, you would soon have reminded me. Tell me, did not +a big trunk arrive here some days ago?" + +"Yes, brother. Shall I take it up to your room?" + +"You take it up! Why, you'd never be strong enough even to lift it! +. . . Is there no man about who can do it?" + +"I'm not so weak as you think!" said Colomba, turning up her sleeves, +and displaying a pair of round white arms, perfect in shape, but +looking more than ordinarily strong. "Here, Saveria," said she to the +servant; "come and help me!" + +She was already lifting the trunk alone, when Orso came hastily to her +assistance. + +"There is something for you in this trunk, my dear Colomba," said he. +"You must excuse the modesty of my gifts. A lieutenant on half-pay +hasn't a very well-lined purse!" + +As he spoke, he opened the trunk, and took out of it a few gowns, a +shawl, and some other things likely to be useful to a young girl. + +"What beautiful things!" cried Colomba. "I'll put them away at once, +for fear they should be spoiled. I'll keep them for my wedding," she +added, with a sad smile, "for I am in mourning now!" + +And she kissed her brother's hand. + +"It looks affected, my dear sister, to wear your mourning for so +long." + +"I have sworn an oath," said Colomba resolutely, "I'll not take off my +mourning. . . ." And her eyes were riveted on the Barricini mansion. + +"Until your wedding day?" said Orso, trying to avoid the end of her +sentence. + +"I shall never marry any man," said Colomba, "unless he has done three +things . . ." And her eyes still rested gloomily on the house of the +enemy. + +"You are so pretty, Colomba, that I wonder you are not married +already! Come, you must tell me about your suitors. And besides, I'm +sure to hear their serenades. They must be good ones to please a great +/voceratrice/ like you." + +"Who would seek the hand of a poor orphan girl? . . . And then, the +man for whom I would change my mourning-dress will have to make the +women over there put on mourning!" + +"This is becoming a perfect mania," said Orso to himself. But to avoid +discussion he said nothing at all. + +"Brother," said Colomba caressingly, "I have something to give you, +too. The clothes you are wearing are much too grand for this country. +Your fine cloth frock-coat would be in tatters in two days, if you +wore it in the /maquis/. You must keep it for the time when Miss Nevil +comes." + +Then, opening a cupboard, she took out a complete hunting dress. + +"I've made you a velvet jacket, and here's a cap, such as our smart +young men wear. I embroidered it for you, ever so long ago. Will you +try them on?" And she made him put on a loose green velvet jacket, +with a huge pocket at the back. On his head she set a pointed black +velvet cap, embroidered with jet and silk of the same colour, and +finished with a sort of tassel + +"Here is our father's /carchera/"[*] she said. "His stiletto is in the +pocket of the jacket. I'll fetch you his pistol." + +[*] Carchera, a belt for cartridges. A pistol is worn fastened to the + left side of it. + +"I look like a brigand at the Ambigu-Comique," said Orso, as he looked +at himself in the little glass Saveria was holding up for him. + +"Indeed, you look first-rate, dressed like that, Ors' Anton'," said +the old servant, "and the smartest /pinsuto/[*] in Bocognano or +Bastelica is not braver." + +[*] Pinsuto, the name given to men who wear the pointed cap, /barreta + pinsuta/. + +Orso wore his new clothes at breakfast, and during that meal he told +his sister that his trunk contained a certain number of books, that he +was going to send to France and Italy for others, and intended she +should study a great deal. + +"For it really is disgraceful, Colomba," he added, "that a grown-up +girl like you should still be ignorant of things that children on the +mainland know as soon as they are weaned." + +"You are right, brother," said Colomba. "I know my own shortcomings +quite well, and I shall be too glad to learn--especially if you are +kind enough to teach me." + +Some days went by, and Colomba never mentioned the name of Barricini. +She lavished care and attention on her brother, and often talked to +him about Miss Nevil. Orso made her read French and Italian books, and +was constantly being surprised either by the correctness and good +sense of her comments, or by her utter ignorance on the most ordinary +subjects. + +One morning, after breakfast, Colomba left the room for a moment, and +instead of returning as usual, with a book and some sheets of paper, +reappeared with her /mezzaro/ on her head. The expression of her +countenance was even more serious than it generally was. + +"Brother," she said, "I want you to come out with me." + +"Where do you want me to go with you?" said Orso, holding out his arm. + +"I don't want your arm, brother, but take your gun and your cartridge- +pouch. A man should never go abroad without his arms." + +"So be it. I must follow the fashion. Where are we going?" + +Colomba, without answering, drew her /mezzaro/ closer about her head, +called the watch-dog, and went out followed by her brother. Striding +swiftly out of the village, she turned into a sunken road that wound +among the vineyards, sending on the dog, to whom she made some +gesture, which he seemed to understand, in front of her. He instantly +began to run zigzag fashion, through the vines, first on one side and +then on the other, always keeping within about fifty paces of his +mistress, and occasionally stopping in the middle of the road and +wagging his tail. He seemed to perform his duties as a scout in the +most perfect fashion imaginable. + +"If Muschetto begins to bark, brother," said Colomba, "cock your gun, +and stand still." + +Half a mile beyond the village, after making many detours, Colomba +stopped short, just where there was a bend in the road. On that spot +there rose a little pyramid of branches, some of them green, some +withered, heaped about three feet high. Above them rose the top of a +wooden cross, painted black. In several of the Corsican cantons, +especially those among the mountains, a very ancient custom, +connected, it may be with some pagan superstition, constrains every +passer-by to cast either a stone or a branch on the spot whereon a man +has died a violent death. For years and years--as long as the memory +of his tragic fate endures--this strange offering goes on accumulating +from day to day. + +This is called the dead man's /pile/--his "/mucchio/." + +Colomba stopped before the heap of foliage, broke off an arbutus +branch, and cast it on the pile. + +"Orso," she said, "this is where your father died. Let us pray for his +soul!" + +And she knelt down. Orso instantly followed her example. At that +moment the village church-bell tolled slowly for a man who had died +during the preceding night. Orso burst into tears. + +After a few minutes Colomba rose. Her eyes were dry, but her face was +eager. She hastily crossed herself with her thumb, after the fashion +generally adopted by her companions, to seal any solemn oath, then, +hurrying her brother with her, she took her way back to the village. +They re-entered their house in silence. Orso went up to his room. A +moment afterward Colomba followed him, carrying a small casket which +she set upon the table. Opening it, she drew out a shirt, covered with +great stains of blood. + +"Here is your father's shirt, Orso!" + +And she threw it across his knees. "Here is the lead that killed him!" +And she laid two blackened bullets on the shirt. + +"Orso! Brother!" she cried, throwing herself into his arms and +clasping him desperately to her. "Orso, you will avenge him!" + +In a sort of frenzy she kissed him, then kissed the shirt and the +bullets, and went out of the room, leaving her brother sitting on his +chair, as if he had been turned to stone. For some time Orso sat +motionless, not daring to put the terrible relics away. At last, with +an effort, he laid them back in their box, rushed to the opposite end +of his room, and threw himself on his bed, with his face turned to the +wall, and his head buried in his pillow, as though he were trying to +shut out the sight of some ghost. His sister's last words rang +unceasingly in his ears, like the words of an oracle, fatal, +inevitable, calling out to him for blood, and for innocent blood! I +shall not attempt to depict the unhappy young man's sensations, which +were as confused as those that overwhelm a madman's brain. For a long +time he lay in the same position, without daring to turn his head. At +last he got up, closed the lid of the casket, and rushed headlong out +of the house, into the open country, moving aimlessly forward, whither +he knew not. + +By degrees, the fresh air did him good. He grew calmer, and began to +consider his position, and his means of escape from it, with some +composure. He did not, as my readers already know, suspect the +Barricini of the murder, but he did accuse them of having forged +Agostini's letter, and this letter, he believed, at any rate, had +brought about his father's death. He felt it was impossible to +prosecute them for the forgery. Now and then, when the prejudices or +the instincts of his race assailed him, and suggested an easy +vengeance--a shot fired at the corner of some path--the thought of his +brother-officers, of Parisian drawing-rooms, and above all, of Miss +Nevil, made him shrink from them in horror. Then his mind dwelt on his +sister's reproaches, and all the Corsican within him justified her +appeal, and even intensified its bitterness. One hope alone remained +to him, in this battle between his conscience and his prejudices--the +hope that, on some pretext or other, he might pick a quarrel with one +of the lawyer's sons, and fight a duel with him. The idea of killing +the young man, either by a bullet or a sword-thrust reconciled his +French and Corsican ideas. This expedient adopted, he began to +meditate means for its execution, and was feeling relieved already of +a heavy burden, when other and gentler thoughts contributed still +further to calm his feverish agitation. Cicero, in his despair at the +death of his daughter Tullia, forgot his sorrow when he mused over all +the fine things he might say about it. Mr. Shandy consoled himself by +discourses of the same nature for the loss of his son. Orso cooled his +blood by thinking that he would depict his state of mind to Miss +Nevil, and that such a picture could not fail to interest that fair +lady deeply. + +He was drawing near the village, from which he had unconsciously +travelled a considerable distance, when he heard the voice of a little +girl, who probably believed herself to be quite alone, singing in a +path that ran along the edge of the /maquis/. It was one of those +slow, monotonous airs consecrated to funeral dirges, and the child was +singing the words: + + "And when my son shall see again the dwelling of his father, + Give him that murdered father's cross; show him my shirt blood- + spattered." + +"What's that you're singing, child?" said Orso, in an angry voice, as +he suddenly appeared before her. + +"Is that you, Ors' Anton'?" exclaimed the child, rather startled. "It +is Signorina Colomba's song." + +"I forbid you to sing it!" said Orso, in a threatening voice. + +The child kept turning her head this way and that, as though looking +about for a way of escape, and she would certainly have run off had +she not been held back by the necessity of taking care of a large +bundle which lay on the grass, at her feet. + +Orso felt ashamed of his own vehemence. "What are you carrying there, +little one?" said he, with all the gentleness he could muster. And as +Chilina hesitated, he lifted up the linen that was wrapped round the +bundle, and saw it contained a loaf of bread and other food. + +"To whom are you bringing the loaf, my dear?" he asked again. + +"You know quite well, Ors' Anton': to my uncle." + +"And isn't your uncle a bandit?" + +"At your service, Ors' Anton'." + +"If you met the gendarmes, they would ask you where you were +going . . ." + +"I should tell them," the child replied, at once, "that I was taking +food to the men from Lucca who were cutting down the /maquis/." + +"And if you came across some hungry hunter who insisted on dining at +your expense, and took your provisions away from you?" + +"Nobody would dare! I would say they are for my uncle!" + +"Well! he's not the sort of man to let himself be cheated of his +dinner! . . . Is your uncle very fond of you?" + +"Oh, yes, Ors' Anton'. Ever since my father died, he has taken care of +my whole family--my mother and my little sister, and me. Before mother +was ill, he used to recommend her to rich people, who gave her +employment. The mayor gives me a frock every year, and the priest has +taught me my catechism, and how to read, ever since my uncle spoke to +them about us. But your sister is kindest of all to us!" + +Just at this moment a dog ran out on the pathway. The little girl put +two of her fingers into her mouth and gave a shrill whistle, the dog +came to her at once, fawned upon her, and then plunged swiftly into +the thicket. Soon two men, ill-dressed, but very well armed, rose up +out of a clump of young wood a few paces from where Orso stood. It was +as though they had crawled up like snakes through the tangle of +cytisus and myrtle that covered the ground. + +"Oh, Ors' Anton', you're welcome!" said the elder of the two men. +"Why, don't you remember me?" + +"No!" said Orso, looking hard at him. + +"Queer how a beard and a peaked cap alter a man! Come, monsieur, look +at me well! Have you forgotten your old Waterloo men? Don't you +remember Brando Savelli, who bit open more than one cartridge +alongside of you on that unlucky day?" + +"What! Is it you?" said Orso. "And you deserted in 1816!" + +"Even so, sir. Faith! soldiering grows tiresome, and besides, I had a +job to settle over in this country. Aha, Chili! You're a good girl! +Give us our dinner at once, we're hungry. You've no notion what an +appetite one gets in the /maquis/. Who sent us this--was it Signorina +Colomba or the mayor?" + +"No, uncle, it was the miller's wife. She gave me this for you, and a +blanket for my mother." + +"What does she want of me?" + +"She says the Lucchesi she hired to clear the /maquis/ are asking her +five-and-thirty sous, and chestnuts as well--because of the fever in +the lower parts of Pietranera." + +"The lazy scamps! . . . I'll see to them! . . . Will you share our +dinner, monsieur, without any ceremony? We've eaten worse meals +together, in the days of that poor compatriot of ours, whom they have +discharged from the army." + +"No, I thank you heartily. They have discharged me, too!" + +"Yes, so I heard. But I'll wager you weren't sorry for it. You have +your own account to settle too. . . . Come along, cure," said the +bandit to his comrade. "Let's dine! Signor Orso, let me introduce the +cure. I'm not quite sure he is a cure. But he knows as much as any +priest, at all events!" + +"A poor student of theology, monsieur," quoth the second bandit, "who +has been prevented from following his vocation. Who knows, +Brandolaccio, I might have been Pope!" + +"What was it that deprived the Church of your learning?" inquired +Orso. + +"A mere nothing--a bill that had to be settled, as my friend +Brandolaccio puts it. One of my sisters had been making a fool of +herself, while I was devouring book-lore at Pisa University. I had to +come home, to get her married. But her future husband was in too great +a hurry; he died of fever three days before I arrived. Then I called, +as you would have done in my place, on the dead man's brother. I was +told he was married. What was I to do?" + +"It really was puzzling! What did you do?" + +"It was one of those cases in which one has to resort to the +gunflint." + +"In other words?" + +"I put a bullet in his head," said the bandit coolly. + +Orso made a horrified gesture. Nevertheless, curiosity, and, it may +be, his desire to put off the moment when he must return home, induced +him to remain where he was, and continue his conversation with the two +men, each of whom had at least one murder on his conscience. + +While his comrade was talking, Brandolaccio was laying bread and meat +in front of him. He helped himself--then he gave some food to this +dog, whom he introduced to Orso under the name of Brusco, as an animal +possessing a wonderful instinct for recognising a soldier, whatever +might be the disguise he had assumed. Lastly, he cut off a hunch of +bread and a slice of raw ham, and gave them to his niece. "Oh, the +merry life a bandit lives!" cried the student of theology, after he +had swallowed a few mouthfuls. "You'll try it some day, perhaps, +Signor della Rebbia, and you'll find out how delightful it is to +acknowledge no master save one's own fancy!" + +Hitherto the bandit had talked Italian. He now proceeded in French. + +"Corsica is not a very amusing country for a young man to live in--but +for a bandit, there's the difference! The women are all wild about us. +I, as you see me now, have three mistresses in three different +villages. I am at home in every one of them, and one of the ladies is +married to a gendarme!" + +"You know many languages, monsieur!" said Orso gravely. + +"If I talk French, 'tis because, look you, /maxima debetur pueris +reverentia/! We have made up our minds, Brandolaccio and I, that the +little girl shall turn out well, and go straight." + +"When she is turned fifteen," remarked Chilina's uncle, "I'll find a +good husband for her. I have one in my eye already." + +"Shall you make the proposal yourself?" said Orso. + +"Of course! Do you suppose that any well-to-do man in this +neighbourhood, to whom I said, 'I should be glad to see a marriage +between your son and Michilina Savelli,' would require any pressing?" + +"I wouldn't advise him to!" quoth the other bandit. "Friend +Brandolaccio has rather a heavy hand!" + +"If I were a rogue," continued Brandolaccio, "a blackguard, a forger, +I should only have to hold my wallet open, and the five-franc pieces +would rain into it." + +"Then is there something inside your wallet that attracts them?" said +Orso. + +"Nothing. But if I were to write to a rich man, as some people have +written, 'I want a hundred francs,' he would lose no time about +sending them to me. But I'm a man of honour, monsieur." + +"Do you know, Signor della Rebbia," said the bandit whom his comrade +called the cure, "do you know that in this country, with all its +simple habits, there are some wretches who make use of the esteem our +passports" (and he touched his gun) "insure us, to draw forged bills +in our handwriting?" + +"I know it," said Orso, in a gruff tone; "but what bills?" + +"Six months ago," said the bandit, "I was taking my walks abroad near +Orezza, when a sort of lunatic came up to me, pulling off his cap to +me even in the distance, and said: 'Oh, M. le Cure' (they always call +me that), 'please excuse me--give me time. I have only been able to +get fifty-five francs together! Honour bright, that's all I've been +able to scrape up.' I, in my astonishment, said, 'Fifty-five francs! +What do you mean, you rascal!' 'I mean sixty-five,' he replied; 'but +as for the hundred francs you asked me to give you, it's not +possible.' 'What! you villain! I ask you for a hundred francs? I don't +know who you are.' Then he showed me a letter, or rather a dirty rag +of paper, whereby he was summoned to deposit a hundred francs on a +certain spot, on pain of having his house burned and his cows killed +by Giocanto Castriconi--that's my name. And they had been vile enough +to forge my signature! What annoyed me most was that the letter was +written in /patois/, and was full of mistakes in spelling--I who won +every prize at the university! I began by giving my rascal a cuff that +made him twist round and round. 'Aha! You take me for a thief, +blackguard that you are!' I said, and I gave him a hearty kick, you +know where. Then feeling rather better, I went on, 'When are you to +take the money to the spot mentioned in the letter?' 'This very day.' +'Very good, then take it there!' It was at the foot of a pine-tree, +and the place had been exactly described. He brought the money, buried +it at the foot of the tree, and came and joined me. I had hidden +myself close by. There I stayed, with my man, for six mortal hours, M. +della Rebbia. I'd have staid three days, if it had been necessary. At +the end of six hours a /Bastiaccio/, a vile money-lender, made his +appearance. As he bent down to take up the money, I fired, and I had +aimed so well that, as he fell, his head dropped upon the coins he was +unearthing. 