A Roman Singer by F. Marion Crawford

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"In that case, sir," I replied, "I would call to your attention the
fact that you have asked but one question,--whether I were Signor
Grandi. I answered that in the affirmative." You see I was
apprehensive of what he might do, and desired to gain time. But he
began to lose his temper.

"I have no patience with you Italians," he said, gruffly; "you bandy
words and play with them as if you enjoyed it."

Diavolo, thought I, he is angry at my silence. What will he be if I
speak?

"What do you wish to know, Signor Conte?" I inquired, in suave tones.

"I wish to know where my daughter is. Where is she? Do you understand?
I am asking a question now, and you cannot deny it."

I was sitting in front of him, but I rose and pretended to shut the
door, thus putting the table and the end of the piano between us,
before I answered.

"She is in Rome, Signor Conte," I said.

"With Cardegna?" he asked, not betraying any emotion.

"Yes."

"Very well. I will have them arrested at once. That is all I wanted."
He put his crutch-stick to the floor as though about to rise. Seeing
that his anger was not turned against me, I grew bold.

"You had better not do that," I mildly observed, across the table.

"And why not, sir?" he asked, quickly, hesitating whether to get upon
his feet or to remain seated.

"Because they are married already," I answered, retreating toward the
door. But there was no need for flight. He sank back in the chair, and
the stick fell from his hands upon the bricks with a loud rattle. Poor
old man! I thought he was quite overcome by the news I had
communicated. He sat staring at the window, his hands lying idly on
his knees. I moved to come toward him, but he raised one hand and
began to twirl his great gray moustache fiercely; whereat I resumed my
former position of safety.

"How do you know this?" he demanded on a sudden.

"I was present at the civil marriage yesterday," I answered, feeling
very much scared. He began to notice my manoeuvre.

"You need not be so frightened," he said, coldly. "It would be no use
to kill any of you now, though I would like to."

"I assure you that no one ever frightened me in my own house, sir," I
answered. I think my voice must have sounded very bold, for he did not
laugh at me.

"I suppose it is irrevocable," he said, as if to himself.

"Oh, yes--perfectly irrevocable," I answered, promptly. "They are
married, and have come back to Rome. They are at the Hotel Costanzi. I
am sure that Nino would give you every explanation."

"Who is Nino?" he asked.

"Nino Cardegna, of course--"

"And do you foolishly imagine that I am going to ask him to explain
why he took upon himself to carry away my daughter?" The question was
scornful enough.

"Signor Conte," I protested, "you would do well to see them, for she
is your daughter, after all."

"She is not my daughter any longer," growled the count. "She is
married to a singer, a tenor, an Italian with curls and lies and
grins, as you all have. Fie!" And he pulled his moustache again.

"A singer," said I, "if you like, but a great singer, and an honest
man."

"Oh, I did not come here to listen to your praises of that scoundrel!"
he exclaimed, hotly. "I have seen enough of him to be sick of him."

"I wish he were in this room to hear you call him by such names," I
said; for I began to grow angry, as I sometimes do, and then my fear
grows small and my heart grows big.

"Ah!" said he, ironically. "And pray, what would he do to me?"

"He would probably ask you again for that pistol you refused to lend
him the other day." I thought I might as well show that I knew all
about the meeting in the road. But Lira laughed grimly, and the idea
of a fight seemed to please him.

"I would not refuse it this time. In fact, since you mention it, I
think I will go and offer it to him now. Do you think I should be
justified, Master Censor?"

"No," said I, coming forward and facing him. "But if you like you can
fight me. I am your own age, and a better match." I would have fought
him then and there, with the chairs, if he had liked.

"Why should I fight you?" he inquired, in some astonishment. "You
strike me as a very peaceable person indeed."

"Diavolo! do you expect me to stand quietly and hear you call my boy a
scoundrel? What do you take me for, signore? Do you know that I am the
last of the Conti Grandi, and as noble as any of you, and as fit to
fight, though my hair is gray?"

"I knew, indeed, that one member of that illustrious family survived
in Rome," he answered, gravely, "but I was not aware that you were he.
I am glad to make your acquaintance, and I sincerely wish that you
were the father of the young man who has married my daughter. If you
were, I would be ready to arrange matters." He looked at me
searchingly.

"Unfortunately, I am not any relation of his," I answered. "His father
and mother were peasants on my estate of Serveti, when it still was
mine. They died when he was a baby, and I took care of him and
educated him."

