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The Eternal City, a novel by Hall Caine |
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Part 3. Roma - Chapter 8 |
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_ PART THREE. ROMA CHAPTER VIII While Roma climbed the last flight of stairs to David Rossi's apartment, with the slippery-sloppery footsteps of the old Garibaldian going before her, Bruno's thunderous voice was rocking through the rooms above. "Look at him, Mr. Rossi! Republican, democrat, socialist, and rebel! Upsets the government of this house once a day regularly--dethrones the King and defies the Queen! Catch the piggy-wiggy, Uncle David! Here goes for it--one, two, three, and away!" Then shrieks and squeals of childish laughter, mingled with another man's gentler tones, and a woman's frightened remonstrance. And then sudden silence and the voice of the Garibaldian in a panting whisper, saying, "She's here again, sir!" "Donna Roma?" "Yes." "Come in," cried David Rossi, and from the threshold of the open hall she saw him, in the middle of the floor, with a little boy pitching and heaving like a young sea-lion in his arms. He slipped the boy to his feet and said, "Run to the lady and kiss her hand, Joseph." But the boy stood off shyly, and, stepping into the room, Roma knelt to the child and put her arms about him. "What a big little man, to be sure! His name is Joseph, is it? And what's his age? Six! Think of that! Have I seen him before, Mrs. Rocco? Yes? Perhaps he was here the day I called before? Was he? So? How stupid of me to forget! Ah, of course, now I remember, he was in his nightdress and asleep, and Mr. Rossi was carrying him to bed." The mother's heart was captured in a moment. "Do you love children, Donna Roma?" "Indeed, I do!" During this passage between the women Bruno had grunted his way out of the room, and was now sidling down the staircase, being suddenly smitten by his conscience with the memory of a message he had omitted to deliver. "Come, Joseph," said Elena. But Joseph, who had recovered from his bashfulness, was in no hurry to be off, and Roma said: "No, no! I've only called for a moment. It is to say," turning to David Rossi, "that there's a meet of the foxhounds on the Campagna to-morrow, and to tell you from Don Camillo that if you ride and would care to go...." "_You_ are going?" "With the Princess, yes! But there will be no necessity to follow the hounds all day long, and perhaps coming home...." "I will be there." "How charming! That's all I came to say, and so...." She made a pretence of turning to go, but he said: "Wait! Now that you are here I have something to show to you." "To me?" "Come in," he cried, and, blowing a kiss to the boy, Roma followed Rossi into the sitting-room. "One moment," he said, and he left her to go into the bedroom. When he came back he had a small parcel in his hands wrapped in a lace handkerchief. "We have talked so much of my old friend Roselli that I thought you might like to see his portrait." "His portrait? Have you really got his portrait?" "Here it is," and he put into her hands the English photograph which used to hang by his bed. She took it eagerly and looked at it steadfastly, while her lips trembled and her eyes grew moist. There was silence for a moment, and then she said, in a voice that struggled to control itself: "So this was the father of little Roma?" "Yes." "Is it very like him?" "Very." "What a beautiful face! What a reverend head! Did he look like that on the day ... the day he was at Kensal Green?" "Exactly." The excitement she laboured under could no longer be controlled, and she lifted the picture to her lips and kissed it. Then catching her breath, and looking up at him with swimming eyes, she laughed through her tears and said: "That is because he was your friend, and because ... because he loved my little namesake." David Rossi did not reply, and the silence was too audible, so she said with another nervous laugh: "Not that I think she deserved such a father. He must have been the best father a girl ever had, but she...." "She was a child," said David Rossi. "Still, if she had been worthy of a father like that...." "She was only seven, remember." "Even so, but if she had not been a little selfish ... wasn't she a little selfish?" "You mustn't abuse my friend Roma." Her eyes beamed, her cheeks burned, her nerves tingled. It would be a sweet delight to egg him on, but she dare not go any farther. "I beg your pardon," she said in a soft voice. "Of course you know best. And perhaps years afterward when she came to think of what her father had been to her ... that is to say if