The Eternal City. Sir Hall Caine
Читать онлайн книгу.
In this lodge lived a veteran Garibaldian, in his red shirt and pork-pie hat, with his old wife, wrinkled like a turkey, and wearing a red handkerchief over her head, fastened by a silver pin. David Rossi's apartments consisted of three rooms on the fourth floor, two to the front, the third to the back, and a lead flat opening out of them on to the roof.
In one of the front rooms on the afternoon of the Pope's Jubilee, a young woman sat knitting with an open book on her lap, while a boy of six knelt by her side, and pretended to learn his lesson. She was a comely but timid creature, with liquid eyes and a soft voice, and he was a shock-headed little giant, like the cub of a young lion.
"Go on, Joseph," said the woman, pointing with her knitting-needle to the line on the page. "'And it came to pass. … '"
But Joseph's little eyes were peering first at the clock on the mantel-piece, and then out at the window and down the square.
"Didn't you say they were to be here at two, mamma?"
"Yes, dear. Mr. Rossi was to be set free immediately, and papa, who ran home with the good news, has gone back to fetch him."
"Oh! 'And it came to pass afterward that he loved a woman in the Valley of Sorek, whose name was Delilah. And the lords of the Philistines came unto her, and said unto her, Entice him and see wherein his great strength lieth. … ' But, mamma. … "
"Go on with your lesson, Joseph. 'And she made him sleep. … '"
"'And she made him sleep upon her knees, and she called for a man, and she caused him to shave off the seven locks of his head. … '"
At that moment there came a knock at the door, whereupon the boy uttered a cry of delight, and with a radiant face went plunging and shouting out of the room.
"Uncle David! It's Uncle David!"
The tumultuous voice rolled like baby thunder through the apartment until it reached the door, and then it dropped to a dead silence.
"Who is it, Joseph?"
"A gentleman," said the boy.
II
It was the fashionable young Roman with the watchful eyes and twirled-up moustache, who had stood by the old Frenchman's carriage in the Piazza of St. Peter.
"I wish to speak with Mr. Rossi. I bring him an important message from abroad. He is coming along with the people, but to make sure of an interview I hurried ahead. May I wait?"
"Certainly! Come in, sir! You say he is coming? Yes? Then he is free?"
The woman's liquid eyes were glistening visibly, and the man's watchful ones seemed to notice everything.
"Yes, madam, he is free. I saw him arrested, and I also saw him set at liberty."
"Really? Then you can tell me all about it? That's good! I have heard so little of all that happened, and my boy and I have not been able to think of anything else. Sit down, sir!"
"As the police were taking him to the station-house in the Borgo," said the stranger, "the people made an attempt to rescue him, and it seemed as if they must certainly have succeeded if it had not been for his own intervention."
"He stopped them, didn't he? I'm sure he stopped them!"
"He did. The delegate had given his three warnings, and the Brigadier was on the point of ordering his men to fire, when the prisoner threw up his hands before the crowd."
"I knew it! Well?"
"'Brothers,' he said, 'let no blood be shed for my sake. We are in God's hands. Go home!'"
"How like him! And then, sir?"
"Then the crowd broke up like a bubble, and the officer who was in charge of him uncovered his head. 'Room for the Honourable Rossi!' he cried, and the prisoner went into the prison."
The liquid eyes were running over by this time, and the soft voice was trembling: "You say you saw him set at liberty?"
"Yes! I was in the public service myself until lately, so they allowed me to enter the police station, and when the order for release came I was present and heard all. 'Deputy,' said the officer, 'I have the honour to inform you that you are free.' 'But before I go I must say something,' said the Deputy. 'My only orders are that you are to be set at liberty,' said the officer. 'Nevertheless, I must see the Minister,' said Mr. Rossi. But the crowd had pressed in and surrounded him, and in a moment the flood had carried him out into the street, with shouts and the waving of hats and a whirlwind of enthusiasm. And now he is being drawn by force through the city in a mad, glad, wild procession."
"But he deserves it all, and more—far, far more!"
The stranger looked at the woman's beaming eyes, and said, "You are not his wife—no?"
"Oh, no! I'm only the wife of one of his friends," she answered.
"But you live here?"
"We live in the rooms on the roof."
"Perhaps you keep house for the Deputy?"
"Yes—that is to say—yes, we keep house for Mr. Rossi."
At that moment the room, which had been gloomy, was suddenly lighted by a shaft of sunshine, and there came from some unseen place a musical noise like the rippling of waters in a fountain.
"It's the birds," said the woman, and she threw open a window that was also a door and led to a flat roof on which some twenty or thirty canaries were piping and shrilling their little swollen throats in a gigantic bird-cage.
"Mr. Rossi's?"
"Yes, and he is fond of animals also—dogs and cats and rabbits and squirrels, especially squirrels."
"Squirrels?"
"He has a grey one in a cage on the roof now. But he is not like some people who love animals—he loves children, too. He loves all children, and as for Joseph. … "
"The little boy who cried 'Uncle David' at the door?"
"Yes, sir. One day my husband said 'Uncle David' to Mr. Rossi, and he has been Uncle David to my little Joseph ever since."
"This is the dining-room, no doubt," said the stranger.
"Unfortunately, yes, sir."
"Why unfortunately?"
"Because here is the hall, and here is the table, and there's not even a curtain between, and the moment the door is opened he is exposed to everybody. People know it, too, and they take advantage. He would give the chicken off his plate if he hadn't anything else. I have to scold him a little sometimes—I can't help it. And as for father, he says he has doubled his days in purgatory by the lies he tells, turning people away."
"That will be his bedroom, I suppose," said the stranger, indicating a door which the boy had passed through.
"No, sir, his sitting-room. That is where he receives his colleagues in Parliament, and his fellow-journalists, and his electors and printers and so forth. Come in, sir."
The walls were covered with portraits of Mazzini, Garibaldi, Kossuth, Lincoln, Washington, and Cromwell, and the room, which had been furnished originally with chairs covered in chintz, was loaded with incongruous furniture.
"Joseph, you've been naughty again! My little boy is all for being a porter, sir. He has got the butt-end of his father's fishing-rod, you see, and torn his handkerchief into shreds to make a tassel for his mace." Then with a sweep of the arm, "All presents, sir. He gets presents from all parts of the world. The piano is from England, but nobody plays, so it is never opened; the books are from Germany, and the bronze is from France, but the strangest thing of all, sir, is this."
"A