"Yes, he is well educated," reflected the count, "for I examined him
myself. Let us talk no more about fighting. You are quite sure that
the marriage is legal?"

"Quite certain. You can do nothing, and any attempt would be a useless
scandal. Besides, they are so happy, you do not know."

"So happy, are they? Do you think I am happy too?

"A man has every reason to be so, when his daughter marries an honest
man. It is a piece of good luck that does not happen often."

"Probably from the scarcity of daughters who are willing to drive
their fathers to distraction by their disobedience and contempt of
authority,'" he said, savagely.

"No,--from the scarcity of honest men," I said. "Nino is a very honest
man. You may go from one end of Italy to the other and not meet one
like him."

"I sincerely hope so," growled Lira. "Otherwise Italy would be as
wholly unredeemed and unredeemable as you pretend that some parts of
it are now. But I will tell you, Conte Grandi, you cannot walk across
the street, in my country, without meeting a dozen men who would
tremble at the idea of such depravity as an elopement."

"Our ideas of honesty differ, sir," I replied. "When a man loves a
woman, I consider it honest in him to act as though he did, and not to
go and marry another for consolation, beating her with a thick stick
whenever he chances to think of the first. That seems to be the
northern idea of domestic felicity." Lira laughed gruffly, supposing
that my picture was meant for a jest. "I am glad you are amused," I
added.

"Upon my honour, sir," he replied, "you are so vastly amusing that I
am half inclined to forgive my daughter's rashness, for the sake of
enjoying your company. First you entrench yourself behind your
furniture; then you propose to fight me; and now you give me the most
original views upon love and marriage that I ever heard. Indeed I have
cause to be amused."

"I am happy to oblige you," I said, tartly, for I did not like his
laughter. "So long as you confine your amusement to me, I am
satisfied; but pray avoid using any objectionable language about
Nino."

"Then my only course is to avoid the subject?"

"Precisely," I replied, with a good deal of dignity.

"In that case I will go," he said. I was immensely relieved, for his
presence was most unpleasant, as you may readily guess. He got upon
his feet, and I showed him to the door, with all courtesy. I expected
that he would say something about the future before leaving me, but I
was mistaken. He bowed in silence, and stumped down the steps with his
stick.

I sank into my arm-chair with a great sigh of relief, for I felt that,
for me at least, the worst was over. I had faced the infuriated
father, and I might now face anybody with the consciousness of power.
I always feel conscious of great power when danger is past. Once more
I lit my cigar, and stretched myself out to take some rest. The
constant strain on the nerves was becoming very wearing, and I knew
very well that on the morrow I should need bleeding and mallows tea.
Hardly was I settled and comfortable when I heard that dreadful bell
again.

"This is the day of the resurrection indeed," cried Mariuccia
frantically from the kitchen. And she hurried to the door. But I
cannot describe to you the screams of joy and the strange sounds,
between laughing and crying, that her leathern throat produced when
she found Nino and Hedwig on the landing, waiting for admission. And
when Nino explained that he had been married, and that this beautiful
lady with the bright eyes and the golden hair was his wife, the old
woman fairly gave way, and sat upon a chair in an agony of amazement
and admiration. But the pair came toward me, and I met them with a
light heart.

"Nino," said Hedwig, "we have not been nearly grateful enough to
Signor Grandi for all he has done. I have been very selfish," she
said, penitently turning to me.

"Ah no, signora," I replied,--for she was married now, and no longer
"signorina,"--"it is never selfish of such as you to let an old man do
you service. You have made me very happy." And then I embraced Nino,
and Hedwig gave me her hand, which I kissed in the old fashion.

"And so this is your old home, Nino?" said Hedwig presently, looking
about her, and touching the things in the room, as a woman will when
she makes acquaintance with a place she has often heard of. "What a
dear room it is! I wish we could live here!" How very soon a woman
learns that "we" that means so much! It is never forgotten, even when
the love that bred it is dead and cold.

"Yes," I said, for Nino seemed so enraptured, as he watched her, that
he could not speak. "And there is the old piano, with the end on the
boxes because it has no leg, as I dare say Nino has often told you."

"Nino said it was a very good piano," said she.

"And indeed it is," he said, with enthusiasm. "It is out of tune now,
perhaps, but it is the source of all my fortune." He leaned over the
crazy instrument and seemed to caress it.

"Poor old thing!" said Hedwig, compassionately. "I am sure there is
music in it still--the sweet music of the past."

