CHAPTER VII.
The next morning, among the first visitors at the Ascoli Palace wasthe master-sculptor, Luca Lomi. He seemed, as the servants thought,agitated, and said he was especially desirous of seeing Count Fabio. Onbeing informed that this was impossible, he reflected a little, and theninquired if the medical attendant of the count was at the palace, andcould be spoken with. Both questions were answered in the affirmative,and he was ushered into the doctor's presence.
"I know not how to preface what I want to say," Luca began, lookingabout him confusedly. "May I ask you, in the first place, if thework-girl named Nanina was here yesterday?"
"She was," said the doctor.
"Did she speak in private with any one?"
"Yes; with me."
"Then you know everything?"
"Absolutely everything."
"I am glad at least to find that my object in wishing to see the countcan be equally well answered by seeing you. My brother, I regret tosay--" He stopped perplexedly, and drew from his pocket a roll ofpapers.
"You may speak of your brother in the plainest terms," said the doctor."I know what share he has had in promoting the infamous conspiracy ofthe Yellow Mask."
"My petition to you, and through you to the count, is, that yourknowledge of what my brother has done may go no further. If this scandalbecomes public it will ruin me in my profession. And I make littleenough by it already," said Luca, with his old sordid smile breaking outagain faintly on his face.
"Pray do you come from your brother with this petition?" inquired thedoctor.
"No; I come solely on my own account. My brother seems careless whathappens. He has made a full statement of his share in the matter fromthe first; has forwarded it to his ecclesiastical superior (who willsend it to the archbishop), and is now awaiting whatever sentence theychoose to pass on him. I have a copy of the document, to prove that hehas at least been candid, and that he does not shrink from consequenceswhich he might have avoided by flight. The law cannot touch him, but theChurch can--and to the Church he has confessed. All I ask is, that hemay be spared a public exposure. Such an exposure would do no good tothe count, and it would do dreadful injury to me. Look over the papersyourself, and show them, whenever you think proper, to the master ofthis house. I have every confidence in his honor and kindness, and inyours."
He laid the roll of papers open on the table, and then retired withgreat humility to the window. The doctor looked over them with somecuriosity.
The statement or confession began by boldly avowing the writer'sconviction that part of the property which the Count Fabio d'Ascolihad inherited from his ancestors had been obtained by fraud andmisrepresentation from the Church. The various authorities on which thisassertion was based were then produced in due order; along with somecurious particles of evidence culled from old manuscripts, which it musthave cost much trouble to collect and decipher.
The second section was devoted, at great length, to the reasons whichinduced the writer to think it his absolute duty, as an affectionate sonand faithful servant of the Church, not to rest until he had restoredto the successors of the apostles in his day the property which had beenfraudulently taken from them in days gone by. The writer held himselfjustified, in the last resort, and in that only, in using any means foreffecting this restoration, except such as might involve him in mortalsin.
The third section described the priest's share in promoting the marriageof Maddalena Lomi with Fabio; and the hopes he entertained of securingthe restitution of the Church property through his influence over hisniece, in the first place, and, when she had died, through his influenceover her child, in the second. The necessary failure of all hisprojects, if Fabio married again, was next glanced at; and the time atwhich the first suspicion of the possible occurrence of this catastropheoccurred to his mind was noted with scrupulous accuracy.
The fourth section narrated the manner in which the conspiracy of theYellow Mask had originated. The writer described himself as being inhis brother's studio on the night of his niece's death, harassed byforebodings of the likelihood of Fabio's marrying again, and filledwith the resolution to prevent any such disastrous second union atall hazards. He asserted that the idea of taking the wax mask fromhis brother's statue flashed upon him on a sudden, and that he knew ofnothing to lead to it, except, perhaps, that he had been thinking justbefore of the superstitious nature of the young man's character, as hehad himself observed it in the studio. He further declared that the ideaof the wax mask terrified him at first; that he strove against it asagainst a temptation of the devil; that, from fear of yielding tothis temptation, he abstained even from entering the studio during hisbrother's absence at Naples, and that he first faltered in his goodresolution when Fabio returned to Pisa, and when it was rumored, notonly that the young nobleman was going to the ball, but that he wouldcertainly marry for the second time.