'Now, rascal,' said I to the peasant, 'take your money, +and never dare to suspect Giocanto Castriconi of a mean trick again!' + +"The poor devil, all of a tremble, picked up his sixty-five francs +without taking the trouble to wipe them. He thanked me, I gave him a +good parting kick, and he may be running away still, for all I know." + +"Ah, cure!" said Brandolaccio, "I envy you that shot! How you must +have laughed!" + +"I had hit the money-lender in the temple," the bandit went on, "and +that reminded me of Virgil's lines: + + . . . " 'Liquefacto tempora plumbo + Diffidit, ac multa porrectum, extendit arena.' + +"/Liquefacto!/ Do you think, Signor Orso, that the rapidity with which +a bullet flies through the air will melt it? You who have studied +projectiles, tell me whether you think that idea is truth or fiction?" + +Orso infinitely preferred discussing this question of physics to +arguing with the licentiate as to the morality of his action. +Brandolaccio, who did not find their scientific disquisition +entertaining, interrupted it with the remark that the sun was just +going to set. + +"As you would not dine with us, Ors' Anton'," he said, "I advise you +not to keep Mademoiselle Colomba waiting any longer. And then it is +not always wise to be out on the roads after sunset. Why do you come +out without a gun? There are bad folk about here--beware of them! You +have nothing to fear to-day. The Barricini are bringing the prefect +home with them. They have gone to meet him on the road, and he is to +stop a day at Pietranera, before he goes on to Corte, to lay what they +call a corner-stone--such stupid nonsense! He will sleep to-night with +the Barricini; but to-morrow they'll be disengaged. There is +Vincentello, who is a good-for-nothing fellow, and Orlanduccio, who is +not much better. . . . Try to come on them separately, one to-day, the +other to-morrow. . . . But be on the lookout, that's all I have to say +to you!" + +"Thanks for the warning," said Orso. "But there is no quarrel between +us. Until they come to look for me, I shall have nothing to say to +them." + +The bandit stuck his tongue in his cheek, and smacked it ironically, +but he made no reply. Orso got up to go away. + +"By the way," said Brandolaccio, "I haven't thanked you for your +powder. It came just when I needed it. Now I have everything I want +. . . at least I do still want shoes . . . but I'll make myself a pair +out of the skin of a moufflon one of these days." + +Orso slipped two five-franc pieces into the bandit's hand. + +"It was Colomba who sent you the powder. This is to buy the shoes." + +"Nonsense, Lieutenant!" cried Brandolaccio, handing him back the two +coins. "D'ye take me for a beggar? I accept bread and powder, but I +won't have anything else!" + +"We are both old soldiers, so I thought we might have given each other +a lift. Well, good-bye to you!" + +But before he moved away he had slipped the money into he bandit's +wallet, unperceived by him. + +"Good-bye, Ors' Anton'," quoth the theologian. "We shall meet again in +the /maquis/, some day, perhaps, and then we'll continue our study of +Virgil." + +Quite a quarter of an hour after Orso had parted company with these +worthies, he heard a man running after him, as fast as he could go. It +was Brandolaccio. + +"This is too bad, lieutenant!" he shouted breathlessly, "really it is +too bad! I wouldn't overlook the trick, if any other man had played it +on me. Here are your ten francs. All my respects to Mademoiselle +Colomba. You have made me run myself quite out of breath. Good-night!" + + + +CHAPTER XII + +Orso found Colomba in a state of considerable anxiety because of his +prolonged absence. But as soon as she saw him she recovered her usual +serene, though sad, expression. During the evening meal the +conversation turned on trivial subjects, and Orso, emboldened by his +sister's apparent calm, related his encounter with the bandits, and +even ventured on a joke or two concerning the moral and religious +education that was being imparted to little Chilina, thanks to the +care of her uncle and of his worthy colleague Signor Castriconi. + +"Brandolaccio is an upright man," said Colomba; "but as to Castriconi, +I have heard he is quite unprincipled." + +"I think," said Orso, "that he is as good as Brandolaccio, and +Brandolaccio is as good as he. Both of them are at open war with +society. Their first crime leads them on to fresh ones, every day, and +yet they are very likely not half so guilty as many people who don't +live in the /maquis/." + +A flash of joy shone in his sister's eyes. "Yes," he continued, "these +wretches have a code of honour of their own. It is a cruel prejudice, +not a mean instinct of greed, that has forced them into the life they +are leading." + +There was a silence. + +"Brother," said Colomba, as she poured out his coffee, "perhaps you +have heard that Carlo-Battista Pietri died last night. Yes, he died of +the marsh-fever." + +"Who is Pietri?" + +"A man belonging to this village, the husband of Maddalena, who took +the pocket-book out of our father's hand as he was dying. His widow +has been here to ask me to join the watchers, and sing something. You +ought to come, too. They are our neighbours, and in a small place like +this we can not do otherwise than pay them this civility." + +"Confound these wakes, Colomba! I don't at all like my sister to +perform in public in this way." + +"Orso," replied Colomba, "every country pays honour to its dead after +its own fashion. The /ballata/ has come down to us from our +forefathers, and we must respect it as an ancient custom. Maddalena +does not possess the 'gift,' and old Fiordispina, the best +/voceratrice/ in the country, is ill. They must have somebody for the +/ballata/." + +"Do you believe Carlo-Battista won't find his way safely into the next +world unless somebody sings bad poetry over his bier? Go if you +choose, Colomba--I'll go with you, if you think I ought. But don't +improvise! It really is not fitting at your age, and--sister, I beg +you not to do it!" + +"Brother, I have promised. It is the custom here, as you know, and, I +tell you again, there is nobody but me to improvise." + +"An idiotic custom it is!" + +"It costs me a great deal to sing in this way. It brings back all our +own sorrows to me. I shall be ill after it, to-morrow. But I must do +it. Give me leave to do it. Brother, remember that when we were at +Ajaccio, you told me to improvise to amuse that young English lady who +makes a mock of our old customs. So why should I not do it to-day for +these poor people, who will be grateful to me, and whom it will help +to bear their grief?" + +"Well, well, as you will. I'll go bail you've composed your /ballata/ +already, and don't want to waste it." + +"No, brother, I couldn't compose it beforehand. I stand before the +dead person, and I think about those he has left behind him. The tears +spring into my eyes, and then I sing whatever comes into my head." + +All this was said so simply that it was quite impossible to suspect +Signorina Colomba of the smallest poetic vanity. Orso let himself be +persuaded, and went with his sister to Pietri's house. The dead man +lay on a table in the largest room, with his face uncovered. All the +doors and windows stood open, and several tapers were burning round +the table. At the head stood the widow, and behind her a great many +women, who filled all one side of the room. On the other side were the +men, in rows, bareheaded, with their eyes fixed on the corpse, all in +the deepest silence. Each new arrival went up to the table, kissed the +dead face, bowed his or her head to the widow and her son, and joined +the circle, without uttering a word. Nevertheless, from time to time +one of the persons present would break the solemn silence with a few +words, addressed to the dead man. + +"Why has thou left thy good wife?" said one old crone. "Did she not +take good care of thee? What didst thou lack? Why not have waited +another month? Thy daughter-in-law would have borne thee a grandson!" +A tall young fellow, Pietri's son, pressed his father's cold hand and +cried: "Oh! why hast thou not died of the /mala morte/?[*] Then we +could have avenged thee!" + +[*] /La mala morte/, a violent death. + +These were the first words to fall on Orso's ear as he entered the +room. At the sight of him the circle parted, and a low murmur of +curiosity betrayed the expectation roused in the gathering by the +/voceratrice's/ presence. Colomba embraced the widow, took one of her +hands, and stood for some moments wrapped in meditation, with her +eyelids dropped. Then she threw back her /mezzaro/, gazed fixedly at +the corpse, and bending over it, her face almost as waxen as that of +the dead man, she began thus: + +"Carlo-Battista! May Christ receive thy soul! . . . To live is to +suffer! Thou goest to a place . . . where there is neither sun nor +cold. . . . No longer dost thou need thy pruning-hook . . . nor thy +heavy pick. . . . There is no more work for thee! . . . Henceforward +all thy days are Sundays! . . . Carlo-Battista! May Christ receive thy +soul! . . . Thy son rules in thy house. . . . I have seen the oak +fall, . . . dried up by the /libeccio/. . . . I thought it was dead +indeed, . . . but when I passed it again, its root . . . had thrown up +a sapling. . . . The sapling grew into an oak . . . of mighty shade. +. . . Under its great branches, Maddele, rest thee well! . . . And +think of the oak that is no more!" + +Here Maddalena began to sob aloud, and two or three men who, on +occasion, would have shot at a Christian as coolly as at a partridge, +brushed big tears off their sunburnt faces. + +For some minutes Colomba continued in this strain, addressing herself +sometimes to the corpse, sometimes to the family, and sometimes, by a +personification frequently employed in the /ballata/, making the dead +man himself speak words of consolation or counsel to his kinsfolk. As +she proceeded, her face assumed a sublime expression, a delicate pink +tinge crept over her features, heightening the brilliancy of her white +teeth and the lustre of her flashing eyes. She was like a Pythoness on +her tripod. Save for a sigh here and there, or a strangled sob, not +the slightest noise rose from the assembly that crowded about her. +Orso, though less easily affected than most people by this wild kind +of poetry, was soon overcome by the general emotion. Hidden in a dark +corner of the room, he wept as heartily as Pietri's own son. + +Suddenly a slight stir was perceptible among the audience. The circle +opened, and several strangers entered. The respect shown them, and the +eagerness with which room was made for them, proved them to be people +of importance, whose advent was a great honour to the household. +Nevertheless, out of respect for the /ballata/, nobody said a word to +them. The man who had entered first seemed about forty years of age. +From his black coat, his red rosette, his confident air, and look of +authority, he was at once guessed to be the prefect. Behind him came a +bent old man with a bilious-looking complexion, whose furtive and +anxious glance was only partially concealed by his green spectacles. +He wore a black coat, too large for him, and which, though still quite +new, had evidently been made several years previously. He always kept +close beside the prefect and looked as though he would fain hide +himself under his shadow. Last of all, behind him, came two tall young +men, with sunburnt faces, their cheeks hidden by heavy whiskers, proud +and arrogant-looking, and showing symptoms of an impertinent +curiosity. Orso had had time to forget the faces of his village +neighbours; but the sight of the old man in green spectacles instantly +called up old memories in his mind. His presence in attendance on the +prefect sufficed to insure his recognition. This was Barricini, the +lawyer, mayor of Pietranera, who had come, with his two sons, to show +the prefect what a /ballata/ was. It would be difficult exactly to +describe what happened within Orso's soul at that moment, but the +presence of his father's foe filled him with a sort of horror, and +more than ever he felt inclined to yield to the suspicions with which +he had been battling for so long. + +As to Colomba, when she saw the man against whom she had sworn a +deadly hatred, her mobile countenance assumed a most threatening +aspect. She turned pale, her voice grew hoarse, the line she had begun +to declaim died on her lips. But soon, taking up her /ballata/ afresh, +she proceeded with still greater vehemence. + +"When the hawk bemoans himself . . . beside his harried nest, . . . +the starlings flutter round him . . . insulting his distress." + +A smothered laugh was heard. The two young men who had just come in +doubtless considered the metaphor too bold. + +"The falcon will rouse himself. . . . He will spread his wings. . . . +He will wash his beak in blood! . . . Now, to thee, Carlo-Battista, +let thy friends . . . bid an eternal farewell! . . . Long enough have +their tears flowed! . . . Only the poor orphan girl will not weep for +thee! . . . Wherefore should she moan? . . . Thou has fallen asleep, +full of years, . . . in the midst of thine own kin. . . . ready to +appear . . . in the presence of the Almighty. . . . The orphan weeps +for her father . . . overtaken by vile murderers, . . . struck from +behind. . . . For her father, whose blood lies red . . . beneath the +heaped-up green leaves. . . . But she has gathered up this blood, +. . . this innocent and noble blood! . . . She has poured it out over +Pietranera . . . that it may become a deadly poison. . . . And the +mark shall be on Pietranera . . . until the blood of the guilty . . . +shall have wiped out the blood of the innocent man!" + +As Colomba pronounced the last words, she dropped into a chair, drew +her /mezzaro/ over her face, and was heard sobbing beneath it. The +weeping women crowded round the /improvisatrice/; several of the men +were casting savage glances at the mayor and his sons; some of the +elders began to protest against the scandal to which their presence +had given rise. The dead man's son pushed his way through the throng, +and was about to beg the mayor to clear out with all possible speed. +But this functionary had not waited for the suggestion. He was on his +way to the door, and his two sons were already in the street. The +prefect said a few words of condolence to young Pietri, and followed +them out, almost immediately. Orso went to his sister's side, took her +arm, and drew her out of the room. + +"Go with them," said young Pietri to some of his friends. "Take care +no harm comes to them!" + +Hastily two or three young men slipped their stilettos up the left +sleeves of their jackets and escorted Orso and his sister to their own +door. + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +Panting, exhausted, Colomba was utterly incapable of uttering a single +word. Her head rested on her brother's shoulder, and she clasped one +of his hands tightly between her own. Orso, though secretly somewhat +annoyed by her peroration, was too much alarmed to reprove her, even +in the mildest fashion. He was silently waiting till the nervous +attack from which she seemed to be suffering should have passed, when +there was a knock at the door, and Saveria, very much flustered, +announced the prefect. At the words, Colomba rose, as though ashamed +of her weakness, and stood leaning on a chair, which shook visibly +beneath her hand. + +The prefect began with some commonplace apology for the unseasonable +hour of his visit, condoled with Mademoiselle Colomba, touched on the +danger connected with strong emotions, blamed the custom of composing +funeral dirges, which the very talent of the /voceratrice/ rendered +the more harrowing to her auditors, skilfully slipped in a mild +reproof concerning the tendency of the improvisation just concluded, +and then, changing his tone-- + +"M. della Rebbia," he said, "I have many messages for you from your +English friends. Miss Nevil sends her affectionate regards to your +sister. I have a letter for you from her." + +"A letter from Miss Nevil!" cried Orso. + +"Unluckily I have not got it with me. But you shall have it within +five minutes. Her father has not been well. For a little while we were +afraid he had caught one of our terrible fevers. Luckily he is all +right again, as you will observe for yourself, for I fancy you will +see him very soon." + +"Miss Nevil must have been very much alarmed!" + +"Fortunately she did not become aware of the danger till it was quite +gone by. M. della Rebbia, Miss Nevil has talked to me a great deal +about you and about your sister." + +Orso bowed. + +"She has a great affection for you both. Under her charming +appearance, and her apparent frivolity, a fund of good sense lies +hidden." + +"She is a very fascinating person," said Orso. + +"I have come here, monsieur, almost at her prayer. Nobody is better +acquainted than I with a fatal story which I would fain not have to +recall to you. As M. Barricini is still the mayor of Pietranera, and +as I am prefect of the department, I need hardly tell you what weight +I attach to certain suspicions which, if I am rightly informed, some +incautious individuals have communicated to you, and which you, I +know, have spurned with the indignation your position and your +character would have led me to expect." + +"Colomba," said Orso, moving uneasily to his chair. "You are very +tired. You had better go to bed." + +Colomba shook her head. She had recovered all her usual composure, and +her burning eyes were fixed on the prefect. + +"M. Barricini," the prefect continued, "is exceedingly anxious to put +an end to the sort of enmity . . . or rather, the condition of +uncertainty, existing between yourself and him. . . . On my part, I +should be delighted to see you both in those relations of friendly +intercourse appropriate to people who certainly ought to esteem each +other." + +"Monsieur," replied Orso in a shaking voice, "I have never charged +Barricini with my father's murder. But he committed an act which must +always prevent me from having anything to do with him. He forged a +threatening letter, in the name of a certain bandit, or at least he +hinted in an underhand sort of way that it was forged by my father. +That letter, monsieur, was probably the indirect cause of my father's +death." + +The prefect sat thinking for a moment. + +"That your father should have believed that, when his own hasty nature +led him into a lawsuit with Signor Barricini, is excusable. But such +blindness on your part really can not be admitted. Pray consider that +Barricini could have served no interest of his own by forging the +letter. I will not talk to you about his character, for you are not +acquainted with it, and are prejudiced against it; but you can not +suppose that a man conversant with the law----" + +"But, monsieur," said Orso, rising to his feet, "be good enough to +recollect that when you tell me the letter was not Barricini's work, +you ascribe it to my father. And my father's honour, monsieur, is +mine!" + +"No man on earth, sir, is more convinced of Colonel della Rebbia's +honour than myself! But the writer of the letter is now known." + +"Who wrote it?" exclaimed Colomba, making a step toward the prefect. + +"A villain, guilty of several crimes--such crimes as you Corsicans +never pardon--a thief, one Tomaso Bianchi, at present confined in the +prison at Bastia, has acknowledged that he wrote the fatal letter." + +"I know nothing of the man," said Orso. "What can have been his +object?" + +"He belongs to this neighbourhood," said Colomba. "He is brother to a +man who was our miller--a scamp and a liar, unworthy of belief." + +"You will soon see what his interest in the matter was," continued the +prefect. "The miller of whom your sister speaks--I think his name was +Teodoro--was the tenant of a mill belonging to the colonel, standing +on the very stream the ownership of which M. Barricini was disputing +with your father. The colonel, always a generous man, made very little +profit out of the mill. Now Tomaso thought that if Barricini got +possession of the stream there would be a heavy rent to pay, for it is +well known that Barricini is rather fond of money. In short, to oblige +his brother, Tomaso forged the letter from the bandit--and there's the +whole story. You know