"Yes," said he laughing, "it must be the music of the past, for it
would not stand the 'music of the future,' as they call it, for five
minutes. All the strings would break." Hedwig sat down on the chair
that was in front of it, and her fingers went involuntarily to the
keys, though she is no great musician.

"I can play a little, you know, Nino," she said shyly, and looked up
to his face for a response, not venturing to strike the chords. And it
would have done you good to see how brightly Nino smiled and
encouraged her little offer of music--he, the great artist, in whose
life music was both sword and sceptre. But he knew that she had
greatness also of a different kind, and he loved the small jewels in
his crown as well as the glorious treasures of its larger wealth.

"Play to me, my love," he said, not caring now whether I heard the
sweet words or not. She blushed a little, nevertheless, and glanced at
me; then her fingers strayed over the keys, and drew out music that
was very soft and yet very gay. Suddenly she ceased, and leaned
forward on the desk of the piano, looking at him.

"Do you know, Nino, it was once my dream to be a great musician. If I
had not been so rich I should have taken the profession in earnest.
But now, you see, it is different, is it not?"

"Yes, it is all different now," he answered, not knowing exactly what
she meant, but radiantly happy, all the same.

"I mean," she said, hesitating--"I mean that now that we are to be
always together, what you do I do, and what I do you do. Do you
understand?"

"Yes, perfectly," said Nino, rather puzzled, but quite satisfied.

"Ah no, dear," said she, forgetting my presence, and letting her hand
steal into his as he stood, "you do not understand--quite. I mean that
so long as one of us can be a great musician it is enough, and I am
just as great as though I did it all myself."

Thereupon Nino forgot himself altogether, and kissed her golden hair.
But then he saw me looking, for it was so pretty a sight that I could
not help it, and he remembered.

"Oh!" he said in a tone of embarrassment that I had never heard
before. Then Hedwig blushed very much too, and looked away, and Nino
put himself between her and me, so that I might not see her.

"Could you play something for me to sing, Hedwig?" he asked suddenly.

"Oh, yes! I can play 'Spirto gentil,' by heart," she cried, hailing
the idea with delight.

In a moment they were both lost, and indeed so was I, in the dignity
and beauty of the simple melody. As he began to sing, Nino bent down
to her, and almost whispered the first words into her ear. But soon he
stood erect, and let the music flow from his lips just as God made it.
His voice was tired with the long watching and the dust and cold and
heat of the journey; but, as De Pretis said when he began, he has an
iron throat, and the weariness only made the tones soft and tender and
thrilling, that would perhaps have been too strong for my little room.

Suddenly he stopped short in the middle of a note, and gazed
open-mouthed at the door. And I looked, too, and was horrified; and
Hedwig, looking also, screamed and sprang back to the window,
overturning the chair she had sat on.

In the doorway stood Ahasuerus Benoni, the Jew.

Mariuccia had imprudently forgotten to shut the door when Hedwig and
Nino came, and the baron had walked in unannounced. You may imagine
the fright I was in. But, after all, it was natural enough that after
what had occurred he, as well as the count, should seek an interview
with me, to obtain what information I was willing to give.

There he stood in his gray clothes, tall and thin and smiling as of
yore.

CHAPTER XXIV

Nino is a man for great emergencies, as I have had occasion to say,
and when he realised who the unwelcome visitor was, he acted as
promptly as usual. With a face like marble he walked straight across
the room to Benoni and faced him.

"Baron Benoni," he said, in a low voice, "I warn you that you are most
unwelcome here. If you attempt to say any word to my wife, or to force
an entrance, I will make short work of you." Benoni eyed him with a
sort of pitying curiosity as he made this speech:--

"Do not fear, Signor Cardegna. I came to see Signor Grandi, and to
ascertain from him precisely what you have voluntered to tell me. You
cannot suppose that I have any object in interrupting the leisure of a
great artist, or the privacy of his very felicitous domestic
relations. I have not a great deal to say. That is, I have always a
great deal to say about everything, but I shall at present confine
myself to a very little."

"You will be wise," said Nino, scornfully, "and you would be wiser if
you confined yourself to nothing at all."

"Patience, Signor Cardegna," protested Benoni. "You will readily
conceive that I am a little out of breath with the stairs, for I am a
very old man."

"In that case," I said, from the other side of the room, "I may as
well occupy your breathing time by telling you that any remarks you
are likely to make to me have been forestalled by the Graf von Lira,
who has been with me this morning." Benoni smiled, but both Hedwig and
Nino looked at me in surprise.

