looking down upon genoa through the blue reaches of the upper crests is an apennine peak which the people, high and low, call our lady of the windows. ever mantled in snow, and a fit emblem of icy virtue, she has for ages inspired a negative chord for that region’s lyres of passion. the princeling in his hillside palazzo sings of his dream lady—always an angel as fervid as the glacial madonna is cold; the red waterman, in his moonlight barcarole, swears his love would melt that frozen heart. but she bears no kinship to this chronicle save that signor di bello, on the afternoon of the pregnant feast of sunday, when all was primed for [pg 315]the wedding, thus addressed his sister, who sat by a front casement:
“ha! my lady of the windows, it is time to go and fetch my bride.”
carolina gave back only a silent nod and a closer pressure of the lips, and he made off to the santa lucia, crowing to himself over the timely bite of his pleasantry. hour after hour she had been at that window watching for bertino, ready to spring to the door and drive him away should he appear too soon. she was determined that the play should not be spoiled by the untimely entrance of her star actor. his cue, as agreed upon, was the exit of signor di bello, but the fear had haunted her that his itching vendetta might make him forget the book. that danger was past now, and before his uncle had gone a block, bertino was at the door. she bundled him upstairs to her sanctum, and, turning the key, left him looking out blankly on the graveyard. “in a little while i shall call you,” she said, after explaining gravely that she locked him in [pg 316]that his uncle might be kept out. then she descended to the street door and waved her hand, a signal that brought a push-cart out of a near-by alley, with armando and the banker at its shafts. of course, their load was the last lady, but no eye could see her face, for bridget had given her best and only bed coverlet to veil it. no easy task to lug the weighty dame upstairs, but they managed it without mischance, while carolina stood by imploring care, and all with an ado of deepest secrecy. at length the bust was set up in the back room of the second floor. in this room the bride and groom were to wait before going down to the parlour for the ceremony. a dressing case near the window answered for a pedestal. in the bright light that fell upon it the snowy features of juno showed bold to the eye, while the mirror rendered back in softer tone her sturdy neck and shoulders. with a spotless sheet carolina covered the bust, and with the others left the room and locked the door.
repeated jangling of the bell and a low [pg 317]drone in the parlour told of arriving guests. marianna had been cast for the part of door-opener and welcomer to the first families. armando, in the best attire he could muster, had only a meditative rôle. thus far he had done naught but sit in the parlour and exchange confident glances with marianna whenever she ushered in a distinguished calabriano, siciliano, or napolitano.
a cab bearing signor di bello and juno drew up betimes, and word was passed to carolina. instantly she unlocked the door that shut in bertino, and bade him be ready for her summons. then she called marianna and armando to the room where the bust was, leaving angelica to let in the bridal pair. up the staircase they rustled, juno first, her skirts held free of the yellow boots, and signor di bello smiling after her with a quivering bunch of muslin roses.
“they are here,” said the guests, craning their necks and whispering. “no fiasco this time.”
[pg 318]
“this way, signorina,” piped carolina, with a spidery smile, stepping aside and waving her fly into the web.
they entered the room prepared for them, and signor di bello regarded in wonder the white shape on the dressing case. “soul of a camel!” he cried. “what is that?”
“a little surprise that we have for the bride,” answered carolina, advancing and raising the window shade. “a wedding present, in fact. eccolo!”
she drew off the veil quickly, and the last lady stood revealed in the streaming sunlight.
“by the egg of columbus!”
every eye turned from the marble juno to the juno of flesh and blood. she had let fall the counterfeit blossoms that the signore had just placed in her hand, but gave no other token of disquiet. a glow of admiration lit up her face as she gazed steadily at her double in stone.
“it is really beautiful,” she said calmly, [pg 319]moving nearer. “i knew i should look well in marble.”
she passed one hand behind the bust as though to judge it by the sense of touch, but before any one could hinder she lifted it to the window sill and sent it somersaulting into the rear court. the crash brought a score of heads to the lower windows, and the guests set up a cry that disaster had again visited the wedding of signor di bello.
“infame! infame!” chorused carolina, armando, and marianna when they looked out and beheld the last lady in a dozen pieces on the flagstones, while the bridegroom merely laughed, for it seemed to him a capital joke.
juno was quick to follow her prompt action with suitable words. “you dogs of genovese!” she said, sweeping the company with her flashing eyes. “do you like the bust now? did you think i would stand still and be made a fool of, or that i would fall down and weep?” then, turning to [pg 320]carolina, “and you, signorina old maid, you are a large piece of stupidity.”
