Vendetta Part 3

The first thing I did was to repack all the treasures I had discovered.

This work was easily accomplished. For the present I contented myself with taking two of the leathern bags for my own use, one full of gold pieces, the other of jewels. The chest had been strongly made, and was not much injured by being forced open. I closed its lid as tightly as possible, and dragged it to a remote and dark corner of the vault, where I placed three heavy stones upon it. I then took the two leathern pouches I had selected, and stuffed one in each of the pockets of my trousers. The action reminded me of the scantiness of attire in which I stood arrayed. Could I be seen in the public roads in such a plight? I examined my purse, which, as I before stated, had been left to me, together with my keys and card-case, by the terrified persons who had huddled me into my coffin with such scant ceremony. It contained two twenty-franc pieces and some loose silver. Enough to buy a decent costume of some sort. But where could I make the purchase, and how?

Must I wait till evening and slink out of this charnel-house like the ghost of a wretched criminal? No! come what would, I made up my mind not to linger a moment longer in the vault. The swarms of beggars that infest Naples exhibit themselves in every condition of rags, dirt, and misery; at the very worst I could only be taken for one of them. And whatever difficulties I might encounter, no matter!--they would soon be over.

Satisfied that I had placed the brigand coffin in a safe position, I secured the pearl and diamond pendant I had first found, to the chain round my neck. I intended this ornament as a gift for my wife. Then, once more climbing through the aperture, I closed it completely with the logs and brushwood as it was before, and examining it narrowly from the outside, I saw that it was utterly impossible to discern the smallest hint of any entrance to a subterranean pa.s.sage, so well and cunningly had it been contrived. Now, nothing more remained for me to do but to make the best of my way to the city, there to declare my ident.i.ty, obtain food and clothes, and then to hasten with all possible speed to my own residence.

Standing on a little hillock, I looked about me to see which direction I should take. The cemetery was situated on the outskirts of Naples--Naples itself lay on my left hand. I perceived a sloping road winding in that direction, and judged that if I followed it it would lead me to the city suburbs. Without further hesitation I commenced my walk. It was now full day. My bare feet sunk deep in the dust that was hot as desert sand--the blazing sun beat down fiercely on my uncovered head, but I felt none of these discomforts; my heart was too full of gladness. I could have sung aloud for delight as I stepped swiftly along toward home--and Nina! I was aware of a great weakness in my limbs--my eyes and head ached with the strong dazzling light; occasionally, too, an icy s.h.i.+ver ran through me that made my teeth chatter. But I recognized these symptoms as the after effects of my so nearly fatal illness, and I paid no heed to them. A few weeks' rest under my wife's loving care, and I knew I should be as well as ever. I stepped on bravely. For some time I met no one, but at last I overtook a small cart laden with freshly gathered grapes. The driver lay on his seat asleep; his pony meanwhile cropped the green herbage by the roadside, and every now and then shook the jingling bells on his harness as though expressing the satisfaction he felt at being left to his own devices. The piled-up grapes looked tempting, and I was both hungry and thirsty, I laid a hand on the sleeping man's shoulder; he awoke with a start. Seeing me, his face a.s.sumed an expression of the wildest terror; he jumped from his cart and sunk down on his knees in the dust, imploring me by the Madonna, St. Joseph, and all the saints to spare his life. I laughed; his fears seemed to me ludicrous. Surely there was nothing alarming about me beyond my paucity of clothing.