"I only wished to say," returned Benoni, "that I consider you in the
light of an interesting phenomenon. Nay, Signor Cardegna, do not look
so fierce. I am an old man--"

"An old devil," said Nino hotly.

"An old fool," said I.

"An old reprobate," said Hedwig, from her corner, in deepest
indignation.

"Precisely," returned Benoni, smilingly. "Many people have been good
enough to tell me so before. Thanks, kind friends, I believe you with
all my heart. Meanwhile, man, devil, fool, or reprobate, I am very
old. I am about to leave Rome for St. Petersburg, and I will take this
last opportunity of informing you that in a very singularly long life
I have met with only two or three such remarkable instances as this of
yours."

"Say what you wish to say, and go," said Nino, roughly.

"Certainly. And whenever I have met with such an instance I have done
my very utmost to reduce it to the common level, and to prove to
myself that no such thing really exists. I find it a dangerous thing,
however; for an old man in love is likely to exhibit precisely the
agreeable and striking peculiarities you have so aptly designated."
There was something so odd about his manner and about the things he
said that Nino was silent, and allowed him to proceed.

"The fact is," he continued, "that love is a very rare thing,
nowadays, and is so very generally an abominable sham that I have
often amused myself by diabolically devising plans for its
destruction. On this occasion I very nearly came to grief myself. The
same thing happened to me some time ago--about forty years, I should
say,--and I perceive that it has not been forgotten. It may amuse you
to look at this paper, which I chance to have with me. Good-morning. I
leave for St. Petersburg at once."

"I believe you are really the Wandering Jew!" cried Nino, as Benoni
left the room.

"His name was certainly Ahasuerus," Benoni replied from the outer
door. "But it may be a coincidence, after all. Good-day." He was gone.

I was the first to take up the paper he had thrown upon a chair. There
was a passage marked with a red pencil. I read it aloud:--

"... Baron Benoni, the wealthy banker of St. Petersburg, who was many
years ago an inmate of a private lunatic asylum in Paris, is reported
to be dangerously insane in Rome." That was all. The paper was the
_Paris Figaro_.

"Merciful Heavens!" exclaimed Hedwig, "and I was shut up with that
madman in Fillettino!" Nino was already by her side, and in his strong
arms she forgot Benoni, and Fillettino, and all her troubles. We were
all silent for some time. At last Nino spoke.

"Is it true that the count was here this morning?" he asked, in a
subdued voice, for the extraordinary visit and its sequel had made him
grave.

"Quite true," I said. "He was here a long time. I would not spoil your
pleasure by telling you of it, when you first came."

"What did he--what did my father say?" asked Hedwig, presently.

"My dear children," I answered, thinking I might well call them so,
"he said a great many unpleasant things, so that I offered to fight
him if he said any more." At this they both laid hold of me and began
to caress me; and one smoothed my hair, and the other embraced me, so
that I was half smothered.

"Dear Signor Grandi," cried Hedwig, anxiously, "how good and brave you
are!" She does not know what a coward I am, you see, and I hope she
will never find out, for nothing was ever said to me that gave me half
so much pleasure as to be called brave by her, the dear child; and if
she never finds out she may say it again, some day. Besides, I really
did offer to fight Lira, as I have told you.

"And what is he going to do?" asked Nino, in some anxiety.

"I do not know. I told him it was all legal, and that he could not
touch you at all. I also said you were staying at the Hotel Costanzi,
where he might find you if he wished."

"Oh! Did you tell him that?" asked Hedwig.

"It was quite right," said Nino. "He ought to know, of course. And
what else did you tell him?"

"Nothing especial, Nino mio. He went away in a sort of ill temper
because I would not let him abuse you as much as he pleased."

"He may abuse me and be welcome," said Nino. "He has some right to be
angry with me. But he will think differently some day." So we chatted
away for an hour, enjoying the rest and the peace and the sweet
sunshine of the Easter afternoon. But this was the day of
interruptions. There was one more visitor to come,--one more scene for
me to tell you, and then I have done.

A carriage drove down the street and seemed to stop at the door of my
house. Nino looked idly out of the window. Suddenly he started.

"Hedwig, Hedwig!" he cried, "here is your father coming back!" She
would not look out, but stood back from the window, turning pale. If
there was one thing she dreaded, it was a meeting with her father. All
the old doubt as to whether she had done right seemed to come back to
her face in a moment. But Nino turned and looked at her, and his face
was so triumphant that she got back her courage, and, clasping his
hand, bravely awaited what was to come.