“ha! you do not like my present!” said carolina, ready for the combat. “that is a grand pity. but, mark you, on her wedding day a married maid must be suited to her heart’s full desire. i will give you another present—yes, a present that every married maid must have. do you guess? no? how strange!” she went into the hall and called, “bertino!” instantly he darted in and stood panting before his wife. “here is the other present, my married maid—your husband!”
at the same moment there arose from the parlour a tumult of voices, and angelica entered and said that the priest had arrived.
“are you her husband?” groaned signor di bello, his hope all gone.
“yes,” bertino answered, glaring at juno. “she is my wife, the viper! she put me up to stabbing you, my uncle. she told me you annoyed her; that she did not [pg 321]want you. but she shall pay!” he cried, waving his hand above his head. “do you hear, you neapolitan thief? you shall pay. after that to inferno with you, and may you remain there as long as it takes a crab to go round the world! figlia of a priest! wolf of——”
“stop!” broke in signor di bello. going up to juno, he asked mournfully, “is he your husband?”
she answered, tossing her head: “he says so. let him prove it.”
signor di bello grasped the other end of the straw. “ah, yes; prove it,” he roared, while carolina smiled snugly, for she had looked to it that the properties for this scene were not lacking.
“you want proof?” asked bertino. “well, it is here.” he drew a marriage certificate from his pocket.
signor di bello seized the document and cast his eye over it. the disorder below had redoubled, and with the noisy demands for the bride and groom were [pg 322]mingled derisive shouts of “long live the genovese bachelor!” and “another fiasco!”
“soul of the moon! it is true!” breathed di bello, crunching the paper in style theatrical.
“bah!” returned juno, moving near to him and putting her hand on his arm. “you believe that?”
“believe me, then, signori,” spoke up a strange voice, in grammatical but english-bred italian. it was the priest from over the border of mulberry, who had come upstairs to learn the reason of the delay and heard the last few lines of the dialogue—the priest whom signor di bello had engaged because he would not meddle. turning to juno he continued: “i had the honour, signora, of marrying you to this man.”
“padre!” exclaimed bertino, who knew him at once for the clergyman he had sought out so hurriedly at the rectory in second avenue that day when, to outwit his uncle—black the hour!—he had taken juno to wife.
“i know him not,” said juno, turning to [pg 323]signor di bello, who had dropped into a chair. but her game of bluff was lost. “go!” the grocer said to her, pointing to the door.
she moved to the threshold, turned about, spat into the room, and said, “may you all die cross-eyed!”—a neapolitan figure that means “be hanged to you!” since the gallows bird squints when the noose tightens. then she rustled downstairs, mindful of her purple skirts. bertino would have been at her heels but for carolina, who caught his arm.
“wait,” she whispered. “this is not the time or place.”
“no matter!” he cried, shaking off her hold. “she shall pay, she shall pay!”
the sight of juno’s yellow boots on the staircase served to quiet the troubled parlour for a brief moment, the people thinking that the bride and groom were coming at last. but she had seen the stiletto in her husband’s eye, and was out of the door, into the waiting coupé, and driving off at high speed before the first families had wholly grasped [pg 324]the scandalous fact. next moment there was another flying exit, and bertino went tearing after the carriage. this was the signal for unheard-of insults to casa di bello. the men set up a sirocco of hisses, and the women shouted mock bravoes for the twice-brideless groom. during the uproar alessandro the macaroni presser led a push-and-grab attack on a side table heaped with the kaleidoscopic dainties with which mulberry loves to tickle its eye as well as its gullet.
“dio tremendo!” whimpered signor di bello, the tumult downstairs assailing his ears. “what a disgrace! what a disgrace!”
it was carolina’s cue, and she snapped it up. in a few quick words she unmasked the marital climax her drama was meant to produce.
“disgrace?” she said. “what need of disgrace, my brother? are not the guests here, is the feast not waiting, also the priest, and the bride ready?”
“the bride?”
“yes, and one that is worth a hundred—nay,[pg 325] a thousand—of the baggage that you have lost; the bride that i have brought you all the way from cardinali. hear those cattle below, how they bellow and stamp on your name! but my bride can shut their ugly mouths. here is the young and sympathetic marianna.”
she turned slightly and beckoned marianna to her side, but the girl remained where she was, hand in hand with armando.