that in Corsica the strength of the family tie +is so great that it does sometimes lead to crime. Please read over +this letter to me from the attorney-general. It confirms what I have +just told you." + +Orso looked through the letter, which gave a detailed relation of +Tomaso's confession, and Colomba read it over his shoulder. + +When she had come to the end of it she exclaimed: + +"Orlanduccio Barricini went down to Bastia a month ago, when it became +known that my brother was coming home. He must have seen Tomaso, and +bought this lie of him!" + +"Signorina," said the prefect, out of patience, "you explain +everything by odious imputations! Is that the way to find out the +truth? You, sir, can judge more coolly. Tell me what you think of the +business now? Do you believe, like this young lady, that a man who has +only a slight sentence to fear would deliberately charge himself with +forgery, just to oblige a person he doesn't know?" + +Orso read the attorney-general's letter again, weighing every word +with the greatest care--for now that he had seen the old lawyer, he +felt it more difficult to convince himself than it would have been a +few days previously. At last he found himself obliged to admit that +the explanation seemed to him to be satisfactory. But Colomba cried +out vehemently: + +"Tomaso Bianchi is a knave! He'll not be convicted, or he'll escape +from prison! I am certain of it!" + +The prefect shrugged his shoulders. + +"I have laid the information I have received before you, monsieur. I +will now depart, and leave you to your own reflections. I shall wait +till your own reason has enlightened you, and I trust it may prove +stronger than your sister's suppositions." + +Orso, after saying a few words of excuse for Colomba, repeated that he +now believed Tomaso to be the sole culprit. + +The prefect had risen to take his leave. + +"If it were not so late," said he, "I would suggest your coming over +with me to fetch Miss Nevil's letter. At the same time you might +repeat to M. Barricini what you have just said to me, and the whole +thing would be settled." + +"Orso della Rebbia will never set his foot inside the house of a +Barricini!" exclaimed Colomba impetuously. + +"This young lady appears to be the /tintinajo/[*] of the family!" +remarked the prefect, with a touch of irony. + +[*] This is the name given to the ram or he-goat which wears a bell + and leads the flock, and it is applied, metaphorically, to any + member of a family who guides it in all important matters. + +"Monsieur," replied Colomba resolutely, "you are deceived. You do not +know the lawyer. He is the most cunning and knavish of men. I beseech +you not to make Orso do a thing that would overwhelm him with +dishonour!" + +"Colomba!" exclaimed Orso, "your passion has driven you out of your +senses!" + +"Orso! Orso! By the casket I gave you, I beseech you to listen to me! +There is blood between you and the Barricini. You shall not go into +their house!" + +"Sister!" + +"No, brother, you shall not go! Or I will leave this house, and you +will never see me again! Have pity on me, Orso!" and she fell on her +knees. + +"I am grieved," said the prefect, "to find Mademoiselle Colomba so +unreasonable. You will convince her, I am sure." + +He opened the door and paused, seeming to expect Orso to follow him. + +"I can not leave her now," said Orso. "To-morrow, if----" + +"I shall be starting very early," said the prefect. + +"Brother," cried Colomba, clasping her hands, "wait till to-morrow +morning, in any case. Let me look over my father's papers. You can not +refuse me that!" + +"Well, you shall look them over to-night. But at all events you shall +not torment me afterward with your violent hatreds. A thousand +pardons, monsieur! I am so upset myself to-night--it had better be +to-morrow." + +"The night brings counsel," said the prefect, as he went out. "I hope +all your uncertainty will have disappeared by to-morrow." + +"Saveria," Colomba called, "take the lantern and attend the Signor +Prefetto. He will give you a letter to bring back to my brother." + +She added a few words which reached Saveria's ear alone. + +"Colomba," said Orso, when the prefect was gone, "you have distressed +me very much. Will no evidence convince you?" + +"You have given me till to-morrow," she replied. "I have very little +time; but I still have some hope." + +Then she took a bunch of keys and ran up to a room on the upper story. +There he could hear her pulling open drawers, and rummaging in the +writing-desk in which Colonel della Rebbia had kept his business +papers. + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +Saveria was a long time away, and when she at last reappeared, +carrying a letter, and followed by little Chilina, rubbing her eyes, +and evidently just waked out of her beauty sleep, Orso was wound up to +the highest possible pitch of impatience. + +"Chili," said Orso, "what are you doing here at this hour?" + +"The signorina sent for me," replied Chilina. + +"What the devil does she want with her?" thought Orso to himself. But +he was in a hurry to open Miss Lydia's letter, and while he was +reading it Chilina went upstairs to his sister's room. + + "My father, dear sir, has not been well," Miss Nevil wrote, "and he + is so indolent, besides, that I am obliged to act as his + secretary. You remember that, instead of admiring the landscape + with you and me the other day, he got his feet wet on the sea-shore + --and in your delightful island, that is quite enough to give one a + fever! I can see the face you are making! No doubt you are feeling + for your dagger. But I will hope you have none now. Well, my father + had a little fever, and I had a great fright. The prefect, whom I + persist in thinking very pleasant, sent us a doctor, also a very + pleasant man, who got us over our trouble in two days. There has + been no return of the attack, and my father would like to begin to + shoot again. But I have forbidden that. How did you find matters + in your mountain home? Is your North Tower still in its old place? + Are there any ghosts about it? I ask all these questions because + my father remembers you have promised him buck and boar and + moufflon--is that the right name for those strange creatures? We + intend to crave your hospitality on our way to Bastia, where we + are to embark, and I trust the della Rebbia Castle, which you + declare is so old and tumble-down, will not fall in upon our + heads! Though the prefect is so pleasant that subjects of + conversation are never lacking to us--I flatter myself, by the + way, that I have turned his head--we have been talking about your + worshipful self. The legal people at Bastia have sent him certain + confessions, made by a rascal they have under lock and key, which + are calculated to destroy your last remaining suspicions. The + enmity which sometimes alarmed me for you must therefore end at + once. You have no idea what a pleasure this has been to me! When + you started hence with the fair /voceratrice/, with your gun in + hand, and your brow lowering, you struck me as being more Corsican + than ever--too Corsican indeed! /Basta!/ I write you this long + letter because I am dull. The prefect, alas! is going away. We + will send you a message when we start for your mountains, and I + shall take the liberty of writing to Signorina Colomba to ask her + to give me a /bruccio, ma solenne/! Meanwhile, give her my love. I + use her dagger a great deal to cut the leaves of a novel I brought + with me. But the doughty steel revolts against such usage, and + tears my book for me, after a most pitiful fashion. Farewell, sir! + My father sends you 'his best love.' Listen to what the prefect + says. He is a sensible man, and is turning out of his way, I + believe, on your account. He is going to lay a foundation-stone at + Corte. I should fancy the ceremony will be very imposing, and I am + very sorry not to see it. A gentleman in an embroidered coat and + silk stockings and a white scarf, wielding a trowel--and a speech! + And at the end of the performance manifold and reiterated shouts + of 'God save the King.' I say again, sir, it will make you very + vain to think I have written you four whole pages, and on that + account I give you leave to write me a very long letter. By the + way, I think it very odd of you not to have let me hear of your + safe arrival at the Castle of Pietranera! + +"LYDIA. + + + "P.S.--I beg you will listen to the prefect, and do as he bids you. + We have agreed that this is the course you should pursue, and I + shall be very glad if you do it." + + +Orso read the letter three or four times over, making endless mental +comments each time as he read. Then he wrote a long answer, which he +sent by Saveria's hand to a man in the village, who was to go down to +Ajaccio the very next day. Already he had almost dismissed the idea of +discussing his grievance, true or false, against the Barricini, with +his sister. Miss Lydia's letter had cast a rose-coloured tint over +everything about him. He felt neither hatred nor suspicion now. He +waited some time for his sister to come down, and finding she did not +reappear, he went to bed, with a lighter heart than he had carried for +many a day. Colomba, having dismissed Chilina with some secret +instructions, spent the greater part of the night in reading old +papers. A little before daybreak a few tiny pebbles rattled against +the window-pane. At the signal, she went down to the garden, opened a +back door, and conducted two very rough men into her house. Her first +care was to bring them into the kitchen and give them food. My readers +will shortly learn who these men were. + + + +CHAPTER XV + +Toward six o'clock next morning one of the prefect's servants came and +knocked at the door of Orso's house. He was received by Colomba, and +informed her the prefect was about to start, and was expecting her +brother. Without a moment's hesitation Colomba replied that her +brother had just had a fall on the stairs, and sprained his foot; and +he was unable to walk a single step, that he begged the prefect to +excuse him, and would be very grateful if he would condescend to take +the trouble of coming over to him. A few minutes after this message +had been despatched, Orso came downstairs, and asked his sister +whether the prefect had not sent for him. + +With the most perfect assurance she rejoined: + +"He begs you'll wait for him here." + +Half an hour went by without the slightest perceptible stir in the +Barricini dwelling. Meanwhile Orso asked Colomba whether she had +discovered anything. She replied that she proposed to make her +statement when the prefect came. She affected an extreme composure. +But her colour and her eyes betrayed her state of feverish excitement. + +At last the door of the Barricini mansion was seen to open. The +prefect came out first, in travelling garb; he was followed by the +mayor and his two sons. What was the stupefaction of the inhabitants +of the village of Pietranera, who had been on the watch since sunrise +for the departure of the chief magistrate of their department, when +they saw him go straight across the square and enter the della Rebbia +dwelling, accompanied by the three Barricini. "They are going to make +peace!" exclaimed the village politicians. + +"Just as I told you," one old man went on. "Ors' Anton' has lived too +much on the mainland to carry things through like a man of mettle." + +"Yet," responded a Rebbianite, "you may notice it is the Barricini who +have gone across to him. They are suing for mercy." + +"It's the prefect who had wheedled them all round," answered the old +fellow. "There is no such thing as courage nowadays, and the young +chaps make no more fuss about their father's blood than if they were +all bastards." + +The prefect was not a little astounded to find Orso up and walking +about with perfect ease. In the briefest fashion Colomba avowed her +own lie, and begged him to forgive it. + +"If you had been staying anywhere else, monsieur, my brother would +have gone to pay his respects to you yesterday." + +Orso made endless apologies, vowing he had nothing to do with his +sister's absurd stratagem, by which he appeared deeply mortified. The +prefect and the elder Barricini appeared to believe in the sincerity +of his regret, and indeed this belief was justified by his evident +confusion and the reproaches he addressed to his sister. But the +mayor's two sons did not seem satisfied. + +"We are being made to look like fools," said Orlanduccio audibly. + +"If my sister were to play me such tricks," said Vincentello, "I'd +soon cure her fancy for beginning them again." + +The words, and the tone in which they were uttered, offended Orso, and +diminished his good-will. Glances that were anything but friendly were +exchanged between him and the two young men. + +Meanwhile, everybody being seated save Colomba, who remained standing +close to the kitchen door, the prefect took up his parable, and after +a few common-places as to local prejudices, he recalled the fact that +the most inveterate enmities generally have their root in some mere +misunderstanding. Next, turning to the mayor, he told him that Signor +della Rebbia had never believed the Barricini family had played any +part, direct or indirect, in the deplorable event which had bereft him +of his father; that he had, indeed, nursed some doubts as to one +detail in the lawsuit between the two families; that Signor Orso's +long absence, and the nature of the information sent him, excused the +doubt in question; that in the light of recent revelations he felt +completely satisfied, and desired to re-open friendly and neighbourly +relations with Signor Barricini and his sons. + +Orso bowed stiffly. Signor Barricini stammered a few words that nobody +could hear, and his sons stared steadily at the ceiling rafters. The +prefect was about to continue his speech, and address the counterpart +of the remarks he had made to Signor Barricini, to Orso, when Colomba +stepped gravely forward between the contracting parties, at the same +time drawing some papers from beneath her neckerchief. + +"I should be happy indeed," she said, "to see the quarrel between our +two families brought to an end. But if the reconciliation is to be +sincere, there must be a full explanation, and nothing must be left in +doubt. Signor Prefetto, Tomaso Bianchi's declaration, coming from a +man of such vile report, seemed to me justly open to doubt. I said +your sons had possibly seen this man in the prison at Bastia." + +"It's false!" interrupted Orlanduccio; "I didn't see him!" + +Colomba cast a scornful glance at him, and proceeded with great +apparent composure. + +"You explained Tomaso's probable interest in threatening Signor +Barricini, in the name of a dreaded bandit, by his desire to keep his +brother Teodoro in possession of the mill which my father allowed him +to hire at a very low rent." + +"That's quite clear," assented the prefect. + +"Where was Tomaso Bianchi's interest?" exclaimed Colomba triumphantly. +"His brother's lease had run out. My father had given him notice on +the 1st of July. Here is my father's account-book; here is his note of +warning given to Teodoro, and the letter from a business man at +Ajaccio suggesting a new tenant." + +As she spoke she gave the prefect the papers she had been holding in +her hand. + +There was an astonished pause. The mayor turned visibly pale. Orso, +knitting his brows, leaned forward to look at the papers, which the +prefect was perusing most attentively. + +"We are being made to look like fools!" cried Orlanduccio again, +springing angrily to his feet. "Let us be off, father! We ought never +to have come here!" + +One instant's delay gave Signor Barricini time to recover his +composure. He asked leave to see the papers. Without a word the +prefect handed them over to him. Pushing his green spectacles up to +his forehead, he looked through them with a somewhat indifferent air, +while Colomba watched him with the eyes of a tigress who sees a buck +drawing near to the lair where she had hidden her cubs. + +"Well," said Signor Barricini, as he pulled down his spectacles and +returned the documents, "knowing the late colonel's kind heart, Tomaso +thought--most likely he thought--that the colonel would change his +mind about the notice. As a matter of fact, Bianchi is still at the +mill, so--" + +"It was I," said Colomba, and there was scorn in her voice, "who left +him there. My father was dead, and situated as I was, I was obliged to +treat my brother's dependents with consideration." + +"Yet," quoth the prefect, "this man Tomaso acknowledges that he wrote +the letter. That much is clear." + +"The thing that is clear to me," broke in Orso, "is that there is some +vile infamy underneath this whole business." + +"I have to contradict another assertion made by these gentlemen," said +Colomba. + +She threw open the door into the kitchen and instantly Brandolaccio, +the licentiate in theology, and Brusco, the dog, marched into the +room. The two bandits were unarmed--apparently, at all events; they +wore their cartridge belts, but the pistols, which are their necessary +complement, were absent. As they entered the room they doffed their +caps respectfully. + +The effect produced by their sudden appearance may be conceived. The +mayor almost fell backward. His sons threw themselves boldly in front +of him, each one feeling for his dagger in his coat pocket. The +prefect made a step toward the door, and Orso, seizing Brandolaccio by +the collar, shouted: + +"What have you come here for, you villain?" + +"This is a trap!" cried the mayor, trying to get the door open. But, +by the bandits' orders, as was afterward discovered, Saveria had +locked it on the outside. + +"Good people," said Brandolaccio, "don't be afraid of me. I'm not such +a devil as I look. We mean no harm at all. Signor Prefetto, I'm your +very humble servant. Gently, lieutenant! You're strangling me! We're +here as witnesses! Now then, Padre, speak up! Your tongue's glib +enough!" + +"Signor Prefetto," quoth the licentiate, "I have not the honour of +being known to you. My name is Giocanto Castriconi, better known as +the Padre. Aha, it's coming back to you! The signorina here, whom I +have not the pleasure of knowing either, has sent to ask me to supply +some information about a fellow of the name of Tomaso Bianchi, with +whom I chanced to be shut up, about three weeks ago, in the prison at +Bastia. This is what I have to tell you." + +"Spare yourself the trouble," said the prefect. "I can not listen to +anything from such a man as you. Signor della Rebbia, I am willing to +believe you have had nothing to do with this detestable plot. But are +you master in your own house? Will you have the door opened? Your +sister may have to give an account of the strange relations in which +she lives with a set of bandits." + +"Signor Prefetto!" cried Colomba, "I beseech you to listen to what +this man has to say! You are here to do justice to everybody, and it +is your duty to search out the truth. Speak, Giocanto Castriconi!" + +"Don't listen to him," chorused the three Barricini. + +"If everybody talks at once," remarked the bandit, with a smile, +"nobody can contrive to hear what anybody says. Well, in the prison at +Bastia I had as my companion--not as my friend--this very man, Tomaso. +He received frequent visits from Signor Orlanduccio." + +"You lie!" shouted the two brothers together. + +"Two negatives make an affirmative," pursued Castriconi coolly. +"Tomaso had money, he ate and drank of the best. I have always been +fond of good cheer (that's the least of my failings), and in spite of +my repugnance to rubbing shoulders with such a wretch, I let myself be +tempted, several times over, into dining with him. Out of gratitude, I +proposed he should escape with me. A young person--to whom I had shown +some kindness--had provided me with the necessary means. I don't +intend to compromise anybody. Tomaso refused my offer, telling me he +was certain to be all right, as lawyer Barricini had spoken to all the +judges for him, and he was sure to get out of prison with a character +as white as snow, and with money in his pocket, too. As for me, I +thought it better to get into the fresh air. /Dixi/." + +"Everything that fellow has said is a heap of lies," reiterated +Orlanduccio stoutly. "If we were in the open country, and each of us +had his gun, he wouldn't talk in that way." + +"Here's a pretty folly!" cried Brandolaccio. "Don't you quarrel