Part 13 (1/2)

”I am thinking how my mice will bear their fate when the old palace is pulled about their ears, and the bright daylight peeps into all their private holes and comers. I know that they have had a family lately.

Poor fools! to love to linger under the same roof without learning anything from one! How I rejoice that I am poor, and free, and alone, and can carry all my belongings with me in a hand-cart!” He stretched out his arms, and waved them in the sir, as if he poised the burden that awaited them. He looked younger and fresher than he had ever done before.

In the evening he asked Theodore to accompany him to a tavern, in which, before his accident, he had spent many a night. ”You shall see what good Roman society is, and the remains of n.o.bler races,” he said.

”They are a little mistrustful of foreign elements, that step in without knowing what they want, or perhaps who know only too well. They say that it is not much better in n.o.bler houses. Let them do what they like, and drink your wine without making much fuss: they let me do as I please, even if I bring a German with me, for they rather look up to me.”

He led him a few streets distant from the Sistine, to the beautiful fountain of Bernini, the Fontana di Trivi. Opposite the lofty grottoed and niched facade, in the centre of which the water-G.o.d stands above the artificial rocks, and rules the streams, which burst out from all sides into the deep bason, there stood a mean-looking old house, with a smoky lantern over the door. They entered the s.p.a.cious chamber, which occupied the whole breadth of the house, and served as a drinking-room.

At the further end the fire on the hearth played against the blackened wall, and to the right a flight of steps led to the upper story. No furniture was to be seen except benches and tables, on and around which a mixed, silent company was gathered. A boy bore plates of fried fish, salad, and macaroni, and disappeared from time to time through a trap-door, to rise to the surface again, bearing fresh-filled flasks.

A joyous welcome resounded from the lower end of the room as the two friends entered. ”Eccolo!” cried a portly woman, who forced her way through the crowd towards the door, drying her hands on her ap.r.o.n.

”Eccolo! welcome a thousand times, Ser Carlo!” and she gave him her hand heartily. ”A mezzo of Frascati, Chico; of the new, that came in yesterday. Only think, Ser Carlo! who do you think that I was just talking about to my Domenico this very moment? I said to him, 'Domenicuccio,' said I, 'you are a bear and a brute, never to go and see how it fares with our Ser Carlo; for I, as you well know, have my hands full with the children and the guests, and you yourself to look after, you stupid animal! And it will seem a thousand years till I see him again, fine fellow that he is!' 'Lalla mia!' says he, 'to-morrow I will see about it; and,' says he, 'if you have no objection, Lalla, I think that he won't refuse a little drop of the new wine, just a barilotto!' Said I, 'Well, Cuccio, that is just the very best idea you have had all these ten years that we have been married!' And just then Girolamo came in, and said that he had seen you on the Pincio, and I said, 'Blessed be the Virgin! then it won't be long before we see him here;' and just at that moment you opened the door and stood before us!

And really it has done you good--you have grown handsomer, Ser Carlo. I would not believe Girolamo, but positively the Madonna has wrought a miracle on you. I have not prayed all through my rosary for nothing!”

”So I have to thank you, Sera Lalla, that I have not gone mad, and am quit for a little lameness? You have got the best wife in Rome, Domenico,--a saint! a real treasure of grace! Ay, here I am once more!”

and he shook the host, a heavy-looking, insinuating sort of fellow, vehemently by the hand; ”and this gentleman that you see here is my friend, who saved me from the jaws of the dogs. But, holla! there sits my n.o.ble Gigi over there, and eats and drinks, and can't even give his throat time to say 'Good evening.' Shame on you, Gigi! to treat old friends, and one, moreover, who has risen, like Saint Lazarus, from the dead, in such a frosty fas.h.i.+on!”

”He has asked after you more than all the others put together,”

whispered the hostess. ”He could not take his gla.s.s for a week at a time when they began to talk about you. He was only afraid of visiting you.”

The man of whom the good woman spoke sat at one of the centre tables, propped up tightly against the wall, and continued steadily thrusting large pieces of food into his mouth. He was good-looking, his bald head covered with a little skull-cap, his black coat b.u.t.toned up to his throat, and a certain air of decency about him, which distinguished him from the others, without showing, at the same time, any particular pretension.

Bianchi stepped up to him, and greeted him across the table with a wave of the hand. ”Dear Ser Gigi,” he said, ”do not distress yourself--we understand each other.” He remarked now for the first time that the worthy man's eyes were glimmering moistly, and that he only continued eating in order to prevent his joyous embarra.s.sment being marked.

”He is a singer,” whispered Bianchi to his companion; ”he keeps to the churches, and sings on festal days. They wanted to give him the tonsure, because he has some education and is decent-looking, but it did not quite suit him. They are all free men, as many as sit here.

Come, my friend Gigi will make room for us near himself.”

Meanwhile, the boy brushed down the table with a by no means clean napkin, and placed a large open flask before them. Theodore seated himself, whilst Bianchi had to shake hands and answer questions about the room. A reeking bra.s.s lamp flared with its thin, redly-burning wicks over the table. It took Theodore some time to become accustomed to the atmosphere of tobacco-smoke and rancid oil, but he soon forgot all, at the sight of a striking couple, who sat at the table directly opposite to him. One was a young girl in the costume of Albano--the red jacket closed neatly round the just ripening bosom, above it was folded the lace collar, and large silver pins held the flat white handkerchief, which did not conceal the shape of her head, firmly on her hair. Her face was in the fresh bloom of youth, beauty, and health--three virtues which love to be kept together in such a situation. Only the expression of the mouth had a shy softness and yieldingness about it, almost irresolute and sorrowful, and the large eyelids so entirely covered the eyes that only a narrow dark gleaming line betrayed that they slept not.

She ate from the plate before her, slowly and indifferently, and drank but little wine, whilst her brown cheeks glowed ever with the same fire.

Beside her sat an old woman in a Roman costume, blinking vivaciously about her, but silent, and busied with her wine and food, which she enjoyed greedily. They had nothing whatever in common, and yet seemed to belong to each other.

When Bianchi at last came to take his seat, and had emptied his first gla.s.s, he started back with an almost comic expression of astonishment, and cried, ”Madonna Santa! what beauty! How did you come by such a neighbour, Ser Gigi? A niece of yours? or only a forgotten child, that appeared before your eyes by chance? Blessed be her mother.”

”Che, Che!”' said the singer, seriously. ”I wish you were right. Ask her yourself where she comes from. The sweet little mouth would not bestow a word upon me.”

Bianchi cast a keen glance on the old woman, and growled to himself, ”So, so, I fancy we understand each other.” The old woman remarked it, and said, as she emptied the rest of the bottle into her gla.s.s,

”A bashful thing, gentlemen! a poor shy orphan; lived with the wicked people up in the mountains when I found her, and took pity on the young creature. How easily one is lost, when one gets into wrong hands. I brought her with me to Rome, for the Virgin's sake, and keep her here as well as a poor old woman can, in all honour and virtue--poor thing.

Look up, Caterina, when the gentlemen speak to you.”

The girl obeyed, and let her large calm eyes rest for a moment on Bianchi, and let them sink again almost immediately. The artist half-raised himself from his seat and bent over towards her.

”You are called Caterina?”