"Get up, man!" I said. "I want nothing of you but a few grapes, and for them I will pay." And I held out to him a couple of francs. He rose from the dust, still trembling and eying me askance with evident suspicion, took several bunches of the purple fruit, and gave them to me without saying a word. Then, pocketing the money I proffered, he sprung into his cart, and las.h.i.+ng his pony till the unfortunate animal plunged and reared with pain and fury, rattled off down the road at such a break-neck speed that I saw nothing but a whirling blot of wheels disappearing in the distance. I was amused at the absurdity of this man's terror. What did he take me for, I wondered? A ghost or a brigand? I ate my grapes leisurely as I walked along--they were deliciously cool and refres.h.i.+ng--food and wine in one. I met several other persons as I neared the city, market people and venders of ices--but they took no note of me--in fact, I avoided them all as much as possible. On reaching the suburbs I turned into the first street I saw that seemed likely to contain a few shops. It was close and dark and foul-smelling, but I had not gone far down it when I came upon the sort of place I sought--a wretched tumble-down hovel, with a partly broken window, through which a shabby array of second-hand garments were to be dimly perceived, strung up for show on pieces of coa.r.s.e twine. It was one of those dirty dens where sailors, returning from long voyages, frequently go to dispose of the various trifles they have picked up in foreign countries, so that among the forlorn specimens of second-hand wearing apparel many quaint and curious objects were to be seen, such as sh.e.l.ls, branches of rough coral, strings of beads, cups and dishes carved out of cocoa-nut, dried gourds, horns of animals, fans, stuffed parakeets, and old coins--while a grotesque wooden idol peered hideously forth from between the stretched-out portions of a pair of old nankeen trousers, as though surveying the miscellaneous collection in idiotic amazement. An aged man sat smoking at the open door of this promising habitation--a true specimen of a Neapolitan grown old. The skin of his face was like a piece of brown parchment scored all over with deep furrows and wrinkles, as though Time, disapproving of the history he had himself penned upon it, had scratched over and blotted out all records, so that no one should henceforth be able to read what had once been clear writing. The only animation left in him seemed to have concentrated itself in his eyes, which were black and bead-like, and roved hither and thither with a glance of ever-restless and ever-suspicious inquiry. He saw me coming toward him, but he pretended to be absorbed in a profound study of the patch of blue sky that gleamed between the closely leaning houses of the narrow street. I accosted him--and he brought his gaze swiftly down to my level, and stared at me with keen inquisitiveness.

"I have had a long tramp," I said, briefly, for he was not the kind of man to whom I could explain my recent terrible adventure, "and I have lost some of my clothes by an accident on the way. Can you sell me a suit? Anything will do--I am not particular."

The old man took his pipe from his mouth.

"Do you fear the plague?" he asked.

"I have just recovered from an attack of it," I replied, coolly.

He looked at me attentively from head to foot, and then broke into a low chuckling laugh.

"Ha! ha!" he muttered, half to himself, half to me. "Good--good! Here is one like myself--not afraid--not afraid! We are not cowards. We do not find fault with the blessed saints--they send the plague. The beautiful plague!--I love it! I buy all the clothes I can get that are taken from the corpses--they are nearly always excellent clothes. I never clean them--I sell them again at once--yes--yes! Why not? The people must die--the sooner the better! I help the good G.o.d as much as I can." And the old blasphemer crossed himself devoutly.

I looked down upon him from where I stood drawn up to my full height, with a glance of disgust. He filled me with something of the same repulsion I had felt when I touched the unnameable Thing that fastened on my neck while I slept in the vault.

"Come!" I said, somewhat roughly, "will you sell me a suit or no?"

"Yes, yes!" and he rose stiffly from his seat; he was very short of stature, and so bent with age and infirmity that he looked more like the crooked bough of a tree than a man, as he hobbled before me into his dark shop. "Come inside, come inside! Take your choice; there is enough here to suit all tastes. See now, what would you? Behold here the dress of a gentleman, ah! what beautiful cloth, what strong wool!

English make? Yes, yes! He was English that wore it; a big, strong milord, that drank beer and brandy like water--and rich--just heaven!--how rich! But the plague took him; he died cursing G.o.d, and calling bravely for more brandy. Ha, ha! a fine death--a splendid death! His landlord sold me his clothes for three francs--one, two, three--but you must give me six; that is fair profit, is it not? And I am old and poor. I must make something to live upon."

I threw aside the tweed suit he displayed for my inspection. "Nay," I said, "I care nothing for the plague, but find me something better than the cast-off clothing of a brandy-soaked Englishman. I would rather wear the motley garb of a fellow who played the fool in carnival."