with +the Padre, Orlanduccio!" + +"Will you be good enough to allow me to leave this room, Signor della +Rebbia," said the prefect, and he stamped his foot in his impatience. + +"Saveria! Saveria!" shouted Orso, "open the door, in the devil's +name!" + +"One moment," said Brandolaccio. "We have to slip away first, on our +side. Signor Prefetto, the custom, when people meet in the house of a +mutual friend, is to allow each other half an hour's law, after +departure." + +The prefect cast a scornful glance at him. + +"Your servant, signorina, and gentlemen all!" said Brandolaccio. Then +stretching out his arm, "Hi, Brusco," he cried to his dog, "jump for +the Signor Prefetto!" + +The dog jumped; the bandits swiftly snatched up their arms in the +kitchen, fled across the garden, and at a shrill whistle the door of +the room flew open as though by magic. + +"Signor Barricini," said Orso, and suppressed fury vibrated in his +voice, "I hold you to be a forger! This very day I shall charge you +before the public prosecutor with forgery and complicity with Bianchi. +I may perhaps have a still more terrible accusation to bring against +you!" + +"And I, Signor della Rebbia," replied the mayor, "shall lay my charge +against you for conspiracy and complicity with bandits. Meanwhile the +prefect will desire the gendarmes to keep an eye upon you." + +"The prefect will do his duty," said that gentleman sternly. "He will +see the public order is not disturbed at Pietranera; he will take care +justice is done. I say this to you all, gentlemen!" + +The mayor and Vincentello were outside the room already, and +Orlanduccio was following them, stepping backward, when Orso said to +him in an undertone: + +"Your father is an old man. One cuff from me would kill him. It is +with you and with your brother that I intend to deal." + +Orlanduccio's only response was to draw his dagger and fly like a +madman at Orso. But before he could use his weapon Colomba caught hold +of his arm and twisted it violently, while Orso gave him a blow in the +face with his fist, which made him stagger several paces back, and +come into violent collision with the door frame. Orlanduccio's dagger +dropped from his hand. But Vincentello had his ready, and was rushing +back into the room, when Colomba, snatching up a gun convinced him +that the struggle must be unequal. At the same time the prefect threw +himself between the combatants. + +"We shall soon meet, Ors' Anton'!" shouted Orlanduccio, and slamming +the door of the room violently, he turned the key in the lock, so as +to insure himself time to retreat. + +For a full quarter of an hour Orso and the prefect kept their places +in dead silence, at opposite ends of the room. Colomba, the pride of +triumph shining on her brow, gazed first at one and then at the other, +as she leaned on the gun that had turned the scale of victory. + +"What a country! Oh, what a country!" cried the prefect at last, +rising hastily from his chair. "Signor della Rebbia, you did wrong! +You must give me your word of honour to abstain from all violence, and +to wait till the law settles this cursed business." + +"Yes, Signor Prefetto, I was wrong to strike that villain. But I did +strike him, after all, and I can't refuse him the satisfaction he has +demanded of me." + +"Pooh! no! He doesn't want to fight you! But supposing he murders you? +You've done everything you could to insure it." + +"We'll protect ourselves," said Colomba. + +"Orlanduccio," said Orso, "strikes me as being a plucky fellow, and I +think better of him than that, monsieur. He was very quick about +drawing his dagger. But perhaps I should have done the same thing in +his place, and I'm glad my sister has not an ordinary fine lady's +wrist." + +"You are not to fight," exclaimed the prefect. "I forbid it!" + +"Allow me to say, monsieur, that in matters that affect my honour the +only authority I acknowledge is that of my own conscience." + +"You sha'n't fight, I tell you!" + +"You can put me under arrest, monsieur--that is, if I let you catch +me. But if you were to do that, you would only delay a thing that has +now become inevitable. You are a man of honour yourself, monsieur; you +know there can be no other course." + +"If you were to have my brother arrested," added Colomba, "half the +village would take his part, and we should have a fine fusillade." + +"I give you fair notice, monsieur, and I entreat you not to think I am +talking mere bravado. I warn you that if Signor Barricini abuses his +authority as mayor, to have me arrested, I shall defend myself." + +"From this very day," said the prefect, "Signor Barricini is +suspended. I trust he will exculpate himself. Listen to me, my young +gentleman, I have a liking for you. What I ask of you is nothing to +speak of. Just to stay quietly at home till I get back from Corte. I +shall only be three days away. I'll bring back the public prosecutor +with me, and then we'll sift this wretched business to the bottom. +Will you promise me you will abstain from all hostilities till then?" + +"I can not promise that, monsieur, if, as I expect, Orlanduccio asks +me to meet him." + +"What, Signor della Rebbia! Would you--a French officer--think of +going out with a man you suspect of being a forger?" + +"I struck him, monsieur!" + +"But supposing you struck a convict, and he demanded satisfaction of +you, would you fight him? Come, come, Signor Orso! But I'll ask you to +do even less, do nothing to seek out Orlanduccio. I'll consent to your +fighting him if he asks you for a meeting." + +"He will ask for it, I haven't a doubt of that. But I'll promise I +won't give him fresh cuffs to induce him to do it." + +"What a country!" cried the prefect once more, as he strode to and +fro. "Shall I never get back to France?" + +"Signor Prefetto," said Colomba in her most dulcet tones, "it is +growing very late. Would you do us the honour of breakfasting here?" + +The prefect could not help laughing. + +"I've been here too long already--it may look like partiality. And +there is that cursed foundation-stone. I must be off. Signorina della +Rebbia! what calamities you may have prepared this day!" + +"At all events, Signor Prefetto, you will do my sister the justice of +believing her convictions are deeply rooted--and I am sure, now, that +you yourself believe them to be well-founded." + +"Farewell, sir!" said the prefect, waving his hand. "I warn you that +the sergeant of gendarmes will have orders to watch everything you +do." + +When the prefect had departed-- + +"Orso, said Colomba, "this isn't the Continent. Orlanduccio knows +nothing about your duels, and besides, that wretch must not die the +death of a brave man." + +"Colomba, my dear, you are a clever woman. I owe you a great deal from +having saved me from a hearty knife-thrust. Give me your little hand +to kiss! But, hark ye, let me have my way. There are certain matters +that you don't understand. Give me my breakfast. And as soon as the +prefect had started off send for little Chilina, who seems to perform +all the commissions she is given in the most wonderful fashion. I +shall want her to take a letter for me." + +While Colomba was superintending the preparation of his breakfast, +Orso went up to his own room and wrote the following note: + + "You must be in a hurry to meet me, and I am no less eager. We can + meet at six o'clock to-morrow morning in the valley of Acquaviva. + I am a skilful pistol-shot, so I do not suggest that weapon to + you. I hear you are a good shot with a gun. Let us each take a + double-barrelled gun. I shall be accompanied by a man from this + village. If your brother wishes to go with you, take a second + witness, and let me know. In that case only, I should bring two + with me. + +"ORSO ANTONIO DELLA REBBIA." + + +After spending an hour with the deputy-mayor, and going into the +Barricini house for a few minutes, the prefect, attended by a single +gendarme, started for Corte. A quarter of an hour later, Chilina +carried over the letter my readers have just perused, and delivered it +into Orlanduccio's own hands. + +The answer was not prompt, and did not arrive till evening. It bore +the signature of the elder Barricini, and informed Orso that he was +laying the threatening letter sent to his son before the public +prosecutor. His missive concluded thus: "Strong in the sense of a +clear conscience, I patiently wait till the law has pronounced on your +calumnies." + +Meanwhile five or six herdsmen, summoned by Colomba, arrived to +garrison the della Rebbia Tower. In spite of Orso's protests, +/archere/ were arranged in the windows looking onto the square, and +all through the evening offers of service kept coming in from various +persons belonging to the village. There was even a letter from the +bandit-theologian, undertaking, for himself and Brandolaccio, that in +the event of the mayor's calling on the gendarmes, they themselves +would straightway intervene. The following postscript closed the +letter: + + "Dare I ask you what the Signor Prefetto thinks of the excellent + education bestowed by my friend on Brusco, the dog? Next to + Chilina, he is the most docile and promising pupil I have ever + come across." + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +The following day went by without any hostile demonstration. Both +sides kept on the defensive. Orso did not leave his house, and the +door of the Barricini dwelling remained closely shut. The five +gendarmes who had been left to garrison Pietranera were to be seen +walking about the square and the outskirts of the village, in company +with the village constable, the sole representative of the urban +police force. The deputy-mayor never put off his sash. But there was +no actual symptom of war, except the loopholes in the two opponents' +houses. Nobody but a Corsican would have noticed that the group round +the evergreen oak in the middle of the square consisted solely of +women. + +At supper-time Colomba gleefully showed her brother a letter she had +just received from Miss Nevil. + + "My dear Signorina Colomba," it ran, "I learn with great pleasure, + through a letter from your brother, that your enmities are all at + an end. I congratulate you heartily. My father can not endure + Ajaccio now your brother is not there to talk about war and go out + shooting with him. We are starting to-day, and shall sleep at the + house of your kinswoman, to whom we have a letter. The day after + to-morrow, somewhere about eleven o'clock, I shall come and ask + you to let me taste that mountain /bruccio/ of yours, which you + say is so vastly superior to what we get in the town. + + "Farewell, dear Signorina Colomba. + +"Your affectionate +"LYDIA NEVIL." + + +"Then she hasn't received my second letter!" exclaimed Orso. + +"You see by the date of this one that Miss Lydia must have already +started when your letter reached Ajaccio. But did you tell her not to +come?" + +"I told her we were in a state of siege. That does not seem to me a +condition that permits of our receiving company." + +"Bah! These English people are so odd. The very last night I slept in +her room she told me she would be sorry to leave Corsica without +having seen a good /vendetta/. If you choose, Orso, you might let her +see an assault on our enemies' house." + +"Do you know, Colomba," said Orso, "Nature blundered when she made you +a woman. You'd have made a first-rate soldier." + +"Maybe. Anyhow, I'm going to make my /bruccio/." + +"Don't waste your time. We must send somebody down to warn them and +stop them before they start." + +"Do you mean to say you would send a messenger out in such weather, to +have him and your letter both swept away by a torrent? How I pity +those poor bandits in this storm! Luckily they have good /piloni/ +(thick cloth cloaks with hoods). Do you know what you ought to do, +Orso. If the storm clears you should start off very early to-morrow +morning, and get to our kinswoman's house before they leave it. That +will be easy enough, for Miss Lydia always gets up so late. You can +tell them everything that has happened here, and if they still persist +in coming, why! we shall be very glad to welcome them." + +Orso lost no time in assenting to this plan, and after a few moments' +silence, Colomba continued: + +"Perhaps, Orso, you think I was joking when I talked of an assault on +the Barricini's house. Do you know we are in force--two to one at the +very least? Now that the prefect has suspended the mayor, every man in +the place is on our side. We might cut them to pieces. It would be +quite easy to bring it about. If you liked, I could go over to the +fountain and begin to jeer at their women folk. They would come out. +Perhaps--they are such cowards!--they would fire at me through their +loopholes. They wouldn't hit me. Then the thing would be done. They +would have begun the attack, and the beaten party must take its +chance. How is anybody to know which person's aim has been true, in a +scuffle? Listen to your own sister, Orso! These lawyers who are coming +will blacken lots of paper, and talk a great deal of useless stuff. +Nothing will come of it all. That old fox will contrive to make them +think they see stars in broad midday. Ah! if the prefect hadn't thrown +himself in front of Vincentello, we should have had one less to deal +with." + +All this was said with the same calm air as that with which she had +spoken, an instant previously, of her preparations for making the +/bruccio/. + +Orso, quite dumfounded, gazed at his sister with an admiration not +unmixed with alarm. + +"My sweet Colomba," he said, as he rose from the table, "I really am +afraid you are the very devil. But make your mind easy. If I don't +succeed in getting the Barricini hanged, I'll contrive to get the +better of them in some other fashion. 'Hot bullet or cold steel'--you +see I haven't forgotten my Corsican." + +"The sooner the better," said Colomba, with a sigh. "What horse will +you ride to-morrow, Ors' Anton'?" + +"The black. Why do you ask?" + +"So as to make sure he has some barley." + +When Orso went up to his room, Colomba sent Saveria and the herdsmen +to their beds, and sat on alone in the kitchen, where the /bruccio/ +was simmering. Now and then she seemed to listen, and was apparently +waiting very anxiously for her brother to go to bed. At last, when she +thought he was asleep, she took a knife, made sure it was sharp, +slipped her little feet into thick shoes, and passed noiselessly out +into the garden. + +This garden, which was inclosed by walls, lay next to a good-sized +piece of hedged ground, into which the horses were turned--for +Corsican horses do not know what a stable means. They are generally +turned loose into a field, and left to themselves, to find pasture and +shelter from cold winds, as best they may. + +Colomba opened the garden gate with the same precaution, entered the +inclosure, and whistling gently, soon attracted the horses, to whom +she had often brought bread and salt. As soon as the black horse came +within reach, she caught him firmly by the mane, and split his ear +open with her knife. The horse gave a violent leap, and tore off with +that shrill cry which sharp pain occasionally extorts from his kind. +Quite satisfied, Colomba was making her way back into the garden, when +Orso threw open his window and shouted, "Who goes there?" At the same +time she heard him cock his gun. Luckily for her the garden-door lay +in the blackest shadow, and was partly screened by a large fig-tree. +She very soon gathered, from the light she saw glancing up and down in +her brother's room, that he was trying to light his lamp. She lost no +time about closing the garden-door, and slipping along the wall, so +that the outline of her black garments was lost against the dark +foliage of the fruit-trees, and succeeded in getting back into the +kitchen a few moments before Orso entered it. + +"What's the matter?" she inquired. + +"I fancied I heard somebody opening the garden-door," said Orso. + +"Impossible! The dog would have barked. But let us go and see!" + +Orso went round the garden, and having made sure that the outer door +was safely secured, he was going back to his room, rather ashamed of +his false alarm. + +"I am glad, brother," remarked Colomba, "that you are learning to be +prudent, as a man in your position ought to be." + +"You are training me well," said Orso. "Good-night!" + +By dawn the next morning Orso was up and ready to start. His style of +dress betrayed the desire for smartness felt by every man bound for +the presence of the lady he would fain please, combined with the +caution of a Corsican /in vendetta/. Over a blue coat, that sat +closely to his figure, he wore a small tin case full of cartridges, +slung across his shoulder by a green silk cord. His dagger lay in his +side pocket, and in his hand he carried his handsome Manton, ready +loaded. While he was hastily swallowing the cup of coffee Colomba had +poured out for him, one of the herdsmen went out to put the bridle and +saddle on the black horse. Orso and his sister followed close on his +heels and entered the field. The man had caught the horse, but he had +dropped both saddle and bridle, and seemed quite paralyzed with +horror, while the horse, remembering the wound it had received during +the night, and trembling for its other ear, was rearing, kicking, and +neighing like twenty fiends. + +"Now then! Make haste!" shouted Orso. + +"Ho, Ors' Anton'! Ho, Ors' Anton'!" yelled the herdsman. "Holy +Madonna!" and he poured out a string of imprecations, numberless, +endless, and most of them quite untranslatable. + +"What can be the matter?" inquired Colomba. They all drew near to the +horse, and at the sight of the creature's bleeding head and split ear +there was a general outcry of surprise and indignation. My readers +must know that among the Corsicans to mutilate an enemy's horse is at +once a vengeance, a challenge, and a mortal threat. "Nothing but a +bullet-wound can expiate such a crime." + +Though Orso, having lived so long on the mainland, was not so +sensitive as other Corsicans to the enormity of the insult, still, if +any supporter of the Barricini had appeared in his sight at that +moment, he would probably have taken vengeance on him for the outrage +he ascribed to his enemies. + +"The cowardly wretches!" he cried. "To avenge themselves on a poor +brute, when they dare not meet me face to face!" + +"What are we waiting for?" exclaimed Colomba vehemently. "They come +here and brave us! They mutilate our horses! and we are not to make +any response? Are you men?" + +"Vengeance!" shouted the herdsmen. "Let us lead the horse through the +village, and attack their house!" + +"There's a thatched barn that touches their Tower," said old Polo +Griffo; "I'd set fire to it in a trice." + +Another man wanted to fetch the ladders out of the church steeple. A +third proposed they should break in the doors of the house with a +heavy beam intended for some house in course of building, which had +been left lying in the square. Amid all the angry voices Colomba was +heard telling her satellites that before they went to work she would +give each man of them a large glass of anisette. + +Unluckily, or rather luckily, the impression she had expected to +produce by her own cruel treatment of the poor horse was largely lost +on Orso. He felt no doubt that the savage mutilation was due to one of +his foes, and he specially suspected Orlanduccio; but he did not +believe that the young man, whom he himself had provoked and struck, +had wiped out his shame by slitting a horse's ear. On the contrary, +this mean and ridiculous piece of vengeance had increased Orso's scorn +for his opponents, and he now felt, with the prefect, that such people +were not worthy to try conclusions with himself. As soon as he was +able to make himself heard, he informed his astonished partisans that +they would have to relinquish all their bellicose intentions, and that +the power of the law, which would shortly be on the spot, would amply +suffice to avenge the hurt done to a horse's ear. + +"I'm master here!" he added sternly; "and I insist on being obeyed. +The first man who dares to say anything more about killing or burning, +will quite possibly get a scorching at my hands! Be off! Saddle me the +gray horse!" + +"What's this, Orso?" said Colomba, drawing him apart. "You allow these +people to insult us? No Barricini would have dared to mutilate any +beast of ours in my father's time." + +"I promise you they shall have reason to repent