The fifth section related that the writer, upon this, yielded totemptation rather than forego the cherished purpose of his life byallowing Fabio a chance of marrying again--that he made the wax mask ina plaster mold taken from the face of his brother's statue--and that hethen had two separate interviews with a woman named Brigida (of whom hehad some previous knowledge ), who was ready and anxious, from motivesof private malice, to personate the deceased countess at the masquerade.This woman had suggested that some anonymous letters to Fabio would pavethe way in his mind for the approaching impersonation, and had writtenthe letters herself. However, even when all the preparations were made,the writer declared that he shrank from proceeding to extremities; andthat he would have abandoned the whole project but for the woman Brigidainforming him one day that a work-girl named Nanina was to be one of theattendants at the ball. He knew the count to have been in love with thisgirl, even to the point of wishing to marry her; he suspected that herengagement to wait at the ball was preconcerted; and, in consequence, heauthorized his female accomplice to perform her part in the conspiracy.
The sixth section detailed the proceedings at the masquerade, andcontained the writer's confession that, on the night before it, he hadwritten to the count proposing the reconciliation of a difference thathad taken place between them, solely for the purpose of guarding himselfagainst suspicion. He next acknowledged that he had borrowed the key ofthe Campo Santo gate, keeping the authority to whom it was intrusted inperfect ignorance of the purpose for which he wanted it. That purposewas to carry out the ghastly delusion of the wax mask (in the veryprobable event of the wearer being followed and inquired after) byhaving the woman Brigida taken up and set down at the gate of thecemetery in which Fabio's wife had been buried.
The seventh section solemnly averred that the sole object of theconspiracy was to prevent the young nobleman from marrying again, byworking on his superstitious fears; the writer repeating, after thisavowal, that any such second marriage would necessarily destroyhis project for promoting the ultimate restoration of the Churchpossessions, by diverting Count Fabio's property, in great part,from his first wife's child, over whom the priest would always haveinfluence, to another wife and probably other children, over whom hecould hope to have none.
The eighth and last section expressed the writer's contrition for havingallowed his zeal for the Church to mislead him into actions liable tobring scandal on his cloth; reiterated in the strongest language hisconviction that, whatever might be thought of the means employed, theend he had proposed to himself was a most righteous one; and concludedby asserting his resolution to suffer with humility any penalties,however severe, which his ecclesiastical superiors might think fit toinflict on him.
Having looked over this extraordinary statement, the doctor addressedhimself again to Luca Lomi.
"I agree with you," he said, "that no useful end is to be gained now bymentioning your brother's conduct in public--always provided, however,that his ecclesiastical superiors do their duty. I shall show thesepapers to the count as soon as he is fit to peruse them, and I have nodoubt that he will be ready to take my vi
ew of the matter."
This assurance relieved Luca Lomi of a great weight of anxiety. He bowedand withdrew.
The doctor placed the papers in the same cabinet in which he had securedthe wax mask. Before he locked the doors again he took out the flat box,opened it, and looked thoughtfully for a few minutes at the mask inside,then sent for Nanina.
"Now, my child," he said, when she appeared, "I am going to try ourfirst experiment with Count Fabio; and I think it of great importancethat you should be present while I speak to him."
He took up the box with the mask in it, and beckoning to Nanina tofollow him, led the way to Fabio's chamber.
CHAPTER VIII.
About six months after the events already related, Signor AndreaD'Arbino and the Cavaliere Finello happened to be staying with a friend,in a seaside villa on the Castellamare shore of the bay of Naples.Most of their time was pleasantly occupied on the sea, in fishing andsailing. A boat was placed entirely at their disposal. Sometimes theyloitered whole days along the shore; sometimes made trips to the lovelyislands in the bay.
