F. Marion Crawford

“ He paused, his eyes in hers, his hand still stretched out and lying on the shelf. Gently hers sought it and lay in it, and there was light in her face, for she believed. And he, in his suffering within, was moved; as a man is, who, being in his life but a poor knave, plays bright truth and splendid passion on a stage, and the contrast that is between being and seeming, in his heart, makes him play greatness with a strong will, born of certain despair.
"I am glad," said Veronica, softly, and she looked down, while her hand still lingered in his, and he went on. ”

“ You have no idea how young girls feel about marriage, Bosio. How should you? You cannot comprehend the horror a girl like Veronica feels of a stranger, of a man like Gianluca, even, whom she has met half a dozen times and talked with. It seems so dreadful to think of spending a lifetime with a man about whom she knows nothing, or next to nothing. And yet it is the custom, and most of them accept it and are happy. But the idea of marrying some one with whom she is really intimate, whom she really likes, who really understands her, places marriage in a new light for a young girl. ”

“ I do not think that I can live much longer."
"Can I do nothing?" asked Don Teodoro.
Bosio still smiled, as a man smiles in torture when one speaks to him of peace.
"If I believed that anything could be done," he said, "I should not suffer as I do. I have lived a bad life, and the time has come when I must pay the score. But it is not my fault if things are as they are—it is not all my fault."
The priest sighed, and looked away after a moment.
"We have all done some one great wrong thing in our lives," he said gently. "The price may perhaps be paid to God in good, as well as to man in pain." ”

“ It is not easy for a man like me to believe that he has all the world in his grasp—in the hold of his heart, to be his as long as he lives. But you are making me believe it now—all that I did not dare to think of as even most dimly possible in my lonely life—that is why I thank you, that is why I bless you, and adore you, and love you as I do, as I can never make you guess, Veronica, as I scarcely hope you dream that a man may love a woman. That is why I would die for you, Veronica, if God willed that I might! ”

“ There was more of living humanity in the fast fainting echo of Bosio's last words to her than in Gianluca's clear, sweet tones. If he should tell her that he loved her now, she should perhaps not even blush; for his whole being was sifted and refined and distilled, as the very spirit of star dust, in which there was nothing left of that sweet, earthly living, breathing, dying, loving flesh and blood without which love itself is but a scholar's word, and passion means but a vague, spiritual suffering, in which there is neither hope of joy to come nor memory of any past. ”

“ You do not say, 'She shall not marry Macomer, because I, I who speak, will prevent it, and get her for myself.' No. Because some one has said that she will marry him, you feel sure that she will, and that ends the question. For the word of a man or a woman, all is to be finished. You are all contemplation, no action—all heart, no hands—all love, no anger! You deserve to die for love. I am sorry that I like you."
"You always talk in that way!" said Gianluca, with a wearily sad intonation. "I suppose that life is different in Sicily."
"Life is life, everywhere," returned the Sicilian. ”

“ You are young, you have never been married, you have a very good name and a small fortune of your own."
"Take it, then!" exclaimed Bosio, impulsively. "You shall have it all to-morrow—everything I possess. God knows, I am ready to give you all I have. Take it. I can live somehow. What do I care? I have given you my life—what is a little money? But do not ask me to marry her, your niece, here, under your very roof. I am not a saint, but I cannot do that!"
"No," answered the countess, "we are not saints, you and I, it is true. ”

“ For I have loved little in my life—little, and I am glad, though I have been sorry for it often, for all I ever had, or have, or am to have till I die, is for you, Veronica, all of it—the love of heart and hand and soul, to live for you and die for you, in trust and faith, and love of you. You wonder? Beloved—if you knew yourself, you would not wonder that I love you so! There is no man who could save himself, if he lived by your side, as I have lived. ”

“ In the liberty she was enjoying in Bianca's house, she was rapidly forgetting that she was only a young girl, and that society would be shocked if it knew that she was exchanging letters with Gianluca della Spina. There is nothing which a girl learns so easily and all at once as independence of that social kind. What grey-haired man of the world has not at one time or another been amazed at the full-grown assurance of some bride of eighteen or nineteen summers? A month is enough—with proper advantages—to make a drawing-room queen and a society tyrant of a schoolgirl. ”

“ It is one thing to be one, as a united family, each working for the good of each and all; it is another thing, and a worse thing, to be one as a vast and idle army, sitting down to besiege its own storehouses, each eating something of the whole and doing nothing to increase that whole, till all is gone, and the vision fades in the awakening from the dream, leaving the bare nakedness of desolation to tell the story of a huge mistake.
Even Veronica's strong horses were well nigh tired out when they reached the dismal solitude of the high pass above Laviano ”