it. But it is +gendarme's and jailer's work to punish wretches who only venture to +raise their hands against brute beasts. I've told you already, the law +will punish them; and if not, you will not need to remind me whose son +I am." + +"Patience!" answered Colomba, with a sigh. + +"Remember this, sister," continued Orso; "if I find, when I come back, +that any demonstration whatever has been made against the Barricini I +shall never forgive you." Then, in a gentler tone, he added, "Very +possibly--very probably--I shall bring the colonel and his daughter +back with me. See that their rooms are well prepared, and that the +breakfast is good. In fact, let us make our guests as comfortable as +we can. It's a very good thing to be brave, Colomba, but a woman must +know how to manage her household, as well. Come, kiss me, and be good! +Here's the gray, ready saddled." + +"Orso," said Colomba, "you mustn't go alone." + +"I don't need anybody," replied Orso; "and I'll promise you nobody +shall slit my ear." + +"Oh, I'll never consent to your going alone, while there is a feud. +Here! Polo Griffo! Gian' Franco! Memmo! Take your guns; you must go +with my brother." + +After a somewhat lively argument, Orso had to give in, and accept an +escort. From the most excited of the herdsmen he chose out those who +had been loudest in their desire to commence hostilities; then, after +laying fresh injunctions on his sister and the men he was leaving +behind, he started, making a detour, this time, so as to avoid the +Barricinis' dwelling. + +They were a long way from Pietranera, and were travelling along at a +great pace, when, as they crossed a streamlet that ran into a marsh, +Polo Griffo noticed several porkers wallowing comfortably in the mud, +in full enjoyment at once of the warmth of the sun and the coolness of +the water. Instantly he took aim at the biggest, fired at its head, +and shot it dead. The dead creature's comrades rose and fled with +astonishing swiftness, and though another herdsman fired at them they +reached a thicket and disappeared into it, safe and sound. + +"Idiots!" cried Orso. "You've been taking pigs for wild boars!" + +"Not a bit, Ors' Anton'," replied Polo Griffo. "But that herd belongs +to the lawyer, and I've taught him, now, to mutilate our horses." + +"What! you rascal!" shouted Orso, in a perfect fury. "You ape the vile +behaviour of our enemies! Be off, villains! I don't want you! You're +only fit to fight with pigs. I swear to God that if you dare follow me +I'll blow your brains out!" + +The herdsmen stared at each other, struck quite dumb. Orso spurred his +horse, galloped off, and was soon out of sight. + +"Well, well!" said Polo Griffo. "Here's a pretty thing. You devote +yourself to people, and then this is how they treat you. His father, +the colonel, was angry with you long ago, because you levelled your +gun at the lawyer. Great idiot you were, not to shoot. And now here is +his son. You saw what I did for him. And he talks about cracking my +skull, just as he would crack a gourd that lets the wine leak out. +That's what people learn on the mainland, Memmo!" + +"Yes, and if any one finds out it was you who killed that pig there'll +be a suit against you, and Ors' Anton' won't speak to the judges, nor +buy off the lawyer for you. Luckily nobody saw, and you have Saint +Nega to help you out." + +After a hasty conclave, the two herdsmen concluded their wisest plan +was to throw the dead pig into a bog, and this project they carefully +executed, after each had duly carved himself several slices out of the +body of this innocent victim of the feud between the Barricini and the +della Rebbia. + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +Once rid of his unruly escort, Orso proceeded calmly on his way, far +more absorbed by the prospective pleasure of seeing Miss Nevil than +stirred by any fear of coming across his enemies. + +"The lawsuit I must bring against these Barricini villains," he mused, +"will necessitate my going down to Bastia. Why should I not go there +with Miss Nevil? And once at Bastia, why shouldn't we all go together +to the springs of Orezza?" + +Suddenly his childish recollections of that picturesque spot rose up +before him. He fancied himself on the verdant lawn that spreads +beneath the ancient chestnut-trees. On the lustrous green sward, +studded with blue flowers like eyes that smiled upon him, he saw Miss +Lydia seated at his side. She had taken off her hat, and her fair +hair, softer and finer than any silk, shone like gold in the sunlight +that glinted through the foliage. Her clear blue eyes looked to him +bluer than the sky itself. With her cheek resting on one hand, she was +listening thoughtfully to the words of love he poured tremblingly into +her ear. She wore the muslin gown in which she had been dressed that +last day at Ajaccio. From beneath its folds peeped out a tiny foot, +shod with black satin. Orso told himself that he would be happy indeed +if he might dare to kiss that little foot--but one of Miss Lydia's +hands was bare and held a daisy. He took the daisy from her, and +Lydia's hand pressed his, and then he kissed the daisy, and then he +kissed her hand, and yet she did not chide him. . . . and all these +thoughts prevented him from paying any attention to the road he was +travelling, and meanwhile he trotted steadily onward. For the second +time, in his fancy, he was about to kiss Miss Nevil's snow-white hand, +when, as his horse stopped short, he very nearly kissed its head, in +stern reality. Little Chilina had barred his way, and seized his +bridle. + +"Where are you going to, Ors' Anton'?" she said. "Don't you know your +enemy is close by?" + +"My enemy!" cried Orso, furious at being interrupted at such a +delightful moment. "Where is he?" + +"Orlanduccio is close by, he's waiting for you! Go back, go back!" + +"Ho! Ho! So he's waiting for me! Did you see him?" + +"Yes, Ors' Anton'! I was lying down in the heather when he passed by. +He was looking round everywhere through his glass." + +"And which way did he go?" + +"He went down there. Just where you were going!" + +"Thank you!" + +"Ors' Anton', hadn't you better wait for my uncle? He must be here +soon--and with him you would be safe." + +"Don't be frightened, Chili. I don't need your uncle." + +"If you would let me, I would go in front of you." + +"No, thanks! No, thanks!" + +And Orso, spurring his horse, rode rapidly in the direction to which +the little girl had pointed. + +His first impulse had been one of blind fury, and he had told himself +that fortune was offering him an excellent opportunity of punishing +the coward who had avenged the blow he had received by mutilating a +horse. But as he moved onward the thought of his promise to the +prefect, and, above all, his fear of missing Miss Nevil's visit, +altered his feelings, and made him almost wish he might not come upon +Orlanduccio. Soon, however, the memory of his father, the indignity +offered to his own horse, and the threats of the Barricini, stirred +his rage afresh, and incited him to seek his foe, and to provoke and +force him to a fight. Thus tossed by conflicting feelings, he +continued his progress, though now he carefully scrutinized every +thicket and hedge, and sometimes even pulled up his horse to listen to +the vague sounds to be heard in any open country. Ten minutes after he +had left little Chilina (it was then about nine o'clock in the +morning) he found himself on the edge of an exceedingly steep +declivity. The road, or rather the very slight path, which he was +following, ran through a /maquis/ that had been lately burned. The +ground was covered with whitish ashes, and here and there some shrubs, +and a few big trees, blackened by the flames, and entirely stripped of +their leaves, still stood erect--though life had long since departed +out of them. The sight of a burned /maquis/ is enough to make a man +fancy he has been transported into midwinter in some northern clime, +and the contrast between the barrenness of the ground over which the +flames have passed, with the luxuriant vegetation round about it, +heightens this appearance of sadness and desolation. But at that +moment the only thing that struck Orso in this particular landscape +was one point--an important one, it is true, in his present +circumstances. The bareness of the ground rendered any kind of ambush +impossible, and the man who has reason to fear that at any moment he +may see a gun-barrel thrust out of a thicket straight at his own +chest, looks on a stretch of smooth ground, with nothing on it to +intercept his view, as a kind of oasis. After this burned /maquis/ +came a number of cultivated fields, inclosed, according to the fashion +of that country, with breast-high walls, built of dry stones. The path +ran between these fields, producing, from a distance, the effect of a +thick wood. + +The steepness of the declivity made it necessary for Orso to dismount. +He was walking quickly down the hill, which was slippery with ashes +(he had thrown the bridle on his horse's neck), and was hardly five- +and-twenty paces from one of these stone fences, when, just in front +of him, on the right-hand side of the road, he perceived first of all +the barrel of a gun, and then a head, rising over the top of the wall. +The gun was levelled, and he recognised Orlanduccio, just ready to +fire. Orso swiftly prepared for self-defence, and the two men, taking +deliberate aim, stared at each other for several seconds, with that +thrill of emotion which the bravest must feel when he knows he must +either deal death or endure it. + +"Vile coward!" shouted Orso. + +The words were hardly out of his mouth when he saw the flash of +Orlanduccio's gun, and almost at the same instant a second shot rang +out on his left from the other side of the path, fired by a man whom +he had not noticed, and who was aiming at him from behind another +wall. Both bullets struck him. The first, Orlanduccio's, passed +through his left arm, which Orso had turned toward him as he aimed. +The second shot struck him in the chest, and tore his coat, but coming +in contact with the blade of his dagger, it luckily flattened against +it, and only inflicted a trifling bruise. Orso's left arm fell +helpless at his side, and the barrel of his gun dropped for a moment, +but he raised it at once, and aiming his weapon with his right hand +only, he fired at Orlanduccio. His enemy's head, which was only +exposed to the level of the eyes, disappeared behind the wall. Then +Orso, swinging round to the left, fired the second barrel at a man in +a cloud of smoke whom he could hardly see. This face likewise +disappeared. The four shots had followed each other with incredible +swiftness; no trained soldiers ever fired their volleys in quicker +succession. After Orso's last shot a great silence fell. The smoke +from his weapon rose slowly up into the sky. There was not a movement, +not the slightest sound from behind the wall. But for the pain in his +arm, he could have fancied the men on whom he had just fired had been +phantoms of his own imagination. + +Fully expecting a second volley, Orso moved a few steps, to place +himself behind one of the burned trees that still stood upright in the +/maquis/. Thus sheltered, he put his gun between his knees, and +hurriedly reloaded it. Meanwhile his left arm began to hurt him +horribly, and felt as if it were being dragged down by a huge weight. + +What had become of his adversaries? He could not understand. If they +had taken to flight, if they had been wounded, he would certainly have +heard some noise, some stir among the leaves. Were they dead, then? +Or, what was far more likely, were they not waiting behind their wall +for a chance of shooting at him again. In his uncertainty, and feeling +his strength fast failing him, he knelt down on his right knee, rested +his wounded arm upon the other, and took advantage of a branch that +protruded from the trunk of the burned tree to support his gun. With +his finger on the trigger, his eye fixed on the wall, and his ear +strained to catch the slightest sound, he knelt there, motionless, for +several minutes, which seemed to him a century. At last, behind him, +in the far distance, he heard a faint shout, and very soon a dog flew +like an arrow down the slope, and stopped short, close to him, wagging +its tail. It was Brusco, the comrade and follower of the bandits--the +herald, doubtless, of his master's approach. Never was any honest man +more impatiently awaited. With his muzzle in the air, and turned +toward the nearest fence, the dog sniffed anxiously. Suddenly he gave +vent to a low growl, sprang at a bound over the wall, and almost +instantly reappeared upon its crest, whence he gazed steadily at Orso +with eyes that spoke surprise as clearly as a dog's may do it. Then he +sniffed again, this time toward the other inclosure, the wall of which +he also crossed. Within a second he was back on the top of that, with +the same air of astonishment and alarm, and straightway he bounded +into the thicket with his tail between his legs, still gazing at Orso, +and retiring from him slowly, and sideways, until he had put some +distance between them. Then off he started again, tearing up the slope +almost as fast as he had come down it, to meet a man, who, in spite of +its steepness, was rapidly descending. + +"Help, Brando!" shouted Orso, as soon as he thought he was within +hearing. + +"Hallo! Ors' Anton'! are you wounded?" inquired Brandolaccio, as he +ran up panting. "Is it in your body or your limbs?" + +"In the arm." + +"The arm--oh, that's nothing! And the other fellow?" + +"I think I hit him." + +Brandolaccio ran after the dog to the nearest field and leaned over to +look at the other side of the wall, then pulling off his cap-- + +"Signor Orlanduccio, I salute you!" said he, then turning toward Orso, +he bowed to him, also, gravely. + +"That," he remarked, "is what I call a man who has been properly done +for." + +"Is he still alive?" asked Orso, who could hardly breathe. + +"Oh! he wouldn't wish it! he'd be too much vexed about the bullet you +put into his eye! Holy Madonna! What a hole! That's a good gun, upon +my soul! what a weight! That spatters a man's brains for you! Hark ye, +Ors' Anton'! when I heard the first /piff, piff/, says I to myself: +'Dash it, they're murdering my lieutenant!' Then I heard /boum, boum/. +'Ha, ha!' says I, 'that's the English gun beginning to talk--he's +firing back.' But what on earth do you want with me, Brusco?" + +The dog guided him to the other field. + +"Upon my word," cried Brandolaccio, utterly astonished, "a right and +left, that's what it is! Deuce take it! Clear enough, powder must be +dear, for you don't waste it!" + +"What do you mean, for God's sake?" asked Orso. + +"Come, sir, don't try to humbug me; you bring down the dame, and then +you want somebody to pick it up for you. Well! there's one man who'll +have a queer dessert to-day, and that's Lawyer Barricini!--you want +butcher's meat, do you? Well, here you have it. Now, who the devil +will be the heir?" + +"What! is Vincentello dead too?" + +"Dead as mutton. /Salute a noi!/ The good point about you is that you +don't let them suffer. Just come over and look at Vincentello; he's +kneeling here with his head against the wall, as if he were asleep. +You may say he sleeps like lead, this time, poor devil." + +Orso turned his head in horror. + +"Are you certain he's dead?" + +"You're like Sampiero Corso, who never had to fire more than once. +Look at it there, in his chest, on the left--just where Vincileone was +hit at Waterloo. I'll wager that bullet isn't far from his heart--a +right and left! Ah! I'll never talk about shooting again. Two with two +shots, and bullets at that! The two brothers! If he'd had a third shot +he'd have killed their papa. Better luck next time. What a shot! Ors' +Anton'! And to think that an honest poor chap like me will never get +the chance of a right and a left two gendarmes!" + +As he talked the bandit was scanning Orso's arm, and splitting up his +sleeve with his dagger. + +"This is nothing," said he. "But this coat of yours will give +Signorina Colomba work to do. Ha! what's this I see? this gash upon +your chest? Nothing went in there, surely? No! you wouldn't be so +brisk as you are! Come, try to move your finger. Do you feel my teeth +when I bite your little finger? Not very well? Never mind! It won't be +much. Let me take your handkerchief and your neckcloth. Well, your +coat's spoilt, anyhow! What the devil did you make yourself so smart +for? Were you going to a wedding? There! drink a drop of wine. Why on +earth don't you carry a flask? Does any Corsican ever go out without a +flask?" + +Then again he broke off the dressing of the wound to exclaim: + +"A right and left! Both of them stone dead! How the Padre will laugh! +A right and left! Oh, here's that little dawdle Chilina at last!" + +Orso made no reply--he was as pale as death and shaking in every limb. + +"Chili!" shouted Brandolaccio, "go and look behind that wall!" + +The child, using both hands and feet, scrambled onto the wall, and the +moment she caught sight of Orlanduccio's corpse she crossed herself. + +"That's nothing," proceeded the bandit; "go and look farther on, over +there!" + +The child crossed herself again. + +"Was it you, uncle?" she asked timidly. + +"Me! Don't you know I've turned into a useless old fellow! This, +Chili, is the signor's work; offer him your compliments." + +"The signorina will be greatly rejoiced," said Chilina, "and she will +be very much grieved to know you are wounded, Ors' Anton'." + +"Now then, Ors' Anton'," said the bandit, when he had finished binding +up the wound. "Chilina, here, has caught your horse. You must get on +his back, and come with me to the Stazzona /maquis/. It would be a sly +fellow who'd lay his hand on you there. When we get to the Cross of +Santa Christina, you'll have to dismount. You'll give over your horse +to Chilina, who'll go off and warn the signorina. You can say anything +to the child, Ors' Anton'. She would let herself be cut in pieces +rather than betray her friends," and then, fondly, he turned to the +little girl, "That's it, you little hussy; a ban on you, a curse on +you--you jade!" For Brandolaccio, who was superstitious, like most +bandits, feared he might cast a spell on a child if he blessed it or +praised it, seeing it is a well-known fact that the mysterious powers +that rule the /Annocchiatura/[*] have a vile habit of fulfilling our +wishes in the very opposite sense to that we give them. + +[*] /Annocchiatura/, an involuntary spell cast either by the eye or by + spoken words. + +"Where am I to go, Brando?" queried Orso in a faint voice. + +"Faith! you must choose; either to jail or to the /maquis/. But no +della Rebbia knows the path that leads him to the jail. To the +/maquis/, Ors' Anton'." + +"Farewell, then, to all my hopes!" exclaimed the wounded man, sadly. + +"Your hopes? Deuce take it! Did you hope to do any better with a +double-barrelled gun? How on earth did the fellows contrive to hit +you? The rascals must have been as hard to kill as cats." + +"They fired first," said Orso. + +"True, true; I'd forgotten that!