she lived..." Their eyes met again, and now hers fell in confusion. "I want to give you that portrait," he said. "Me?" "You would like to have it?" "More than anything in the world. But you value it yourself?" "Beyond anything I possess." "Then how can I take it from you?" "There is only one person in the world I would give it to. She has it, and I am contented." It was impossible to hear the strain any longer without crying out, and to give physical expression to her feelings she lifted the portrait to her lips again and kissed and kissed it. He smiled at her, she smiled back; the silence was hard to break, but just as they were on the edge of the precipice the big shock-head of the little boy looked in on them through the chink of the door and cried: "You needn't ask me to come in, 'cause I won't!" By the blessed instinct of the motherhood latent in her, Roma understood the boy in a moment. "If I were a gentleman, I would, though," she said. "_Would_ you?" said Joseph, and in he came, with a face shining all over. "Hurrah! A piano!" said Roma, leaping up and seating herself at the instrument. "What shall I play for you, Joseph?" Joseph was indifferent so long as it was a song, and with head aside, Roma touched the keys and pretended to think. After a moment of sweet duplicity she struck up the air she had come expressly to play. It was the "British Grenadiers." She sang a verse of it. She sang in English and with the broken pronunciation of a child--
At the same moment the door burst open with a bang, and the dog came bounding into the room. Behind it came Elena, who said: "It was scratching at the staircase door, and I thought it must have followed you." "Followed Mr. Rossi, you mean. He has stolen my dog's heart away from me," said Roma. "That is what I say about my boy's," said Elena. "But Joseph is going for a soldier, I see." "It's a porter he wants to be." "Then so he shall--he shall be my porter some day," said Roma, whereupon Joseph was frantic with delight, and Elena was saying to herself, "What wicked lies they tell of her--I wonder they are not ashamed!" The fire was going down and the twilight was deepening. "Shall I bring you the lamp, sir?" said Elena. "Not for me," said Roma. "I am going immediately." But even when mother and child had gone she did not go. Unconsciously they drew nearer and nearer to each other in the gathering darkness, and as the daylight died their voices softened and there were quiet questions and low replies. The desire to speak out was struggling in the woman's heart with the delight of silence. But she would reveal herself at last. "I have been thinking a great deal about the story they told you in London--of Roma's death and burial, I mean. Had you no reason to think it might be false?" "None whatever." "It never occurred to you that it might be to anybody's advantage to say that she was dead while she was still alive?" "How could it? Who was to perpetrate a crime for the sake of the daughter of a poor doctor in Soho--a poor prisoner in Elba?" "Then it was not until afterward that you heard that the poor doctor was a great prince?" "Not until the night you were here before." "And you had never heard anything of his daughter in the interval?" "Once I had! It was on the same day, though. A man came here from London on an infamous errand..." "What was his name?" "Charles Minghelli." "What did he say?" "He said Roma Roselli was not dead at all, but worse than dead--that she had fallen into the hands of an evil man, and turned out badly." "Did you ... did you believe that story?" "Not one word of it! I called the man a liar, and flung him out of the house." "Then you ... you think ... if she is still living...." "My Roma is a good woman." Her face burned up to the roots of her hair. She choked with joy, she choked with pain. His belief in her purity stifled her. She could not speak now--she could not reveal herself. There was a moment of silence, and then in a tremulous voice she said: "Will you not call _me_ Roma, and try to think I am your little friend?" When she came to herself after that she was back in her own apartment, in her aunt's bedroom, and kissing the old lady's angular face. And the Countess was breaking up the stupefaction of her enchantment with sighs and tears and words of counsel. "I only want you to preserve yourself for your proper destiny, Roma. You are the _fiancee_ of the Baron, as one might say, and the poor maniac can't last long." Before dressing for dinner Roma replied to the Minister:--
Yours, "Success to the dinner! Am sending Felice. He will give you this letter. |
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