“ There was much talk of rights, Veronica thought, nowadays, and those who had none were privileged to speak the loudest and to be heard first. But those who, having right on their side, were blinded and smitten dumb by the enormous despotism of their self-styled betters—by the glare and noise of blatant power in possession—they were the ones who really had rights, and if she could give any of them a single hundredth part of what was their due, she should be glad that she had lived. Wealth, she thought, should not be an accumulation, but a distribution, of goods. ”

“ And Gianluca smiled, as he lay still, and the lids of his eyes closed peacefully and naturally, opening again with another look. He was too weak to be surprised by what he had only vaguely guessed, from some word she had let fall, but he knew well enough, from her voice and face, that she had never loved Bosio Macomer, nor any other man, dead or living. And Hope, that is ever last to leave a breaking heart, nestled back into her own sweet place, breathing soft things of love, and life, and golden years to be. ”

“ Matilde uttered the one word scornfully, still facing her.
"Unless you will confess the truth, here, before I leave the house, I will do what I can to have you both convicted," said Veronica. "That is your only chance. That or the galleys. Choose. You are thieves and murderers. Choose."
She spoke like a man to those who would have murdered her and had failed, but who had robbed her with impunity for years. Gregorio Macomer's face was all distorted. ”

“ But to die herself seemed absurd to her, because she really feared death with all her heart, and clung to life with all her strong, vital nature. If the lives of all Naples could have saved her own, death should have had them all, rather than take hers. To live was a passion of itself—even to live lonely, with a despicable and hated companion in the consciousness of the enormous and irrevocable crime by which that living was to be secured to her.
There was a common, straight-backed chair in the room, between the chest of drawers and the wall. ”

“ Matilde's smooth red lips smiled.
"I merely mentioned it as an instance of a crime," she said, without any change of tone. "You said it would be a crime for you to marry Veronica. It did not strike me that it could be called by that name. Crimes are murder, stealing, forgery—such things. Who would say that it was criminal for Bosio Macomer to marry Veronica Serra? There is no reason against it. I daresay that many people wonder why you have not married her already, and that many others suppose that you will before long. ”

“ But look at Gianluca—he consumes himself, he wastes away before my eyes, and one day follows another, and I can do nothing. You do not believe? Go and see! One day follows another—he is always in his room, consuming himself for love! He is pale—paler than a sheet. He does not eat, he does not drink, he does not smoke—he, who smoked thirty cigarettes a day! As for the theatre, or going out, he will not hear of it. He says, 'I will not see her, for if she will not have me, it is better to die quickly.' A father's heart, dear Macomer—think of what I suffer, and have compassion! ”

“ Her words were a reprieve; and he could keep his secret longer, almost, perhaps, until he died, and when he should be dying, it would be easier to tell. But that was far from being all. He loved her, as the source of great charity and kindness from which the people were drawing life, with all his own passionate charity; and he loved her for herself, for her gentleness and her hardness, because she ruled him, and because she touched his heart. All other thoughts away, he could not bear to think of her as bound for life to be the actual wife of a helpless cripple. ”

“ Veronica turned upon him instantly, with wide and gleaming eyes, amazed at the slightest sign of opposition, criticism, or advice.
"Rash!" she exclaimed. "Why? Have I not the right to ask whom I please, and will, to stay under my own roof? Who has authority over me, to say that I shall have this one for a friend, or that one, old or young? Am I a free woman, or a schoolgirl, or a puppet doll, to which the world can tie strings to make me dance to its silly music? ”

“ I have been a confessor many years, princess. I know how few penitents can be made to believe that those they have injured will pardon them, if they frankly ask forgiveness. It is human nature. The best of us have doubted God's willingness to forgive—how much more do we doubt man's! It is all very logical, princess, very logical—far too logical, whether you will believe it or not."
"If I believed the beginning," said Veronica, "I might believe it all. But it is not proved that my uncle has defrauded me, and all the rest seems absurd, if that is not true." ”

“ It is I who have grown old of late. But our being friends—" he paused thoughtfully.
"A man is never too old to marry," answered Matilde. "It is only women who grow too old to be loved. You will begin your life all over again with Veronica. You and she will go away together—you can live in Rome, when you are tired of Paris. It will be better. You and I will see each other seldom at first. By and by it will be so easy for us to be good friends after we have been separated some time."
"Friends?" Bosio spoke the one word again, with a sad and dreamy intonation. ”