The old dealer laughed with a crackling sound in his withered throat, like the rattling of stones in a tin pot.

"Good, good!" he croaked. "I like that, I like that! Thou art old, but thou art merry. That pleases me; one should laugh always. Why not?

Death laughs; you never see a solemn skull; it laughs always!"

And he plunged his long lean fingers into a deep drawer full of miscellaneous garments, mumbling to himself all the while. I stood beside him in silence, pondering on his words, "Thou art OLD, but merry." What did he mean by calling ME old? He must be blind, I thought, or in his dotage. Suddenly he looked up.

"Talking of the plague," he said, "it is not always wise. It did a foolish thing yesterday--a very foolish thing. It took one of the richest men in the neighborhood, young too, strong and brave; looked as if he would never die. The plague touched him in the morning--before sunset he was nailed up and put down in his big family vault--a cold lodging, and less handsomely furnished than his grand marble villa on the heights yonder. When I heard the news I told the Madonna she was wicked. Oh, yes! I rated her soundly; she is a woman, and capricious; a good scolding brings her to reason. Look you! I am a friend to G.o.d and the plague, but they both did a stupid thing when they took Count Fabio Romani."

I started, but quickly controlled myself into an appearance of indifference.

"Indeed!" I said, carelessly. "And pray who was he that he should not deserve to die as well as other people?"

The old man raised himself from his stooping att.i.tude, and stared at me with his keen black eyes.

"Who was he? who was he?" he cried, in a shrill tone. "Oh, he! One can see you know nothing of Naples. You have not heard of the rich Romani?

See you, I wished him to live. He was clever and bold, but I did not grudge him that--no, he was good to the poor; he gave away hundreds of francs in charity. I have seen him often--I saw him married." And here his parchment face screwed itself into an expression of the most malignant cruelty. "Pah! I hate his wife--a fair, soft thing, like a white snake! I used to watch them both from the corners of the streets as they drove along in their fine carriage, and I wondered how it would all end, whether he or she would gain the victory first. I wanted HIM to win; I would have helped him to kill her, yes! But the saints have made a mistake this time, for he is dead, and that she-devil has all.

Oh, yes! G.o.d and the plague have done a foolish thing for once."

I listened to the old wretch with deepening aversion, yet with some curiosity too. Why should he hate my wife? I thought, unless, indeed, he hated all youth and beauty, as was probably the case. And if he had seen me as often as he averred he must know me by sight. How was it then that he did not recognize me now? Following out this thought, I said aloud:

"What sort of looking man was this Count Romani? You say he was handsome--was he tall or short--dark or fair?"

Putting back his straggling gray locks from his forehead, the dealer stretched out a yellow, claw-like hand, as though pointing to some distant vision.

"A beautiful man!" he exclaimed; "a man good for the eyes to see! As straight as you are!--as tall as you are!--as broad as you are! But your eyes are sunken and dim--his were full and large and sparkling.

Your face is drawn and pale--his was of a clear olive tint, round and flushed with health; and his hair was glossy black--ah! as jet-black, my friend, as yours is snow-white!"

I recoiled from these last words in a sort of terror; they were like an electric shock! Was I indeed so changed? Was it possible that the horrors of a night in the vault had made such a dire impression upon me? My hair white?--mine! I could hardly believe it. If so, perhaps Nina would not recognize me--she might be terrified at my aspect--Guido himself might have doubts of my ident.i.ty. Though, for that matter, I could easily prove myself to be indeed Fabio Romani--even if I had to show the vault and my own sundered coffin. While I revolved all this in my mind the old man, unconscious of my emotion, went on with his mumbling chatter.

"Ah, yes, yes! He was a fine fellow--a strong fellow. I used to rejoice that he was so strong. He could have taken the little throat of his wife between finger and thumb and nipped it--so! and she would have told no more lies. I wanted him to do it--I waited for it. He would have done it surely, had he lived. That is why I am sorry he died."

Mastering my feelings by a violent effort, I forced myself to speak calmly to this malignant old brute.