--/piff, piff--boum, boum/! A right +and left, and only one hand! If any man can do better, I'll go hang +myself. Come! now you're safely mounted! Before we start, just give a +glance at your work. It isn't civil to leave one's company without +saying good-bye." + +Orso spurred his horse. He would not have looked at the two poor +wretches he had just destroyed, for anything on earth. + +"Hark ye, Ors' Anton'," quoth the bandit, as he caught hold of the +horse's bridle, "shall I tell you the truth? Well, no offence to you! +I'm sorry for those poor young fellows! You'll pardon me, I hope; so +good-looking, so strong, so young. Orlanduccio, I've shot with him so +often! Only four days ago he gave me a bundle of cigars, and +Vincentello--he was always so cheery. Of course you've only done what +you had to do, and indeed the shot was such a splendid one, nobody +could regret it. But I, you see, had nothing to do with your +vengeance. I know you're perfectly in the right. When one has an enemy +one must get rid of him. But the Barricini were an old family. Here's +another of them wiped out, and by a right and left too! It's +striking." + +As he thus spoke his funeral oration over the Barricini, Brandolaccio +hastily guided Orso, Chilina, and Brusco, the dog, toward the Stazzona +/maquis/. + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +Meanwhile, very shortly after Orso's departure, Colomba's spies had +warned her that the Barricini were out on the warpath, and from that +moment she was racked by the most intense anxiety. She was to be seen +moving hither and thither all over the house, between the kitchen and +the rooms that were being made ready for her guests, doing nothing, +yet always busy, and constantly stopping to look out of a window for +any unusual stir in the village. Toward eleven o'clock, a somewhat +numerous cavalcade rode into Pietranera. This was the colonel, with +his daughter, their servants, and their guide. Colomba's first word, +as she welcomed them, was "Have you seen my brother?" Then she +questioned the guide as to the road they had taken, and the hour of +their departure, and having heard his answers, she could not +understand why they had not met him. + +"Perhaps," said the guide, "your brother took the higher path; we came +by the lower one." + +But Colomba only shook her head and asked more questions. In spite of +her natural firmness of character, increased as it was by her proud +desire to conceal any sign of weakness before strangers, she could not +hide her anxiety, and as soon as she had informed them of the +attempted reconciliation, and of its unfortunate issue, this was +shared by the colonel and Miss Lydia. Miss Nevil became very uneasy, +and wanted to have messengers sent off in every direction, and her +father offered to remount at once and set out with the guide in search +of Orso. Her guests' alarm recalled Colomba to a sense of her duties +as a hostess. She strove to force a smile as she pressed the colonel +to come to table, and suggested twenty plausible reasons, which she +herself demolished within an instant, to account for her brother's +delay. The colonel, feeling it to be his duty, as a man, to reassure +the ladies, put forward his own explanation. + +"I'll wager," he said, "that della Rebbia has come across some game or +other. He has not been able to stand out against that temptation, and +we shall soon see him come in with a heavy bag. 'Pon my soul," he went +on, "we did hear four shots fired on the road. Two of them were louder +than the others, and I said to my girl, 'I'll bet anything that's +della Rebbia out shooting! My gun is the only one that would make that +noise.' " + +Colomba turned pale, and Lydia, who was watching her closely, had no +difficulty in guessing the suspicions with which the colonel's +conjecture had inspired her. After a few minutes' silence, Colomba +eagerly inquired whether the two louder reports had been heard before +or after the others. But neither the colonel, his daughter, nor the +guide had paid much attention to this all-important detail. + +Toward one o'clock, as none of Colomba's messengers had yet returned, +she gathered all her courage, and insisted that her guests should sit +down to table with her. But, except the colonel, none of them could +eat. At the slightest sound in the square, Colomba ran to the window. +Then drearily she returned to her place, and struggled yet more +drearily to carry on a trivial conversation, to which nobody paid the +slightest attention, and which was broken by long intervals of +silence. All at once they heard a horse's gallop. + +"Ah! That must be my brother at last!" said Colomba, rising from her +chair. But when she saw Chilina astride on Orso's horse--"My brother +is dead!" she cried, in a heart-rending voice. + +The colonel dropped his glass. Miss Lydia screamed. They all rushed to +the door of the house. Before Chilina could jump off her steed, she +was snatched up like a feather by Colomba, who held her so tight that +she almost choked her. The child understood her agonized look, and her +first words were those of the chorus in Othello: "He lives!" Colomba's +grasp relaxed, and nimbly as a kitten Chilina dropped upon the ground. + +"The others?" queried Colomba hoarsely. Chilina crossed herself with +her first and middle finger. A deep flush instantly replaced the +deadly pallor of Colomba's face. She cast one fierce look at the +Barricini dwelling, and then, with a smile, she turned to her guests. + +"Let us go in and drink our coffee," she said. + +The story the bandit's Iris had to tell was a long one. Her narrative, +translated literally into Italian by Colomba, and then into English by +Miss Nevil, wrung more than one oath from the colonel, more than one +sigh from the fair Lydia. But Colomba heard it all unmoved. Only she +twisted her damask napkin till it seemed as if she must tear it in +pieces. She interrupted the child, five or six times over, to make her +repeat again that Brandolaccio had said the wound was not dangerous, +and that he had seen many worse. When she had finished her tale, +Chilina announced that Orso earnestly begged he might be sent writing +materials, and that he desired his sister would beseech a lady who +might be staying in his house not to depart from it, until she had +received a letter from him. + +"That is what was worrying him most," the child added; "and even after +I had started he called me back, to bid me not forget the message. It +was the third time he had given it to me." When Colomba heard of her +brother's injunction she smiled faintly, and squeezed the fair +Englishwoman's hand. That young lady burst into tears, and did not +seem to think it advisable to translate that particular part of the +story to her father. + +"Yes, my dear," cried Colomba, kissing Miss Nevil. "You shall stay +with me, and you shall help us." + +Then, taking a pile of old linen out of a cupboard, she began to cut +it up, to make lint and bandages. Any one who saw her flashing eyes, +her heightened colour, her alternate fits of anxiety and composure, +would have found it hard to say whether distress at her brother's +wound, or delight at the extinction of her foes, were most affecting +her. One moment she was pouring out the colonel's coffee, and telling +him how well she made it, the next she was setting Miss Lydia and +Chilina to work, exhorting them to sew bandages, and roll them up. +Then, for the twentieth time, she would ask whether Orso's wound was +very painful. She constantly broke off her own work to exclaim to the +colonel: + +"Two such cunning men, such dangerous fellows! And he alone, wounded, +with only one arm! He killed the two of them! What courage, colonel! +Isn't he a hero? Ah, Miss Nevil! How good it is to live in a peaceful +country like yours! I'm sure you did not really know my brother till +now! I said it--'The falcon will spread his wings!' You were deceived +by his gentle look! That's because with you, Miss Nevil--Ah! if he +could see you working for him now! My poor Orso!" + +Miss Lydia was doing hardly any work, and could not find a single word +to say. Her father kept asking why nobody went to lay a complaint +before a magistrate. He talked about a coroner's inquest, and all +sorts of other proceedings quite unknown to Corsican economy. And then +he begged to be told whether the country house owned by that worthy +Signor Brandolaccio, who had brought succour to the wounded man, was +very far away from Pietranera, and whether he could not go there +himself, to see his friend. + +And Colomba replied, with her usual composure, that Orso was in the +/maquis/; that he was being taken care of by a bandit; that it would +be a great risk for him to show himself until he was sure of the line +the prefect and the judges were likely to take; and, finally, that she +would manage to have him secretly attended by a skilful surgeon. + +"Above all things, colonel," she added, "remember that you heard the +four shots, and that you told me Orso fired last." + +The colonel could make neither head nor tail of the business, and his +daughter did nothing but heave sighs and dry her eyes. + +The day was far advanced, when a gloomy procession wended its way into +the village. The bodies of his two sons were brought home to Lawyer +Barricini, each corpse thrown across a mule, which was led by a +peasant. A crowd of dependents and idlers followed the dreary +/cortege/. With it appeared the gendarmes, who always came in too +late, and the deputy-mayor, throwing up his hands, and incessantly +repeating, "What will Signor Prefetto say!" Some of the women, among +them Orlanduccio's foster-mother, were tearing their hair and +shrieking wildly. But their clamorous grief was less impressive than +the dumb despair of one man, on whom all eyes were fixed. This was the +wretched father, who passed from one corpse to the other, lifting up +the earth-soiled heads, kissing the blackened lips, supporting the +limbs that were stiff already, as if he would save them from the +jolting of the road. Now and then he opened his mouth as though about +to speak, but not a cry came, not a word. His eyes never left the dead +bodies, and as he walked, he knocked himself against the stones, +against the trees, against every obstacle that chanced to lie in his +path. + +The women's lamentations grew louder, and the men's curses deeper, +when Orso's house appeared in sight. When some shepherds of the della +Rebbia party ventured on a triumphant shout, their enemy's indignation +became ungovernable. "Vengeance! Vengeance!" exclaimed several voices. +Stones were thrown, and two shots, fired at the windows of the room in +which Colomba and her guests were sitting, pierced the outside +shutters, and carried splinters of wood on to the table at which the +two ladies were working. Miss Lydia screamed violently, the colonel +snatched up a gun, and Colomba, before he could stop her, rushed to +the door of the house and threw it violently open. There, standing +high on the threshold, with her two hands outstretched to curse her +enemies: + +"Cowards!" she cried. "You fire on women and on foreigners! Are you +Corsicans? Are you men? Wretches, who can only murder a man from +behind. Come on! I defy you! I am alone! My brother is far away! Come! +kill me, kill my guests! It would be worthy of you! . . . But you dare +not, cowards that you are! You know we avenge our wrongs! Away with +you! Go, weep like women, and be thankful we do not ask you for more +blood!" + +There was something terrible and imposing in Colomba's voice and mien. +At the sight of her the crowd recoiled as though it beheld one of +those evil fairies of which so many tales are told on long winter +evenings, in Corsica. The deputy-mayor, the gendarmes, and a few women +seized the opportunity, and threw themselves between the two factions; +for the della Rebbia herdsmen were already loading their guns, and for +a moment a general fight in the middle of the square had appeared +imminent. But the two parties were both leaderless, and Corsicans, +whose rage is always subject to discipline, seldom come to blows +unless the chief authors of their internecine quarrels are present. +Besides, Colomba, who had learned prudence from victory, restrained +her little garrison. + +"Let the poor folks weep in peace," she said. "Let the old man carry +his own flesh home. What is the good of killing an old fox who has no +teeth left to bite with, . . . Giudice Barricini! Remember the 2d of +August! Remember the blood-stained pocket-book in which you wrote with +your forger's hand! My father had written down your debt! Your sons +have paid it. You may go free, old Barricini!" + +With folded arms and a scornful smile upon her lips, Colomba watched +the bearers carry the corpses of her enemies into their home, and the +crowd without it melt gradually away. Then she closed her own door, +and, going back into the dining-room, she said to the colonel: + +"I beg, sir, you will forgive my fellow-countrymen! I never could have +believed that any Corsican would have fired on a house that sheltered +strangers, and I am ashamed of my country." + +That night, when Miss Lydia had gone up to her room, the colonel +followed her, and inquired whether they had not better get out of a +village where they ran incessant risk of having a bullet through their +heads, the very next morning, and leave this country, seething with +treachery and murder, as soon as possible. + +Miss Nevil did not answer for some time, and her father's suggestion +evidently caused her considerable perplexity. At last she said: + +"How can we leave this poor young creature, just when she is so much +in need of consolation? Don't you think that would be cruel, father?" + +"I only spoke on your account, child," said the colonel. "And I assure +you that if I once felt you were safe in the hotel at Ajaccio, I +should be very sorry to leave this cursed island myself, without +shaking that plucky fellow della Rebbia's hand again." + +"Well then, father, let us wait a while, and before we start let us +make quite sure we can not be of any use to them." + +"Kind soul!" said the colonel, as he kissed his daughter's forehead. +"It is a pleasure to see you sacrifice yourself for the sake of +softening other people's suffering. Let us stay on. We shall never +have to repent having done right." + +Miss Lydia tossed sleeplessly to and fro in her bed. Sometimes she +took the vague night sounds for preparations for an attack on the +house. Sometimes, less alarmed on her own account, she thought of poor +wounded Orso, who was probably lying on the cold earth, with no help +beyond what she might expect from a bandit's charity. She fancied him +covered with blood, and writhing in hideous suffering; and the +extraordinary thing was that whenever Orso's image rose up before her +mind's eye, she always beheld him as she had seen him when he rode +away, pressing the talisman she had bestowed upon him to his lips. +Then she mused over his courage. She told herself he had exposed +himself to the frightful danger he had just escaped on her account, +just for the sake of seeing her a little sooner. A very little more, +and she would have persuaded herself that Orso had earned his broken +arm in her defence! She reproached herself with being the cause of his +wound. But she admired him for it all the more, and if that celebrated +right and left was not so splendid a feat in her sight as in +Brandolaccio's or Colomba's, still she was convinced few heroes of +romance could ever had behaved with such intrepidity and coolness, in +so dangerous a pinch. + +Her room was that usually occupied by Colomba. Above a kind of oaken +/prie-dieu/, and beside a sprig of blessed palm, a little miniature of +Orso, in his sub-lieutenant's uniform, hung on the wall. Miss Nevil +took the portrait down, looked at it for a long time, and laid it at +last on the table by her bed, instead of hanging it up again in its +place. She did not fall asleep till daybreak, and when she woke the +sun had travelled high above the horizon. In front of her bed she +beheld Colomba, waiting, motionless, till she should open her eyes. + +"Well, dear lady, are you not very uncomfortable in this poor house of +ours?" said Colomba to her. "I fear you have hardly slept at all." + +"Have you any news, dear friend?" cried Miss Nevil, sitting up in bed. + +Her eye fell on Orso's picture, and she hastily tossed her +handkerchief upon it. + +"Yes, I have news," said Colomba, with a smile. + +Then she took up the picture. + +"Do you think it like him? He is better looking than that!" + +"Really," stammered Miss Nevil, quite confused, "I took down that +picture in a fit of absence! I have a horrid habit of touching +everything and never putting anything back! How is your brother?" + +"Fairly well. Giocanto came here before four o'clock this morning. He +brought me a letter for you, Miss Lydia. Orso hasn't written anything +to me! It is addressed to Colomba, indeed, but underneath that he has +written 'For Miss N.' But sisters are never jealous! Giocanto says it +hurt him dreadfully to write. Giocanto, who writes a splendid hand, +offered to do it at his dictation. But he would not let him. He wrote +it with a pencil, lying on his back. Brandolaccio held the paper for +him. My brother kept trying to raise himself, and then the very +slightest movement gave him the most dreadful agony in his arm. +Giocanto says it was pitiful. Here is his letter." + +Miss Nevil read the letter, which, as an extra precaution, no doubt, +was written in English. Its contents were as follows: + + "MADEMOISELLE: An unhappy fate has driven me on. I know not what my + enemies will say, what slanders they will invent. I care little, + so long as you, mademoiselle, give them no credence! Ever since I + first saw you I have been nursing wild dreams. I needed this + catastrophe to show me my own folly. + + "I have come back to my senses now. I know the future that lies + before me, and I shall face it with resignation. I dare not keep + this ring you gave me, and which I believed to be a lucky + talisman. I fear, Miss Nevil, you may regret your gift has been so + ill-bestowed. Or rather, I fear it may remind me of the days of my + own madness. Colomba will give it to you. Farewell, mademoiselle! + You are about to leave Corsica, and I shall never see you again. + But tell my sister, at least, that I still possess your esteem-- + and I tell you, confidently, that I am still worthy of it. + +"O.D.R." + + +Miss Lydia had turned away while she read the letter, and Colomba, who +was watching her closely, gave her the Egyptian ring, with an +inquiring glance as to what it all meant. But Miss Lydia dared not +raise her head, and looked dejectedly at the ring, alternately putting +it on her finger and pulling it off again. + +"Dear Miss Nevil," said Colomba, "may I not know what my brother says +to you? Does he say anything about his health?" + +"Indeed," said Miss Lydia, colouring, "he doesn't mention it. His +letter is in English. He desires me to tell my father-- He hopes the +prefect will be able to arrange----" + +With a mischievous smile, Colomba sat down on the bed, took hold of +both Miss Nevil's hands, and, looking at her with her piercing eyes-- + +"Will you be kind?" she said. "Won't you answer my brother's letter? +You would do him so much good! For a moment I thought of waking you +when his letter came, and then I didn't dare!" + +"You did very wrong," replied Miss Nevil. "If a word from me could--" + +"I can't send him any letter now. The prefect has arrived, and +Pietranera is full of his policemen. Later on, we'll see what we can +do. Oh, Miss Nevil, if you only knew my brother, you would love him as +dearly as I do. He's so good! He's so brave! Just think of what he has +done! One man against two, and wounded as well!" + +The prefect had returned. Warned by an express messenger sent by the +deputy-mayor, he had brought over the public prosecutor, the +registrar, and all their myrmidons, to investigate the fresh and +terrible catastrophe which had just complicated, or it may be ended, +the warfare between the chief families of Pietranera. Shortly after +his arrival, he saw the colonel and his daughter, and did not conceal +his fear that the business might take on an ugly aspect. + +"You know," he said, "that the fight took place without witnesses, and +the reputation of these two unhappy men stood so high, both for +bravery and cunning, that nobody will believe Signor della Rebbia can +have killed them without the help of the bandits with whom he is now +supposed to have taken refuge." + +"It's not possible," said the colonel. "Orso della Rebbia is a most +honourable fellow. I'll stake my life on that." + +"I believe you," said the prefect. "But the public prosecutor (those +gentry always are suspicious) does not strike me as being particularly +well disposed toward him. He holds one bit of evidence which goes +rather against our friend--a threatening letter to Orlanduccio, in +which he suggests a meeting, and is inclined to think that meeting was +a trap." + +"That fellow Orlanduccio refused to fight it out like a gentleman." + +"That is not the custom here. In this country, people lie in ambush, +and kill each other from behind. There is one deposition in his favour +--that of a child, who declares she heard four reports, two of which +were louder than the others, and produced by a heavy weapon, such as +Signor della Rebbia's gun. Unluckily, the child is the niece of one of +the bandits suspected of being his accomplices, and has probably been +taught her lesson." + +"Sir," broke in Miss Lydia, reddening to the roots of her hair, "we +were on the road when those shots were fired, and we heard the same +thing." + +"Really? That's most important! And you, colonel, no doubt you +remarked