“ If he refused to marry Veronica and attempted to get legal protection for her, the inevitable result would be the prosecution, conviction, and utter ruin of his brother and of the woman he loved. If he refused to marry Veronica and did nothing to protect her, Matilde's eyes had told him what Matilde would do to escape public shame and open infamy. If he married Veronica and saved his brother—he was still man enough to feel that he could not do that. He could die. That was a possibility of which he had thought. ”

“ It began when Gianluca made that one last desperate effort to move, in sudden certainty of hope that ended in the instant foreknowledge of what was to be. A little thing swayed him then—such a little thing as the accident of a sharp foil, a rent in a jacket, the woman's blinding fear for the man she loved. There are many arrows in fate's quiver, and the little ones are as keen as the long shafts, and quicker to find the tender mark. ”

“ And the man who was thus thrust into a situation from which it seemed hard to escape at all, loved Veronica Serra with all his heart, with all his soul, with the broad, deep, simple passion of simpler times, having in him much of that old plainness of character which made men take without question the things they wanted, and hold them by main strength and stoutness of heart against all comers while they lived. ”

“ Gianluca watched them at first, but soon his head fell back, and he stared at the ceiling. Death had entered into his soul. He had guessed half the truth. But in the state in which he was on that evening, and after what had passed between him and Veronica, the suspicion alone would have been enough. Nothing could have saved him from it, since it was indeed the truth. Such passionate, strong love could only hide itself so long as it lived in the even, unchanging light of monotonous days. ”

“ The Duchessa almost dropped her cup.
"Alone?" she cried, in amazement. "You live alone? In such a place as this!" She could not believe her ears.
"Yes," said Veronica, smiling. "Does it seem so very terrible to you? I live alone—and I am waited on only by women. I daresay that surprises you, too."
"Alone?" The Duca had got his breath, and sat open-mouthed, holding his tea-cup low between his knees, in both hands. "Alone! At your age! A young girl! But the world—society? ”

“ If Bosio has been in love with me so long as you say, he will remain in love long enough for me to think over the matter, will he not? If he has been in a state of anxiety for weeks, it will not hurt him to be anxious for one day more—or a week more—or even a month. After all, it is for all my life, you know, Aunt Matilde. I must see how the idea looks when I am used to it. I am not a child, and I am not foolishly frightened at the idea of being married, nor out of my mind with joy at it, either, like a girl of the people. ”

“ There was something in her attitude, just for a few seconds, in her ghastly pallor, in the tones of her voice, that went through Gianluca like a knife. The dreadful instinctive certainty that she loved the man she had so nearly killed, took possession of him in a dark prevision of terror. Veronica was strong and brave, but it would have been strange indeed if she had shown nothing of what she felt.
It did not last long, and perhaps she knew what she had shown, for she dropped Taquisara's arm, and the colour rushed to her face as she stooped and picked up the foil with the green hilt. ”

“ For the rest he spared neither Matilde nor any one else, but told Don Teodoro all the truth, and all his anxious fears for Veronica's safety, if he should not marry her, with all his horror of his own shame if he should yield to the pressure brought upon him.
Don Teodoro's expression changed more than once while he listened, but he never turned his head nor moved in his seat.
"You see what I am," said Bosio, at last. "You see what my people are. Indeed, I need a confessor, if one could save my soul; but I need a friend even more, for through me that poor girl is in danger of her life. ”

“ Bianca knew from Ghisleri that Gianluca's father had done his best to bring about the marriage. She was amazed to find that Veronica knew nothing of the negotiations.
"It is very strange," she said thoughtfully, and hesitating as to how much she should tell of what she had heard.
"What is strange?" asked the young girl.
"That you should not have known about Gianluca. They go to see him every day. He is really madly in love with you, and is positively ill about it. That is why I say that you should marry him, if you marry at all—but not your uncle Bosio."
"He is not my uncle," said Veronica. ”

“ Taquisara was a man who could be in earnest for his friend, and there was a strong vibration in his low voice which few could have heard with indifference. While he was speaking and forcing the appeal of his honest black eyes upon Veronica's face, she could not help slowly turning to meet them, and her lips parted a little as though in wonder, while she drank in eagerly the words he spoke. It was the first time in her life that she had ever heard a man speak to her of love, and, in his rough eloquence, he spoke well and strongly, though it was not for himself. ”

“ But his own hope for his recovery was more alive than hers.
Instinctively, as she opposed them all, Veronica looked round for Taquisara. It was not often that she needed help, and she knew that he could have helped her, had he been there. But she had to speak for herself. She said what she could; but in that self-examination which self-defence forces upon those who have never dissected their own hearts, a new and fearful truth sprang up, clear of all others, bright, keen, and terrible.
It was no longer for her people's sake that she was waiting in the hope of Gianluca's recovery. ”