I went myself to the door, and heard Lira's slow tread on the stairs.
Before long he appeared, and glanced up at me from the steps, which he
climbed, one at a time, with his stick.

"Is my daughter here?" he asked, as soon as he reached me; and his
voice sounded subdued, just as Nino's did when Benoni had gone, I
conducted him into the room. It was the strangest meeting. The proud
old man bowed stiffly to Hedwig, as though he had never before seen
her. They also bent their heads, and there was a silence as of death
in the sunny room.

"My daughter," said Von Lira at last, and with evident effort, "I wish
to have a word with you. These two gentlemen--the younger of whom is
now, as I understand it, your husband--may well hear what I wish to
say."

I moved a chair so that he might sit down, but he stood up to his full
height, as though not deigning to be older than the rest. I watched
Hedwig, and saw how with both hands she clung to Nino's arm, and her
lip trembled, and her face wore the look it had when I saw her in
Fillettino.

As for Nino, his stern, square jaw was set, and his brow bent, but he
showed no emotion, unless the darkness in his face and the heavy
shadows beneath his eyes foretold ready anger.

"I am no trained, reasoner, like Signor Grandi," said Lira, looking
straight at Hedwig, "but I can say plainly what I mean, for all that.
There was a good old law in Sparta, whereby disobedient children were
put to death without mercy. Sparta was a good country,--very like
Prussia, but less great. You know what I mean. You have cruelly
disobeyed me,--cruelly, I say, because you have shown me that all my
pains and kindness and discipline have been in vain. There is nothing
so sorrowful for a good parent as to discover that he has made a
mistake."

(The canting old proser, I thought, will he never finish?)

"The mistake I refer to is not in the way I have dealt with you," he
went on, "for on that score I have nothing to reproach myself. But I
was mistaken in supposing you loved me. You have despised all I have
done for you."

"Oh, father! How can you say that?" cried poor Hedwig, clinging closer
to Nino.

"At all events, you have acted as though you did. On the very day when
I promised you to take signal action upon Baron Benoni you left me by
stealth, saying in your miserable letter that you had gone to a man
who could both love and protect you."

"You did neither the one nor the other, sir," said Nino, boldly, "when
you required of your daughter to marry such a man as Benoni."

"I have just seen Benoni; I saw him also on the night you left me,
madam,"--he looked severely at Hedwig,--"and I am reluctantly forced
to confess that he is not sane, according to the ordinary standard of
the mind."

We had all known from the paper of the suspicion that rested on
Benoni's sanity, yet somehow there was a little murmur in the room
when the old count so clearly stated his opinion.

"That does not, however, alter the position in the least," continued
Lira, "for you knew nothing of this at the time I desired you to marry
him, and I should have found it out soon enough to prevent mischief.
Instead of trusting to my judgment you took the law into your own
hands, like a most unnatural daughter, as you are, and disappeared in
the night with a man whom I consider totally unfit for you, however
superior," he added, glancing at Nino, "he may have proved himself in
his own rank of life."

Nino could not hold his tongue any longer. It seemed absurd that there
should be a battle of words when all the realities of the affair were
accomplished facts; but for his life he could not help speaking.

"Sir," he said, addressing Lira, "I rejoice that this opportunity is
given me of once more speaking clearly to you. Months ago, when I was
betrayed into a piece of rash violence, for which I at once apologised
to you, I told you under somewhat peculiar circumstances that I would
yet marry your daughter, if she would have me. I stand here to-day
with her by my side, my wedded wife, to tell you that I have kept my
word, and that she is mine by her own free consent. Have you any cause
to show why she is not my wedded wife? If so, show it. But I will not
let you stand there and say bitter and undeserved things to this same
wife of mine, abusing the name of father and the terms 'authority' and
'love,' forsooth! And if you wish to take vengeance on me personally,
do so if you can. I will not fight duels with you now, as I was ready
to do the day before yesterday. For then--so short a time ago--I had
but offered her my life, and so that I gave it for her I cared not how
nor when. But now she has taken me for hers, and I have no more right
to let you kill me than I have to kill myself, seeing that she and I
are one. Therefore, good sir, if you have words of conciliation to
speak, speak them; but if you would only tell her harsh and cruel
things, I say you shall not!"

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