One evening they were sailing near Sorrento, with a light wind. Thebeauty of the coast tempted them to keep the boat close inshore. A shorttime before sunset, they rounded the most picturesque headland they hadyet passed; and a little bay, with a white-sand beach, opened on theirview. They noticed first a villa surrounded by orange and olive trees onthe rocky heights inland; then a path in the cliff-side leading downto the sands; then a little family party on the beach, enjoying thefragrant evening air.
The elders of the group were a lady and gentleman, sitting togetheron the sand. The lady had a guitar in her lap and was playing a simpledance melody. Close at her side a young child was rolling on the beachin high glee; in front of her a little girl was dancing to the music,with a very extraordinary partner in the shape of a dog, who wascapering on his hind legs in the most grotesque manner. The merrylaughter of the girl, and the lively notes of the guitar were hearddistinctly across the still water.
"Edge a little nearer in shore," said D'Arbino to his friend, who wassteering; "and keep as I do in the shadow of the sail. I want to see thefaces of those persons on the beach without being seen by them."
Finello obeyed. After approaching just near enough to see thecountenances of the party on shore, and to be barked at lustily by thedog, they turned the boat's head again toward the offing.
"A pleasant voyage, gentlemen," cried the clear voice of the littlegirl. They waved their hats in return; and then saw her run to the dogand take him by the forelegs. "Play, Nanina," they heard her say. "Ihave not half done with my partner yet." The guitar sounded once more,and the grotesque dog was on his hind legs in a moment.
"I had heard that he was well again, that he had married her lately,and that he was away with her and her sister, and his child by thefirst wife," said D'Arbino; "but I had no suspicion that their placeof retirement was so near us. It is too soon to break in upon theirhappiness, or I should have felt inclined to run the boat on shore."
"I never heard the end of that strange adventure of the Yellow Mask,"said Finello. "There was a priest mixed up in it, was there not?"
"Yes; but nobody seems to know exactly what has become of him. He wassent for to Rome, and has never been heard of since. One report is,that he has been condemned to some mysterious penal seclusion by hisecclesiastical superiors--another, that he has volunteered, as a sort ofForlorn Hope, to accept a colonial curacy among rough people, and ina pestilential climate. I asked his brother, the sculptor, about him alittle while ago, but he only shook his head, and said nothing."
"And the woman who wore the yellow mask?"
"She, too, has ended mysteriously. At Pisa she was obliged to sell offeverything she possessed to pay her debts. Some friends of hers at amilliner's shop, to whom she applied for help, would have nothing to dowith her. She left the city, alone and penniless."
The boat had approached the next headland on the coast while they weretalking. They looked back for a last glance at the beach. Still the notesof the guitar came gently across the quiet water; but there mingled withthem now the sound of the lady's voice. She was singing. The little girland the dog were at her feet, and the gentleman was still in his oldplace close at her side.
In a few minutes more the boat rounded the next headland, the beachvanished from view, and the music died away softly in the distance.
LAST LEAVES FROM LEAH'S DIARY.
3d of June.--Our stories are ended; our pleasant work is done. It is alovely summer afternoon. The great hall at the farmhouse, after havingbeen filled with people, is now quite deserted. I sit alone at my littlework-table, with rather a crying sensation at my heart, and with thepen trembling in my fingers, as if I was an old woman already. Ourmanuscript has been sealed up and taken away; the one precious objectof all our most anxious thoughts for months past--our third child, as wehave got to call it--has gone out from us on this summer's day, to seekits fortune in the world.
A little before twelve o'clock last night, my husband dictated to methe last words of "The Yellow Mask." I laid down the pen, and closed thepaper thoughtfully. With that simple action the work that we had wroughtat together so carefully and so long came to a close. We were bothso silent and still, that the murmuring of the trees in the night airsounded audibly and solemnly in our room.