“ At this extraordinary view of church history Gianluca laughed.
"You may laugh," answered the Sicilian. "You will never make me believe that old Tancred sat up all night examining his conscience before he went to the Holy Land—any more than he fasted and prayed before he had his daughter's lover murdered."
"No—perhaps not!" Gianluca laughed again.
"He did what struck him as right and natural," said Taquisara, gravely. "Besides, he was sovereign prince in his own land, and it was not a murder at all, but an execution. For a princess, his daughter behaved outrageously. ”

“ Pleasant acquaintances he had, by the score and the hundred, in society, and amongst artists and men of letters. But the life he had led had shut out friendship. To have a friend would have been to let some one into his life, and that would have meant, sooner or later, the betrayal of the woman he loved.
Yet, though he felt that Taquisara was his enemy and not his friend, he had such sudden confidence in the man's honour and truth that he was insanely impelled to go to him and tell him all, and implore him to save Veronica at any cost, no matter what, or to whom. ”

“ But Don Teodoro sighed softly when he had spoken, for he thought of Taquisara and of what that brave and silent man would suffer when he was forced to stand by Gianluca's side and see the rings exchanged and the hands joined, and hear the words spoken which must cut him off forever from all hope. But Taquisara, at least, in his suffering, would have the consolation of having been honest and true and loyal from first to last. He would never have to bear the consequences of having been a coward at a great moment. ”

“ Gradually, as Taquisara looked, his eyes became accustomed to the light, and he gazed earnestly at his sleeping friend. He saw the dark rings come out beneath the drooping lids, and the paleness of the parted lips, and the terrible emaciation of the thin hand.
But there was life still, and hope. Hope that the man might still live and stand among men, hope that he might yet marry Veronica Serra—and be happy. In the half-darkness, Taquisara set his teeth, biting hard, as though he would have bitten through iron, lest a sharp breath should escape him and disturb the sleeper's rest. ”

“ Veronica rose, for she felt that she could not sit still by Gianluca's side, with his words in her ear, her own scarcely cold upon her lips, and the man for whom she would have given her soul's salvation, who would have died ten deaths for her, standing quietly there, looking on. She walked nervously up and down the room.
"Should you like to fence?" asked Taquisara. "We have not touched a foil to-day."
Anything seemed good which could pass the time without talking. But to her it seemed heartless just then.
"No," she answered, almost curtly. "It seems to me that we are always fencing." ”

“ My life may not be worth much, but it is mine, and I would not let a man take it from me with his hands, nor a woman with her eyes—without fighting for it, if I had the chance."
"How can a man fight against a woman?" laughed Gianluca, for he was very happy.
"You fight a man by facing him, and a woman by turning your back on her," said Taquisara. "There are more women in the world than there are men to love them, after all. For one that will not have you, there are three who will. ”

“ Still she looked down, thinking, and Taquisara glanced at her occasionally, and respected her silence.
"You do not know Bosio Macomer," she said, at last. "Or you know him little. If you chanced to be his friend, instead of Don Gianluca's, you could speak as eloquently for him."
"I think not," answered Taquisara. And his lip curled a little, though she did not see the expression.
"Why not? You do not know him. How can you tell? A little while ago, you said that he was not to be compared to your friend. How can you be so sure? Everything is not written in men's faces." ”

“ Gianluca was no better, and no worse. He wheeled himself about the great rooms, and on fine mornings Veronica took him to drive. She read to him, played bésique with him, fenced with Taquisara to amuse him; she devoted herself to him in every way; but as day followed day, she invented all sorts of occupations and games which should take the place of conversation. Anything was better than talking with him, now; anything was better than to hear him say that he loved her, expecting her to pronounce the words. ”

“ Suddenly, he thought of the young Princess Corleone, whom he knew tolerably well, Corleone being a Sicilian like himself. She was Veronica's only intimate friend. She was the niece of Cardinal Campodonico, one of Veronica's guardians. If any one knew the truth, she might be expected to know it.
Taquisara looked at his watch, lit a cigar, and left the gloomy Palazzo Macomer, glad to be outside and to turn his face to the sunshine, and his back upon all the wickedness of which its old walls kept the secret. ”

“ After all, though he had insulted her, she liked Taquisara for the whole-hearted way in which he took Gianluca's part in everything. There was that statement, and she felt that it was a true one. Gianluca was more to her than any one she knew, in a way which no one could understand, and she had a right to see him before he died. If, by any happy chance, he should live, people might perhaps talk. She should not care, for she should have done right. That was the way in which she accounted to herself for her action; but the consciousness that Don Teodoro was not quite wrong was there. ”