the very same thing?" + +"Yes," responded Miss Lydia quickly. "It was my father, who is so +accustomed to firearms, who said to me, 'There's Signor della Rebbia +shooting with my gun!' " + +"And you are sure those shots you recognised were the last?" + +"The two last, weren't they, papa?" + +Memory was not the colonel's strong point, but as a standing rule, he +knew better than to contradict his daughter. + +"I must mention this to the public prosecutor at once, colonel. And +besides, we expect a surgeon this evening, who will make an +examination of the two bodies, and find out whether the wounds were +caused by that particular weapon." + +"I gave it to Orso," said the colonel, "and I wish I knew it was at +the bottom of the sea. At least---- Plucky boy! I'm heartily glad he +had it with him, for I don't quite know how he would have got off if +it hadn't been for my Manton." + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +It was rather late when the surgeon put in an appearance. On his road +up he had met with an adventure of his own. He had been stopped by +Giocanto Castriconi, who, with the most scrupulous politeness, called +on him to come and attend a wounded man. He had been conducted to +Orso's retreat, and had applied the first dressings to his wound. The +bandit had then accompanied the doctor some distance on his way, and +had greatly edified him by his talk concerning the most celebrated +professors at Pisa, whom he described as his intimate friends. + +"Doctor," said the theologian, as they parted, "you have inspired me +with such a feeling of respect that I think it hardly necessary to +remind you that a physician should be as discreet as a confessor." And +as he said the words he clicked the trigger of his gun. "You have +quite forgotten the spot at which we have had the honour of meeting. +Fare you well! I'm delighted to have made your acquaintance." + +Colomba besought the colonel to be present at the post-mortem +examination. + +"You know my brother's gun better than anybody," she said, "and your +presence will be most valuable. Besides there are so many wicked +people here that we should run a great risk if there were nobody +present to protect our interests." + +When she was left alone with Miss Lydia, she complained that her head +ached terribly, and proposed that they should take a walk just outside +the village. + +"The fresh air will do me good," she said. "It is so long since I've +been out of doors." + +As they walked along she talked about her brother, and Miss Lydia, who +found the subject tolerably interesting, did not notice that they had +travelled a long way from Pietranera. The sun was setting when she +became aware of this fact, and she begged Colomba to return. Colomba +said she knew a cross-cut which would greatly shorten the walk back, +and turning out of the path, she took another, which seemed much less +frequented. Soon she began to climb a hill, so steep that to keep her +balance she was continually obliged to catch hold of branches with one +hand, while she pulled her companion up after her with the other. +After about twenty minutes of this trying ascent, they found +themselves on a small plateau, clothed with arbutus and myrtle, +growing round great granite boulders that jutted above the soil in +every direction. Miss Lydia was very tired, there was no sign of the +village, and it was almost quite dark. + +"Do you know, Colomba, my dear," she said, "I'm afraid we've lost our +way!" + +"No fear!" answered Colomba. "Let us get on. You follow me." + +"But I assure you we're going wrong. The village can't be over there. +I'm certain we're turning our backs on it. Why, look at those lights, +far away. Pietranera must be in that direction." + +"My dear soul," said Colomba, and she looked very much agitated, +"you're perfectly right. But in the /maquis/--less than a hundred +yards from here--" + +"Well?" + +"My brother is lying. If you choose, I might see him, and give him one +kiss." + +Miss Nevil made a gesture of astonishment. + +"I got out of Pietranera without being noticed," continued Colomba, +"because I was with you, otherwise I should have been followed. To be +so close to him, and not to see him! Why shouldn't you come with me to +see my poor brother? You would make him so happy!" + +"But, Colomba-- That wouldn't be at all proper on my part----" + +"I see. With you women who live in towns, your great anxiety is to be +proper. We village women only think of what is kind." + +"But it's so late! And then what will your brother think of me?" + +"He'll think his friends have not forsaken him, and that will give him +courage to bear his sufferings." + +"And my father? He'll be so anxious!" + +"He knows you are with me. Come! Make up your mind. You were looking +at his picture this morning," she added, with a sly smile. + +"No! Really and truly, I don't dare, Colomba! Think of the bandits who +are there." + +"Well, what matter? The bandits don't know you. And you were longing +to see some." + +"Oh, dear!" + +"Come, signorina, settle something. I can't leave you alone here. I +don't know what might happen to you. Let us go on to see Orso, or else +let us go back to the village together. I shall see my brother again. +God knows when--never, perhaps!" + +"What's that you are saying, Colomba? Well, well, let us go! But only +for a minute, and then we'll get home at once." + +Colomba squeezed her hand, and without making any reply walked on so +quickly that Miss Lydia could hardly keep up with her. She soon +halted, luckily, and said to her companion: + +"We won't go any farther without warning them. We might have a bullet +flying at our heads." + +She began to whistle through her fingers. Soon they heard a dog bark, +and the bandits' advanced sentry shortly came in sight. This was our +old acquaintance Brusco, who recognised Colomba at once and undertook +to be her guide. After many windings through the narrow paths in the +/maquis/ they were met by two men, armed to the teeth. + +"Is that you, Brandolaccio?" inquired Colomba. "Where is my brother?" + +"Just over there," replied the bandit. "But go quietly. He's asleep, +and for the first time since his accident. Zounds, it's clear that +where the devil gets through, a woman will get through too!" + +The two girls moved forward cautiously, and beside a fire, the blaze +of which was carefully concealed by a little wall of stones built +round it, they beheld Orso, lying on a pile of heather, and covered +with a /pilone/. He was very pale, and they could hear his laboured +breathing. Colomba sat down near him, and gazed at him silently, with +her hands clasped, as though she were praying in her heart. Miss Lydia +hid her face in her handkerchief, and nestled close against her +friend, but every now and then she lifted her head to take a look at +the wounded man over Colomba's shoulder. Thus a quarter of an hour +passed by without a word being said by anybody. At a sign from the +theologian, Brandolaccio had plunged with him into the /maquis/, to +the great relief of Miss Lydia, who for the first time fancied the +local colour of the bandits' wild beards and warlike equipment was a +trifle too strong. + +At last Orso stirred. Instantly, Colomba bent over him, and kissed him +again and again, pouring out questions anent his wound, his suffering, +and his needs. After having answered that he was doing as well as +possible, Orso inquired, in his turn, whether Miss Nevil was still at +Pietranera, and whether she had written to him. Colomba, bending over +her brother, completely hid her companion from his sight, and indeed +the darkness would have made any recognition difficult. She was +holding one of Miss Nevil's hands. With the other she slightly raised +her wounded brother's head. + +"No, brother," she replied. "She did not give me any letter for you. +But are you still thinking about Miss Nevil? You must love her very +much!" + +"Love her, Colomba!--But--but now she may despise me!" + +At this point Miss Nevil made a struggle to withdraw her fingers. But +it was no easy matter to get Colomba to slacken her grasp. Small and +well-shaped though her hand was, it possessed a strength of which we +have already noticed certain proofs. + +"Despise you!" cried Colomba. "After what you've done? No, indeed! She +praises you! Oh, Orso, I could tell you so many things about her!" + +Lydia's hand was still struggling for its freedom, but Colomba kept +drawing it closer to Orso. + +"But after all," said the wounded man, "why didn't she answer me? If +she had sent me a single line, I should have been happy." + +By dint of pulling at Miss Nevil's hand, Colomba contrived at last to +put it into her brother's. Then, moving suddenly aside, she burst out +laughing. + +"Orso," she cried, "mind you don't speak evil of Miss Lydia--she +understands Corsican quite well." + +Miss Lydia took back her hand at once and stammered some +unintelligible words. Orso thought he must be dreaming. + +"You here, Miss Nevil? Good heavens! how did you dare? Oh, how happy +you have made me!" + +And raising himself painfully, he strove to get closer to her. + +"I came with your sister," said Miss Lydia, "so that nobody might +suspect where she was going. And then I--I wanted to make sure for +myself. Alas! how uncomfortable you are here!" + +Colomba had seated herself behind Orso. She raised him carefully so +that his head might rest on her lap. She put her arms round his neck +and signed to Miss Lydia to come near him. + +"Closer! closer!" she said. "A sick man mustn't talk too loud." And +when Miss Lydia hesitated, she caught her hand and forced her to sit +down so close to Orso that her dress touched him, and her hand, still +in Colomba's grasp, lay on the wounded man's shoulder. + +"Now he's very comfortable!" said Colomba cheerily. "Isn't it good to +lie out in the /maquis/ on such a lovely night? Eh, Orso?" + +"How you must be suffering!" exclaimed Miss Lydia. + +"My suffering is all gone now," said Orso, "and I should like to die +here!" And his right hand crept up toward Miss Lydia's, which Colomba +still held captive. + +"You really must be taken to some place where you can be properly +cared for, Signor della Rebbia," said Miss Nevil. "I shall never be +able to sleep in my bed, now that I have seen you lying here, so +uncomfortable, in the open air." + +"If I had not been afraid of meeting you, Miss Nevil, I should have +tried to get back to Pietranera, and I should have given myself up to +the authorities." + +"And why were you afraid of meeting her, Orso?" inquired Colomba. + +"I had disobeyed you, Miss Nevil, and I should not have dared to look +at you just then." + +"Do you know you make my brother do everything you choose, Miss +Lydia?" said Colomba, laughing. "I won't let you see him any more." + +"I hope this unlucky business will soon be cleared up, and that you +will have nothing more to fear," said Miss Nevil. "I shall be so +happy, when we go away, to know justice has been done you, and that +both your loyalty and your bravery have been acknowledged." + +"Going away, Miss Nevil! Don't say that word yet!" + +"What are we to do? My father can not spend his whole life shooting. +He wants to go." + +Orso's hand, which had been touching Miss Lydia's, dropped away, and +there was silence for a moment. + +"Nonsense!" said Colomba. "We won't let you go yet. We have plenty of +things to show you still at Pietranera. Besides, you have promised to +paint my picture, and you haven't even begun it so far. And then I've +promised to compose you a /serenata/, with seventy-five verses. And +then--but what can Brusco be growling about? And here's Brandolaccio +running after him. I must go and see what's amiss." + +She rose at once, and laying Orso's head, without further ceremony, on +Miss Lydia's lap, she ran after the bandits. + +Miss Nevil, somewhat startled at finding herself thus left in sole +charge of a handsome young Corsican gentleman in the middle of a +/maquis/, was rather puzzled what to do next. + +For she was afraid that any sudden movement on her part might hurt the +wounded man. But Orso himself resigned the exquisite pillow on which +his sister had just laid his head, and raising himself on his right +arm, he said: + +"So you will soon be gone, Miss Lydia? I never expected your stay in +this unhappy country would have been a long one. And yet since you +have come to me here, the thought that I must bid you farewell has +grown a hundred times more bitter to me. I am only a poor lieutenant. +I had no future--and now I am an outlaw. What a moment in which to +tell you that I love you, Miss Lydia! But no doubt this is my only +chance of saying it. And I think I feel less wretched now I have +unburdened my heart to you." + +Miss Lydia turned away her head, as if the darkness were not dark +enough to hide her blushes. + +"Signor della Rebbia," she said, and her voice shook, "should I have +come here at all if----" and as she spoke she laid the Egyptian +talisman in Orso's hand. Then, with a mighty effort to recover her +usual bantering tone--"It's very wrong of you, Signor Orso, to say +such things! You know very well that here, in the middle of the +/maquis/, and with your bandits all about me, I should never dare to +be angry with you." + +Orso made an attempt to kiss the hand that held out the talisman. Miss +Lydia drew it quickly back; he lost his balance, and fell on his +wounded arm. He could not stifle a moan of pain. + +"Oh, dear, you've hurt yourself, and it was my fault!" she cried, as +she raised him up. "Forgive me!" They talked for some time longer, +very low, and very close together. + +Colomba, running hastily up, found them in the very same position in +which she had left them. + +"The soldiers!" she cried. "Orso! try to get up and walk! I'll help +you!" + +"Leave me!" said Orso. "Tell the bandits to escape. What do I care if +I am taken? But take away Miss Lydia. For God's sake, don't let +anybody see her here!" + +"I won't leave you," said Brandolaccio, who had come up on Colomba's +heels. + +"The sergeant in charge is the lawyer's godson. He'll shoot you +instead of arresting you, and then he'll say he didn't do it on +purpose." + +Orso tried to rise; he even took a few steps. But he soon halted. "I +can't walk," he said. "Fly, all of you! Good-bye, Miss Nevil! Give me +your hand! Farewell!" + +"We won't leave you!" cried the two girls. + +"If you can't walk," said Brandolaccio, "I must carry you. Come, sir, +a little courage! We shall have time to slip away by the ravine. The +Signor Padre will keep them busy." + +"No, leave me!" said Orso, lying down on the ground. "Colomba, take +Miss Nevil away!--for God's sake!" + +"You're strong, Signorina Colomba," said Brandolaccio. "Catch hold of +his shoulders; I'll take his feet. That's it! Now, then march!" + +In spite of his protests, they began to carry him rapidly along. Miss +Lydia was following them, in a terrible fright, when a gun was fired, +and five or six other reports instantly responded. Miss Lydia screamed +and Brandolaccio swore an oath, but he doubled his pace, and Colomba, +imitating him, tore through the thicket without paying the slightest +heed to the branches that slashed her face and tore her dress. + +"Bend down, bend down, dear!" she called out to her companion. "You +may be hit by some stray bullet!" + +They had walked, or rather run, some five hundred paces in this +fashion when Brandolaccio vowed he could go no further, and dropped on +the ground, regardless of all Colomba's exhortations and reproaches. + +"Where is Miss Nevil?" was Orso's one inquiry. + +Terrified by the firing, checked at every step by the thick growth of +the /maquis/, Miss Nevil had soon lost sight of the fugitives, and +been left all alone in a state of the most cruel alarm. + +"She has been left behind," said Brandolaccio, "but she'll not be lost +--women always turn up again. Do listen to the row the Padre is making +with your gun, Ors' Anton'! Unluckily, it's as black as pitch, and +nobody takes much harm from being shot at in the dark." + +"Hush!" cried Colomba. "I hear a horse. We're saved!" + +Startled by the firing, a horse which had been wandering through the +/maquis/, was really coming close up to them. + +"Saved, indeed!" repeated Brandolaccio. It did not take the bandit +more than an instant to rush up to the creature, catch hold of his +mane, and with Colomba's assistance, bridle him with a bit of knotted +rope. + +"Now we must warn the Padre," he said. He whistled twice; another +distant whistle answered the signal, and the loud voice of the Manton +gun was hushed. Then Brandolaccio sprang on the horse's back. Colomba +lifted her brother up in front of the bandit, who held him close with +one hand and managed his bridle with the other. + +In spite of the double load, the animal, urged by a brace of hearty +kicks, started off nimbly, and galloped headlong down a steep +declivity on which anything but a Corsican steed would have broken its +neck a dozen times. + +Then Colomba retraced her steps, calling Miss Nevil at the top of her +voice; but no answering cry was heard. + +After walking hither and thither for some time, trying to recover the +path, she stumbled on two riflemen, who shouted, "Who goes there?" + +"Well, gentlemen," cried Colomba jeeringly, "here's a pretty racket! +How many of you are killed?" + +"You were with the bandits!" said one of the soldiers. "You must come +with us." + +"With pleasure!" she replied. "But there's a friend of mine somewhere +close by, and we must find her first." + +"You friend is caught already, and both of you will sleep in jail +to-night!" + +"In jail, you say? Well, that remains to be seen. But take me to her, +meanwhile." + +The soldiers led her to the bandits' camp, where they had collected +the trophies of their raid--to wit, the cloak which had covered Orso, +an old cooking-pot, and a pitcher of cold water. On the same spot she +found Miss Nevil, who had fallen among the soldiers, and, being half +dead with terror, did nothing but sob in answer to their questions as +to the number of the bandits, and the direction in which they had +gone. + +Colomba threw herself into her arms and whispered in her ear, "They +are safe!" Then, turning to the sergeant, she said: "Sir, you can see +this young lady knows none of the things you are trying to find out +from her. Give us leave to go back to the village, where we are +anxiously expected." + +"You'll be taken there, and faster than you like, my beauty," rejoined +the sergeant. "And you'll have to explain what you were after at this +time of night with the ruffians who have just got away. I don't know +what witchcraft those villains practise, but they certainly do bewitch +the women--for wherever there are bandits about, you are dead certain +to find pretty girls." + +"You're very flattering, sergeant!" said Colomba, "but you'll do well +to be careful what you say. This young lady is related to the prefect, +and you'd better be careful of your language before her." + +"A relation of the prefect's," whispered one of the soldiers to his +chief. "Why, she does wear a hat!" + +"Hats have nothing to do with it," said the sergeant. "They were both +of them with the Padre--the greatest woman-wheedler in the whole +country, so it's my business to march them off. And, indeed, there's +nothing more for us to do here. But for that d----d Corporal Taupin-- +the drunken Frenchman showed himself before I'd surrounded the +/maquis/--we should have had them all like fish in a net." + +"Are there only seven of you here?" inquired Colomba. "It strikes me, +gentlemen, that if the three Poli brothers--Gambini, Sarocchi, and +Teodoro--should happen to be at the Cross of Santa Christina, with +Brandolaccio and the Padre, they might give you a good deal of corn to +grind. If you mean to have a talk with the Commandante della Campagna, +I'd just as soon not be there. In the dark, bullets don't show any +respect for persons." + +The idea of coming face to face with the dreaded bandits mentioned by +Colomba made an evident impression on the soldiers. The sergeant, +still cursing Corporal Taupin--"that dog of a Frenchman"--gave the +order to retire, and his little party moved toward Pietranera, +carrying the /pilone/ and the cooking-pot; as for the pitcher, its +fate was settled with a kick. + +One of the men would have laid hold of Miss Lydia's arm, but Colomba +instantly pushed him away. + +"Let none of you dare to lay a finger on her!" she said. "Do you fancy +we want to run away? Come, Lydia, my dear, lean