William's collection of stories has not, thus far, been half exhaustedyet; but those who understand the public taste and the interests ofbookselling better than we, think it advisable not to risk offering toomuch to the reader at first. If individual opinions can be accepted asa fair test, our prospects of success seem hopeful. The doctor (butwe must not forget that he is a friend) was so pleased with the twospecimen stories we sent to him, that he took them at once to hisfriend, the editor of the newspaper, who showed his appreciation of whathe read in a very gratifying manner. He proposed that William shouldpublish in the newspaper, on very fair terms, any short anecdotes andcurious experiences of his life as a portrait-painter, which might notbe important enough to put into a book. The money which my husbandhas gained from time to time in this way has just sufficed to pay ourexpenses at the farmhouse up to within the last month; and now ourexcellent friends here say they will not hear anything more from us onthe subject of the rent until the book is sold and we have plenty ofmoney. This is one great relief and happiness. Another, for which I feeleven more grateful, is that William's eyes have gained so much by theirlong rest, that even the doctor is surprised at the progress he hasmade. He only puts on his green shade now when he goes out into the sun,or when the candles are lit. His spirits are infinitely raised, and heis beginning to talk already of the time when he will unpack his paletteand brushes, and take to his old portrait-painting occupations again.
With all these reasons for being happy, it seems unreasonable andungracious in me to be feeling sad, as I do just at this moment. I canonly say, in my own justification, that it is a mournful ceremony totake leave of an old friend; and I have taken leave twice over of thebook that has been like an old friend to me--once when I had written thelast word in it, and once again when I saw it carried away to London.
I packed the manuscript up with my own hands this morning, in thickbrown paper, wasting a great deal of sealing-wax, I am afraid, in myanxiety to keep the parcel from bursting open in case it should beknocked about on its journey to town. Oh me, how cheap and common itlooked, in its new form, as I carried it downstairs! A dozen pairs ofworsted stockings would have made a larger parcel; and half a crown'sworth of groceries would have weighed a great deal heavier.
Just as we had done dinner the doctor and the editor came in. The firsthad called to fetch the parcel--I mean the manuscript; the second hadcome out with him to Appletreewick for a walk. As soon as the farmerheard that the book was to be sent to London, he insisted that we shoulddrink success to it all round. The children, in high glee, were mountedup on the table, with a glass of currant-wine apiece; the rest of us hadale; the farmer proposed the toas
t, and his sailor son led the cheers.We all joined in (the children included), except the editor--who, beingthe only important person of the party, could not, I suppose, affordto compromise his dignity by making a noise. He was extremely polite,however, in a lofty way, to me, waving his hand and bowing magnificentlyevery time he spoke. This discomposed me a little; and I was still moreflurried when he said that he had written to the London publishers thatvery day, to prepare them for the arrival of our book.
"Do you think they will print it, sir?" I ventured to ask.
"My dear madam, you may consider it settled," said the editor,confidently. "The letter is written--the thing is done. Look upon thebook as published already; pray oblige me by looking upon the book aspublished already."
"Then the only uncertainty now is about how the public will receive it!"said my husband, fidgeting in his chair, and looking nervously at me.
"Just so, my dear sir, just so," answered the editor. "Everythingdepends upon the public--everything, I pledge you my word of honor."
"Don't look doubtful, Mrs. Kerby; there isn't a doubt about it,"whispered the kind doctor, giving the manuscript a confident smack as hepassed by me with it on his way to the door.
In another minute he and the editor, and the poor cheap-looking brownpaper parcel, were gone. The others followed them out, and I was left inthe hall alone.
Oh, Public! Public! it all depends now upon you! The children areto have new clothes from top to toe; I am to have a black silk gown;William is to buy a beautiful traveling color-box; the rent is to bepaid; all our kind friends at the farmhouse are to have little presents,and our future way in this hard world is to be smoothed for us at theoutset, if you will only accept a poor painter's stories which his wifehas written down for him After Dark!
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