"Why do you hate the Countess Romani so much?" I asked him with sternness. "Has she done you any harm?"

He straightened himself as much as he was able and looked me full in the eyes.

"See you!" he answered, with a sort of leering laugh about the corners of his wicked mouth. "I will tell you why I hate her--yes--I will tell you, because you are a man and strong. I like strong men--they are sometimes fooled by women, it is true--but then they can take revenge.

I was strong myself once. And you--you are old--but you love a jest--you will understand. The Romani woman has done me no harm. She laughed--once. That was when her horses knocked me down in the street.

I was hurt--but I saw her red lips widen and her white teeth glitter--she has a baby smile--the people will tell you--so innocent! I was picked up--her carriage drove on--her husband was not with her--he would have acted differently. But it is no matter--I tell you she laughed--and then I saw at once the likeness."

"The likeness!" I exclaimed impatiently, for his story annoyed me.

"What likeness?"

"Between her and my wife," the dealer replied, fixing his cruel eyes upon me with increasing intensity of regard. "Oh, yes! I know what love is. I know too that G.o.d had very little to do with the making of women.

It was a long time before even He could find the Madonna. Yes--yes, I know! I tell you I married a thing as beautiful as a morning in spring-time--with a little head that seemed to droop like a flower under its weight of sunbeam hair--and eyes! ah--like those of a tiny child when it looks up and asks you for kisses. I was absent once--I returned and found her sleeping tranquilly--yes! on the breast of a black-browed street-singer from Venice--a handsome lad enough and brave as a young lion. He saw me and sprung at my throat--I held him down and knelt upon his chest--she woke and gazed upon us, too terrified to speak or scream--she only s.h.i.+vered and made a little moaning sound like that of a spoiled baby. I looked down into her prostrate lover's eyes and smiled. 'I will not hurt you,' I said. 'Had she not consented, you could not have gained the victory. All I ask of you is to remain here for a few moments longer.' He stared, but was mute. I bound him hand and foot so that he could not stir. Then I took my knife and went to her. Her blue eyes glared wide--imploringly she turned them upon me--and ever she wrung her small hands and s.h.i.+vered and moaned. I plunged the keen bright blade deep through her soft white flesh--her lover cried out in agony--her heart's blood welled up in a crimson tide, staining with a bright hue the white garments she wore; she flung up her arms--she sank back on her pillows--dead. I drew the knife from her body, and with it cut the bonds of the Venetian boy. I then gave it to him.

"'Take it as a remembrance of her,' I said. 'In a month she would have betrayed you as she betrayed me.'"

"He raged like a madman. He rushed out and called the gendarmes. Of course I was tried for murder--but it was not murder--it was justice.

The judge found extenuating circ.u.mstances. Naturally! He had a wife of his own. He understood my case. Now you know why I hate that dainty jeweled woman up at the Villa Romani. She is just like that other one--that creature I slew--she has just the same slow smile and the same child-like eyes. I tell you again, I am sorry her husband is dead--it vexes me sorely to think of it. For he would have killed her in time--yes!--of that I am quite sure!"

CHAPTER VI.

I listened to his narrative with a pained feeling at my heart, and a shuddering sensation as of icy cold ran through my veins. Why, I had fancied that all who beheld Nina must, perforce, love and admire her.

True, when this old man was accidentally knocked down by her horses (a circ.u.mstance she had never mentioned to me), it was careless of her not to stop and make inquiry as to the extent of his injuries, but she was young and thoughtless; she could not be intentionally heartless. I was horrified to think that she should have made such an enemy as even this aged and poverty-stricken wretch; but I said nothing. I had no wish to betray myself. He waited for me to speak and grew impatient at my silence.

"Say now, my friend!" he queried, with a sort of childish eagerness, "did I not take a good vengeance? G.o.d himself could not have done better!"

"I think your wife deserved her fate," I said, curtly, "but I cannot say I admire you for being her murderer."

He turned upon me rapidly, throwing both hands above his head with a frantic gesticulation. His voice rose to a kind of m.u.f.fled shriek.