on me, and don't cry +like a baby. We've had an adventure, but it will end all right. In +half an hour we shall be at our supper, and for my part I'm dying to +get to it." + +"What will they think of me!" Miss Nevil whispered. + +"They'll think you lost your way in the /maquis/, that's all." + +"What will the prefect say? Above all, what will my father say?" + +"The prefect? You can tell him to mind his own business! Your father? +I should have thought, from the way you and Orso were talking, that +you had something to say to your father." + +Miss Nevil squeezed her arm, and answered nothing. + +"Doesn't my brother deserve to be loved?" whispered Colomba in her +ear. "Don't you love him a little?" + +"Oh, Colomba!" answered Miss Nevil, smiling in spite of her blushes, +"you've betrayed me! And I trusted you so!" + +Colomba slipped her arm round her, and kissed her forehead. + +"Little sister," she whispered very low, "will you forgive me?" + +"Why, I suppose I must, my masterful sister," answered Lydia, as she +kissed her back. + +The prefect and the public prosecutor were staying with the deputy- +mayor, and the colonel, who was very uneasy about his daughter, was +paying them his twentieth call, to ask if they had heard of her, when +a rifleman, whom the sergeant had sent on in advance, arrived with the +full story of the great fight with the brigands--a fight in which +nobody had been either killed or wounded, but which had resulted in +the capture of a cooking-pot, a /pilone/, and two girls, whom the man +described as the mistresses, or the spies, of the two bandits. + +Thus heralded, the two prisoners appeared, surrounded by their armed +escort. + +My readers will imagine Colomba's radiant face, her companion's +confusion, the prefect's surprise, the colonel's astonishment and joy. +The public prosecutor permitted himself the mischievous entertainment +of obliging poor Lydia to undergo a kind of cross-examination, which +did not conclude until he had quite put her out of countenance. + +"It seems to me," said the prefect, "that we may release everybody. +These young ladies went out for a walk--nothing is more natural in +fine weather. They happened to meet a charming young man, who has been +lately wounded--nothing could be more natural, again." Then, taking +Colomba aside-- + +"Signorina," he said, "you can send word to your brother that this +business promises to turn out better than I had expected. The post- +mortem examination and the colonel's deposition both prove that he +only defended himself, and that he was alone when the fight took +place. Everything will be settled--only he must leave the /maquis/ and +give himself up to the authorities." + +It was almost eleven o'clock when the colonel, his daughter, and +Colomba sat down at last to their supper, which had grown cold. +Colomba ate heartily, and made great fun of the prefect, the public +prosecutor, and the soldiers. The colonel ate too, but never said a +word, and gazed steadily at his daughter, who would not lift her eyes +from her plate. At last, gently but seriously, he said in English: + +"Lydia, I suppose you are engaged to della Rebbia?" + +"Yes, father, to-day," she answered, steadily, though she blushed. +Then she raised her eyes, and reading no sign of anger in her father's +face, she threw herself into his arms and kissed him, as all well- +brought-up young ladies do on such occasions. + +"With all my heart!" said the colonel. "He's a fine fellow. But, by +G--d, we won't live in this d---d country of his, or I'll refuse my +consent." + +"I don't know English," said Colomba, who was watching them with an +air of the greatest curiosity, "but I'll wager I've guessed what you +are saying!" + +"We are saying," quoth the colonel, "that we are going to take you for +a trip to Ireland." + +"Yes, with pleasure; and I'll be the Surella Colomba. Is it settled, +colonel? Shall we shake hands on it?" + +"In such a case," remarked the colonel, "people exchanges kisses!" + + + +CHAPTER XX + +One afternoon, a few months after the double shot which, as the +newspapers said, "plunged the village of Pietranera into a state of +consternation," a young man with his left arm in a sling, rode out of +Bastia, toward the village of Cardo, celebrated for its spring, which +in summer supplies the more fastidious inhabitants of the town with +delicious water. He was accompanied by a young lady, tall and +remarkably handsome, mounted on a small black horse, the strength and +shape of which would have attracted the admiration of a connoisseur, +although, by some strange accident, one of its ears had been +lacerated. On reaching the village, the girl sprang nimbly to the +ground, and, having helped her comrade to dismount, she unfastened the +somewhat heavy wallets strapped to his saddle-bow. The horses were +left in charge of a peasant. The girl, laden with the wallets, which +she had concealed under her /mezzaro/, and the young man, carrying a +double-barrelled gun, took their way toward the mountain, along a very +steep path that did not appear to lead to any dwelling. When they had +climbed to one of the lower ridges of the Monte Querico, they halted, +and sat down on the grass. They were evidently expecting somebody, for +they kept perpetually looking toward the mountain, and the young lady +often consulted a pretty gold watch--as much, it may be, for the +pleasure of admiring what appeared a somewhat newly acquired trinket, +as in order to know whether the hour appointed for some meeting or +other had come. They had not long to wait. A dog ran out of the +/maquis/, and when the girl called out "Brusco!" it approached at +once, and fawned upon them. Presently two bearded men appeared, with +guns under their arms, cartridge-belts round their waists, and pistols +hanging at their sides. Their torn and patched garments contrasted +oddly with their weapons, which were brilliantly polished, and came +from a famous Continental factory. In spite of the apparent inequality +of their positions, the four actors in this scene greeted one another +in terms of old and familiar friendship. + +"Well, Ors' Anton'," said the elder bandit to the young man, "so your +business is settled--the indictment against you has fallen through? I +congratulate you. I'm sorry the lawyer has left the island. I'd like +to see his rage. And how's your arm?" + +"They tell me I shall get rid of my sling in a fortnight," said the +young man. "Brando, my good friend, I'm going to Italy to-morrow--I +wanted to say good-bye to you and to the cure. That's why I asked you +to come here." + +"You're in a fine hurry," said Brandolaccio. "Only acquitted +yesterday, and you're off to-morrow." + +"Business must be attended to," said the young lady merrily. +"Gentlemen, I've brought some supper. Fall to, if you please, and +don't you forget my friend Brusco." + +"You spoil Brusco, Mademoiselle Colomba. But he's a grateful dog. You +shall see. Here, Brusco," and he held out his gun horizontally, "jump +for the Barricini!" + +The dog stood motionless, licking his chops, and staring at his +master. + +"Jump for the della Rebbia!" And he leaped two feet higher than he +need have done. + +"Look here, my friends," said Orso, "you're plying a bad trade; and +even if you don't end your career on that square below us,[*] the best +you can look for is to die in the /maquis/ by some gendarme's bullet." + +[*] The square at Bastia on which executions take place. + +"Well, well," said Castriconi, "that's no more than death, anyhow; and +it's better than being killed in your bed by a fever, with your heirs +snivelling more or less honestly all round you. To men who are +accustomed to the open air like us, there's nothing so good as to die +'in your shoes,' as the village folk say." + +"I should like to see you get out of this country," said Orso, "and +lead a quieter life. For instance, why shouldn't you settle in +Sardinia, as several of your comrades have done? I could make the +matter easy for you." + +"In Sardinia!" cried Brandolaccio. "/Istos Sardos!/ Devil take them +and their lingo! We couldn't live in such bad company." + +"Sardinia's a country without resources," added the theologian. "For +my part, I despise the Sardinians. They keep mounted men to hunt their +bandits. That's a stigma on both the bandits and the country.[*] Out +upon Sardinia, say I! The thing that astounds me, Signor della Rebbia, +is that you, who are a man of taste and understanding, should not have +taken to our life in the /maquis/, after having once tried it, as you +did." + +[*] I owe this criticism of Sardinia to an ex-bandit of my + acquaintance, and he alone must bear the responsibility of it. He + means that bandits who let themselves be caught by horse soldiers + are idiots, and that soldiers who try to catch bandits on + horseback have very little chance of getting at them. + +"Well," said Orso, with a smile, "when I was lucky enough to be your +guest, I wasn't in very good case for enjoying the charms of your +position, and my ribs still ache when I think of the ride I took one +lovely night, thrown like a bundle across an unsaddled horse that my +good friend Brandolaccio guided." + +"And the delight of escaping from your pursuers," rejoined Castriconi; +"is that nothing to you? How can you fail to realize the charm of +absolute freedom in such a beautiful climate as ours? With this to +insure respect," and he held up his gun, "we are kings of everything +within its range. We can give orders, we can redress wrongs. That's a +highly moral entertainment, monsieur, and a very pleasant one, which +we don't deny ourselves. What can be more beautiful than a knight- +errant's life, when he has good weapons, and more common sense than +Don Quixote had? Listen! The other day I was told that little Lilla +Luigi's uncle--old miser that he is--wouldn't give her a dowry. So I +wrote to him. I didn't use threats--that's not my way. Well, well, in +one moment the man was convinced. He married his niece, and I made two +people happy. Believe me, Orso, there's no life like the bandit's +life! Pshaw! You'd have joined us, perhaps, if it hadn't been for a +certain young Englishwoman whom I have scarcely seen myself, but about +whose beauty every one in Bastia is talking." + +"My future sister-in-law doesn't like the /maquis/," laughed Colomba. +"She got too great a fright in one of them." + +"Well," said Orso, "you are resolved to stay here? So be it! But tell +me whether there is anything I can do for you?" + +"Nothing," said Brandolaccio. "You've heaped kindnesses upon us. +Here's little Chilina with her dowry ready, so that there'll be no +necessity for my friend the cure to write one of his persuasive +letters to insure her marrying well. We know the man on your farm will +give us bread and powder whenever we need them. So fare you well! I +hope we shall see you back in Corsica one of these days." + +"In case of pressing need," said Orso, "a few gold coins are very +useful. Now we are such old friends, you won't refuse this little +/cartouche/.[*] It will help you to provide cartridges of another +kind." + +[*] /Cartouche/ means a collection of gold pieces as well as a + cartridge. + +"No money between you and me, sir," said Brandolaccio resolutely. + +"In the world money is everything," remarked Castriconi, "but in the +/maquis/, all a man need care for is a brave heart, and a gun that +carries true." + +"I don't want to leave you without giving you something to remember me +by," persisted Orso. "Come, Brandolaccio, what can I leave with you?" + +The bandit scratched his head and cast a sidelong glance at Orso's +gun. + +"By my faith, if I dared--but no! you're too fond of it." + +"What would you like?" + +"Nothing! 'Tisn't anything at all. It's knowing how to use it as well. +I keep thinking of that devil of a double-shot of yours--and with only +one hand, too! Oh! that never could happen twice over!" + +"Is it the gun you fancy? I bought it for you. But see you don't use +it more than you are obliged." + +"Oh, I won't promise to make as good use of it as you. But make your +mind easy. When any other man has it, you may be certain it's all over +with Brando Savelli." + +"And you, Castriconi--what am I to give you?" + +"Since you really insist on giving me some tangible keepsake, I'll +simply ask you to send me the smallest Horace you can get. It will +amuse me, and prevent me from forgetting all my Latin. There's a +little woman who sells cigars on the jetty at Bastia. If you give it +to her, she'll see I get it." + +"You shall have an Elzevir, my erudite friend. There just happens to +be one among some books I was going to take away with me. Well, good +friends, we must part! Give me your hands. If you should ever think of +Sardinia write to me. Signor N., the notary, will give you my address +on the mainland." + +"To-morrow, lieutenant," said Brando, "when you get out in the +harbour, look up to this spot on the mountain-side. We shall be here, +and we'll wave our handkerchiefs to you." + +And so they parted. Orso and his sister took their way back to Cardo, +and the bandits departed up the mountain. + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +One lovely April morning, Sir Thomas Nevil, his daughter, a newly made +bride--Orso, and Colomba, drove out of Pisa to see a lately discovered +Etruscan vault to which all strangers who came to that part of the +country paid a visit. + +Orso and his wife went down into the ancient building, pulled out +their pencils, and began to sketch the mural paintings. But the +colonel and Colomba, who neither of them cared much for archaeology, +left them to themselves, and walked about in the neighbourhood. + +"My dear Colomba," said the colonel, "we shall never get back to Pisa +in time for lunch. Aren't you hungry? There are Orso and his wife +buried in their antiquities; when once they begin sketching together, +it lasts forever!" + +"Yes," remarked Colomba. "And yet they never bring the smallest sketch +home with them." + +"I think," proceeded the colonel, "our best plan would be to make our +way to that little farm-house yonder. We should find bread there, and +perhaps some /aleatico/. Who knows, we might even find strawberries +and cream! And then we should be able to wait patiently for our +artists." + +"You are quite right, colonel. You and I are the reasonable members of +this family. We should be very foolish if we let ourselves by +martyrized by that pair of lovers, who live on poetry! Give me your +arm! Don't you think I'm improving? I lean on people's arms, wear +fashionable hats and gowns and trinkets--I'm learning I don't know how +many fine things--I'm not at all a young savage any more. Just observe +the grace with which I wear this shawl. That fair-haired spark--that +officer belonging to your regiment who came to the wedding--oh, dear! +I can't recollect his name!--a tall, curly-headed man, whom I could +knock over with one hand----" + +"Chatsworth?" suggested the colonel. + +"That's it!--but I never shall be able to say it!--Well, you know he's +over head and ears in love with me!" + +"O Colomba, you're growing a terrible flirt! We shall have another +wedding before long." + +"I! Marry! And then who will there be to bring up my nephew--when Orso +provides me with a nephew? And who'll teach him to talk Corsican? Yes, +he shall talk Corsican, and I'll make him a peaked cap, just to vex +you." + +"Well, well, wait till you have your nephew, and then you shall teach +him to use a dagger, if you choose." + +"Farewell to daggers!" said Colomba merrily. "I have a fan now, to rap +your fingers with when you speak ill of my country." + +Chatting thus, they reached the farm-house, where they found wine, +strawberries, and cream. Colomba helped the farmer's wife to gather +the strawberries, while the colonel drank his /aleatico/. At the +turning of a path she caught sight of an old man, sitting in the sun, +on a straw chair. He seemed ill, his cheeks were fallen in, his eyes +were hollow, he was frightfully thin; as he sat there, motionless, +pallid, staring fixedly in front of him, he looked more like a corpse +than like a living creature. Colomba watched him for some minutes, and +with a curiosity so great that it attracted the woman's attention. + +"That poor old fellow is a countryman of yours," she said. "For I know +you are from Corsica by the way you talk, signorina! He has had great +trouble in his own country. His children met with some terrible death. +They say--you'll excuse me, signorina--that when they quarrel, your +compatriots don't show each other very much mercy. Then the poor old +gentleman, being left all alone, came over to Pisa, to a distant +relation of his, who owns this farm. Between his misfortunes and his +sorrow, the good man is a little cracked. . . . The lady found him +troublesome--for she sees a great deal of company. So she sent him out +here. He's very gentle--no worry at all. He doesn't speak three words +the whole day long. In fact, his brain's quite gone. The doctor comes +to see him every week. He says he won't live long." + +"There's no hope for him, then!" said Colomba. "In such a case, death +will be a mercy." + +"You might say a word to him in Corsican, signorina. Perhaps it would +cheer him up to hear the speech of his own country." + +"I'll see!" said Colomba, and her smile was mysterious. + +She drew nearer to the old man, till her shadow fell across his chair. +Then the poor idiot lifted his head and stared at Colomba, while she +looked at him, smiling still. After a moment, the old man passed his +hand across his forehead, and closed his eyes, as though he would have +shut out the sight of Colomba. He opened them again, desperately wide +this time. His lips began to work, he tried to stretch out his hands, +but, fascinated by Colomba's glance, he sat, nailed, as it were, to +his chair, unable to move or utter a word. At last great tears dropped +from his eyes, and a few sobs escaped from his heaving chest. + +" 'Tis the first time I've seen him like this," said the good woman. +"This signorina belongs to your own country; she has come to see you," +said she to the old man. + +"Mercy!" he cried in a hoarse voice. "Mercy! Are you not content? The +leaf I burned. How did you read it? But why did you take them both? +Orlanduccio! You can't have read anything against him! You should have +left me one, only one! Orlanduccio--you didn't read /his/ name!" + +"I had to have them both!" answered Colomba, speaking low and in the +Corsican dialect. "The branches are topped off! If the stem had not +been rotten, I would have torn it up! Come! make no moan. You will not +suffer long! /I/ suffered for two years!" + +The old man cried out, and then his head dropped on his breast. +Colomba turned her back on him, and went slowly into the house, +humming some meaningless lines out of a /ballata/: + + "I must have the hand + that fired, the eye that aimed, the heart + that planned." + +While the farmer's wife ran to attend on the old man, Colomba, with +blazing eyes and brilliant cheeks, sat down to luncheon opposite the +colonel. + +"What's the matter with you?" he said. "You look just as you did that +day at Pietranera, when they fired at us while we were at dinner." + +"Old Corsican memories had come back to me. But all that's done with. +I shall be godmother, sha'n't I? Oh! what fine names I'll give him! +Ghilfuccio--Tomaso--Orso--Leone!" + +The farmer's wife came back into the room. + +"Well?" inquired Colomba, with the most perfect composure. "Is he +dead, or had he only fainted?" + +"It was nothing, signorina. But it's curious what an effect the sight +of you had on him." + +"And the doctor says he won't last long?" + +"Not two months, very likely." + +"He'll be no great loss!" remarked Colomba. + +"What the devil are you talking about?" inquired the colonel. + +"About an idiot from my own country, who is boarded out here. I'll +send from time to time to find out how he is. Why, Colonel Nevil, +aren't you going to leave any strawberries for Lydia and my brother?" + +When Colomba left the farm-house and got into the carriage, the +farmer's wife looked after her for a while. Then, turning to her +daughter: + +"Dost see that pretty young lady yonder?" she said. "Well, I'm certain +she has the evil eye!" + + + + + +End of The Project Gutenberg Etext of Colomba, by Prosper Merimee + diff --git a/old/clmba10.zip b/old/clmba10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..7ef8299 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/clmba10.zip |