“no, no,” said marianna, recoiling.
“bah! she is young, my brother, and does not know what she wants. can’t you see that if you are not married at once the colony will always despise you? never again shall you hold up your head.”
“but the people will know just the same that i have been put in a sack,” groaned di bello.
“listen,” said carolina, putting a finger beside her nose shrewdly. “those people are fools. they will believe anything you say, if only you go before them with a bride. let it be one of your famous jokes. a little [pg 326]surprise you have prepared for your dear friends. naturally, they had you betrothed to the wrong woman, for that was all a part of the joke. you laugh at them then. you laugh last. how silly they will feel! what merriment! ah! they will say it is signor di bello’s grandest joke!”
“by the stars of heaven, i will!” cried the grocer.—“here, my pretty marianna, do you wish to be a happy wife?”
“yes,” the girl answered, nestling closer to armando, “but—but not yours.”
the priest, looking out of the window, shook his sides.
“you must be his!” said carolina, catching hold of her arm and striving to drag her away from armando.
“she shall not!” cried the sculptor, placing an arm about marianna, authority in his eye and voice. “take off your hand. no one else shall have her.”
“bravo!” exclaimed signor di bello. “let the pigs squeal. i am not a man to marry a girl against her will.”
[pg 327]
carolina’s colour ran the scale of red and white, her fingers writhed, and her eyes set upon armando’s curling hair. she saw the curtain ringing down on her self-serving drama, and the cherished dénouement left out. in her fury she would have tested the roots of the sculptor’s locks, but the priest stepped between them, and raised his hand.
“signorina,” he said, his voice a distinct note of calm above the storm below, “if you sincerely desire to save your brother from the contempt of his neighbours it may be done better by the union of these young hearts than by tearing them asunder. let us consider. you speak of the merry jest.” here the good man’s eyes twinkled his zest in the wholesome trick to be played. “would it not be a greater joke if the people found that they had betrothed not alone the wrong bride, but the wrong groom as well; in fact, had come to the marriage of one couple only to find another walk into the parlour with the priest?”
[pg 328]
for a moment no one caught his meaning. then he went on, with equal countenance: “what i mean is that you silence the tongue of scandal by having a wedding at once, with this pair of turtle-doves as the bride and groom.”
“bravo!” signor di bello whooped, grasping the priest’s hand. “indeed a famous joke. i will tell them that it was all fun about my getting married; that it was to be my foster niece and her sweetheart all the time. ah, the side-splitting joke!”
“come, then,” said the priest, without waiting for carolina’s approval; and the joyous armando and marianna, with signor di bello last in the procession, followed him to the parlour.
carolina did not go downstairs, but turned into her sanctum, and with flooding eyes looked out on san patrizio’s graveyard. she heard the muffled outburst of wonder that greeted the bridal twain in the parlour, and alert was her ear to the growing quiet that became silence when the priest began [pg 329]the nuptial rites. soon the merriment of the feast rang beneath her feet. plainly the lying joke was a great success. ah! what a fine vendetta it would be to go down there and tell them all the truth—even now while her brother was cracking walnuts on his head and making the table roar! but no; of strife she was weary. she longed for peace—for the peace that lay beyond that gray forest of mortuary shafts; the peace beyond that rectory door, to which the latch string beckoned and a soft voice, clear above the revelry, seemed calling: “perpetua, perpetua, riposo, pace.”
when armando, with one hundred dollars in his pocket—the grateful tribute of signor di bello—went to banca tomato to buy two second-class tickets for genoa, the banker led him behind the nankeen sail—sewed together again by bridget—and whispered that bertino would be on the same ship in the steerage.
“did she pay?” asked the sculptor.
[pg 330]
“no, not all: a cut on the cheek; a clumsy thrust, dealt in a dark alley, where he waited for her all night. but mark you, the fool wanted to stay, to go back—to make her pay more—to pay all. he is not satisfied; and in truth i do not blame him. she ought to pay all.”
“si—all.”
“but how could he go back to her, where a dozen man-hunters are waiting? they have been here, the loons, to see if he bought a ticket. they will not find him. he will stay where he is until—until it is time to go on the ship. ah, my friend, it was grand trouble to make him do this. he was for going back to her—to the man-hunters. but i gave him the light of a wise proverb, and he saw: better an egg to-day than a hen to-morrow.”
